You Haven’t Heard The Last Of Me by Precious Wilson – A Soulful Swingbeat Gem That Still Hits
Let’s get this straight: You Haven’t Heard The Last Of Me is not just another soul record from the '80s. Nope. It’s a vibe, a statement, and—let me say it again—a vibe. Released in 1982 under Epic Records with Frank Farian pulling the strings as producer, this album feels like someone bottled up all the sass, grit, and groove of funk and poured it into one tight package. And guess what? It works.
Now let’s talk tracks because you can’t review an album without diving into its guts. First up is "You Haven’t Heard The Last Of Me." This title track? Oh, man. It’s got this unapologetic swagger that grabs your attention right away. Like, imagine walking down the street after a breakup but instead of crying, you’re strutting with headphones on while Precious Wilson belts out every word you wish you could scream at the top of your lungs. Her voice cuts through sharp and smooth, like butter melting over hot toast. Every note feels personal, raw, almost like she wrote it specifically for your drama. You’ll remember this song long after it ends because it doesn’t just play—it talks back to you.
Then there’s "Kisuaheli." What even is this magic? From the first beat, it pulls you into some kind of hypnotic trance. The rhythm is so infectious, you might find yourself dancing around your living room like nobody’s watching (even if they totally are). There’s something about how the percussion builds alongside those sultry vocals—it’s like being swept away to a tropical beach where everyone speaks fluent soul. Honestly, I don’t know what “Kisuaheli” means (and maybe that’s part of the charm), but it sticks to your brain like gum under a shoe. Days later, you’ll catch yourself humming it randomly and wonder why you’re suddenly craving pineapple juice.
Frank Farian clearly knew what he was doing here. He didn’t just slap together a bunch of songs; he crafted moments. Moments that make you wanna dance, cry, or both at the same time. That’s rare. And coming out of the UK during the early ‘80s when synth-pop was trying to steal the spotlight? Bold move. But Precious Wilson held her own, proving that soul wasn’t going anywhere.
Here’s the thing though—if you listen closely enough, you’ll notice little imperfections. Maybe a note wavers slightly, or the mix isn’t perfectly polished. But honestly? Those quirks give the album character. It’s real. Raw. Human. In a world full of auto-tuned robots, You Haven’t Heard The Last Of Me reminds us what music should feel like.
So yeah, go ahead and spin this record. Let Precious Wilson remind you that life’s too short to stay quiet. Just don’t blame me when you start belting these tunes in the shower and scaring the neighbors.
P.S. Fun fact—I bet Frank Farian had no idea people would still be talking about this album decades later. Or maybe he did. Dude seemed kinda sneaky like that.
