She's got the Midas touch: Shirley Bassey songs – ranked!

The Guardian

10-04-2025

Shirley Bassey apparently hated this Bond theme, protesting that the lyrics were nonsensical. She never performed it live. It's certainly not up to previous standards, but the disco version that accompanies the film's end credits is worth hearing – better than her attempt to rejig This Is My Life for the 70s dancefloor.
Classic early Shirley in that it's both sexy and powerful, a combination that the writer Bob Stanley once brilliantly suggested evoked 'the hardest girl in the school taking a shine to you and repeatedly slamming you against her locker door'. That's exactly what the chorus of You, You Romeo sounds like.
Another should-have-been-a-hit culled from Bassey's stock of latterday covers: Slave to the Rhythm's commanding tone suits her voice perfectly. She first recorded it in the mid-90s, but the 2007 version is the one, its production far less indebted to Trevor Horn's original, its breakbeat pilfered from Primal Scream's Loaded.
Anyone who felt Bassey was underserved working with British bandleaders and orchestras had their prayers answered by her sixth album, Let's Face the Music, recorded with New Jersey arranger Nelson Riddle and his orchestra while they were touring the UK. As Long As He Needs Me was the big hit, but this is the killer cut: luscious and pillow-soft.
It was bested in the UK singles chart by Andy Williams' original soundtrack recording, but Bassey's take on the theme from the film Love Story may be the definitive version. She is certainly more intense in her approach to the song than Williams was, cutting against the super-slick easy listening arrangement.
It was inevitable that the 90s easy listening revival would burnish Bassey's career: it resulted in her biggest hit single in decades, a collaboration with big beat duo Propellerheads. Big beat wasn't a subgenre noted for subtlety, but History Repeating is impressively respectful in its updating of Bassey's sound. It's a strong song that fits her perfectly.
Bassey's debut single was a succès de scandale, banned by the BBC. Its hymning of 'straight and simple sex' was remarkably frank for the mid-50s, and amplified by the 19-year-old singer's innocent delivery. She later claimed, not entirely convincingly, that she simply hadn't understood the lyrics.
Of all Bassey's recent(ish) attempts to tap into modern pop culture, her 2009 album The Performance is the best. Written by James Dean Bradfield and Nicky Wire of Manic Street Preachers, The Girl from Tiger Bay is a particularly majestic song, worth it just to hear her confidently essay a lyric about situationism as if that were the most normal thing in the world.
The album Something, big on rock covers, was a concerted effort to make Bassey more contemporary. Rediscovered during the 90s easy listening revival, her version of Blood Sweat and Tears' 1969 hit is great: funky and commanding enough to make you wish she'd tried this approach more often.
One of Bassey's weirder hits: a version of the Carpenters' song clearly influenced by the string-bedecked reggae singles that populated the British charts in the early 70s. Whether Shirl was a quiet admirer of the skinheads' soundtrack of choice remains unknown, but she sails through it with aplomb.
Bassey apparently wasn't keen on Nobody Does It Like Me, an album she recorded in LA. But this is a wonderful, overlooked track, a kind of MOR/soft soul crossover that sets her voice against Motown stalwart James Jamerson's incredible bass playing and a sumptuous arrangement by Barry White collaborator Gene Page.
A collaboration with Swiss electronic duo Yello, co-written by the Associates' Billy MacKenzie, The Rhythm Divine appeared at a commercial low point in Bassey's recording career. It's a wonderful song that sets her voice amid moody electronics to glamorous effect – a reminder of what she could do, given the right partners.
Her cover of the George Harrison-penned Something was a hit, but the best example of Bassey tackling contemporary rock was her CinemaScope rendition of the Doors' breakthrough single. Rediscovered by DJs in the 90s, it's just fantastic, drenched in strings that aid her transformation of the song from slow burn into high drama.
Bassey had a line in repurposing Italian-language ballads for an anglophone audience, as on the show-stopping This Is My Life. Never, Never, Never, meanwhile, began life as Grande, Grande, Grande. You can see why it pricked her interest: the melody is beautiful, the key changes dramatic, and she sings the hell out of it.
The great Shirley Bassey deep cut. Goodness knows how she came across Jezahel – it was a single by an Italian prog band called Delirium – but her version is incredible, her voice soaring over a subtly funky backing, punctuated by thrilling blasts of brass. It was sampled on Public Enemy's Harder Than You Think.
Restrained isn't the first adjective that springs to mind when considering Bassey's voice – one critic approvingly compared her to a flamethrower – but her version of Till, a ballad originally recorded by Percy Faith, is all about restraint. There's an affecting tenderness to her delivery, and the results are beautiful.
More so than any of her Bond themes, This Is My Life is the archetypical Bassey belter: lavishly orchestrated musical melodrama, with a lyric so filled with defiance – 'and I don't give a damn for lost emotions!' – it requires a voice that communicates believable passion without slipping into histrionics. It's hard to imagine anyone singing it better.
In the musical Sweet Charity, Big Spender is slow, almost creepy, sung by blank-eyed 'dance hostesses'. Bassey sped it up, making its come-ons more straightforward and forthright. There's ice in her voice – this is still a transactional proposition – but when she offers you a 'good time', you know you're going to get one.
Co-lyricist Anthony Newley was supposed to sing Goldfinger, but declined because the song was 'weird'. Enter Bassey, whose performance was so full-throttle she was forced to remove her bra midway through the recording session. Her vocal has power, conviction and a faint but detectable sense of camp: no wonder it became her signature song.
By 1971, the shine was starting to tarnish on the Bond franchise, and employing Bassey for the theme song was a deliberate attempt to hark back to its heyday – but Diamonds Are Forever caught John Barry and Don Black at the peak of their powers. Barry's melody is stunning, with an arrangement that is atmospheric to the point of being almost eerie, and Black's lyrics are a fabulously cynical melding of eroticism and materialism. Always good with songs that suggested wealth had more value than love, Bassey was the perfect fit: she sounds utterly authoritative, as if bitter experience has led her to mean every word.
A new compilation, Dame Shirley Bassey: The Singer (Classic and Undiscovered Gems from the EMI/UA Years 1962-79), is released 18 April on Strawberry