It was called Assassing, and it was spat out of the mouth of a 6ft 5in Scottish former lumberjack called Fish. The band were Marillion. It was 1984, and Duran Duran were still poncing about on a boat, but everything was about to change. In front of us, a great big sweating jester with a terrifying painted face burst through a wall (of paper) and screeched into the camera that he was "the assassin, with tongue forged from eloquence". It was rock music, and it spoke to us even though we didn’t understand a word of it. "Listen as the syllables of slaughter cut with calm precision," whispered Fish. "Patterned frosty phrases rape your ears and sow the ice incision." Do they? Blimey. We had to be a part of this. Mr Le Bon could take his Rio and her dancing on the sand and shove it up his upturned yacht.