Siouxsie's Throaty Delirium

Fragments of crystal expensively splinter into extravagant air as Siouxsie Sioux is festooned and garlanded, in the flouncy tradition of a 1950s movie starlet embracing her tragic climax in wanton delight by "carving the devotion" of Hollywood mythology obsessed with dying young, on her most decorative and alive single ever, Kiss Them For Me. Sioux embellishes her ornate lyrics as if they are written in diamonds, enrapturing her audience with the sheer magnetism of her cut-glass voice. The lead-off single from 1991s career high Superstition engages in visual themes of Champaign and pin-up frivolity with a cascade of decorative words that reconcile with the sharp Stephen Hague production that so famously turned the stomach of punk icon Siouxsie. Her alluring enigma hides the wounds behind the death of celluloid star Jayne Mansfield as the actresses' catch-word "divoon" is given a final definition that refuses to shatter, her death merely a marvelous "delay".


Elsewhere: the warm summer air of Shadowtime shimmers like a midnight moon being combed by moving clouds; the exacting Silly Thing extracts excess with deadly pursuit from Siouxsie's throaty delirium; her final bow, The Ghost In You, persecutes with tenderness ("the whisper of your scream sighs through the air ... so soft and frail"); the chorus to Silver Waterfalls positively describes itself (the sublime "ahhhh" as she gears up to sing "glimmer, shimmer - on me" is flaunted mercilessly like an operatic flick of a whip); unleashing the uproaring Got To Get Up's high impact intensity activates her impressive vocal range into an avalanche of awakened intuition; the tearful tirade of Cry disperses tooth-pic precision on the alternative dancefloor; the Jr. Vasquez revision of Fear (of The Unknown) for its French single release sounds like Grace Jones produced by Deee-Lite!; Softly quivers like Dannii Minogue entering a strip joint; and going spare, the magical atmosphere of the sustained-tempo ballad Return rose to the surface as a highly essential B-side to Kiss Them For Me.


As always, Siouxsie is aware of every moment of what she is doing and everything here is touched with her unique personal magic.

Kiss Them For Me (Album Version)
Kiss Them For Me (Kathak Mix)
Fear of The Unknown (Album Version)
Fear of The Unknown (Jr. Vasquez Single Edit)
Cry
Shadowtime (Album Version)
Silly Thing
Got To get Up
Silver Waterfalls
The Ghost In You
Return
Face To Face

Note: I promise to upload the final songs on this list at some point!

Kisses & Hairproducts

On her new single, Sunny D updates her dancemoves to just lying there, as her radioactive glamour septically spreads further than the gaps between her (teeth) previous 3 singles. Continuing So Under Pressure's alert theme of writhing on her back, Minogue of the D-Cup lights herself on screen like glorified bait dangling for takers. A typsy Dannii famously enjoyed my accusation that she tore the staples from Cher's tender scalp in order to steal a wig in an outrageously sincere respite, which orgasmed with the scathing sign-off "kisses and hair products."

Howev, now it appears she has only gone and nabbed one belonging to Joan Collins (after drugging husband Percy, defenceless Joanie begged Dannii to take her QVC jewellery instead before finally letting go of her now-ravaged wig). How fitting then that the video to Flick Me Like That should resemble the dingy decafence of the discoteca's featured in Ms. Collins' best flicks to date: The Bitch and The Stud. Embracing a seminiferous pounding from Jason Nevins, as well as combing out that wig, clearly takes it out of our Dannii - she has no energy left to move!

Perhaps finally putting the electro come-on of Neon Nights to rest, her marvelously rigid body language may appear to reject the tracks immensity; achieving a curious lifelessness, animation is sacrificed as she studiously soaks up the intense buzz of four gay-for-pay lesbians dyke-dancing their dirtiest until Dannii delivers her verdict as to who is sharing a cubicle with her ("I love a girl who can move" squeals Dannii here) before she finally can't take anymore and simply collapses.

I can't wait to write my reviews for the deluxe editions of Girl and Neon Nights (both released 5 November in the UK); the Xeonomania track Keep Up With The Gays that she hissed was unreleased "for a reason" has been given a kinder consideration amongst others. Dannii's most likely booked herself a drip machine to cope with such an unprecedented level of activity - the rarities set Unleashed, online-only album Club MILF and D.V.D all drop on the same day - and who can blame her?


Enjoy these remixes that capture the sumptuous attitude of a physically depleted Dannii floppeded on a sun-lounger face-first in her own vomit:

All I Wanna Do (Tiny Tim & The Mekon Dream Dub)
Heaven Can Wait (Trouser Enthusiasts Cloud 9 Mix)
Everything I Wanted (Trouser Enthusiasts Golden Delicious Mix)

"Culture, alienation, boredom and despair"

Until I got back into Madonna, the Manic Street Preachers were my biggest musical obsession when I was 13 (fuck me with a chainsaw, that was 10 years ago!). All the angst I was consumed with seemed to desperately need their pompous vitriol, altercation and alienated vanity. Motorcycle Emptiness remains without perimeters in its awe-struck sense of ennui, whilst the hard-boiled and sexually-free Traci Lords finds the time without a cock in her mouth to sing beautifully on the hopeless, gospel-tinged ballad Little Baby Nothing - her bittersweet vocals are soaked with KY and grappling nasal sadness. Like a pro, she hangs on in there more than competently, and the lines she is given to sing - including "used, used, used by men" and "we are the useless sluts that they mould" - are pop trash par excellence.


The video also marks the screen debut of music legends Shampoo.

Little Baby Nothing

Motorcyle Emptiness

I promise my next post shall include a vagina and a disco beat.

Niki Harris

On her Do You See The Light guest vocal for Snap! moment in the faceless dance track spotlight, Niki Harris's head was so far up Madonna's colonically-cleaned arse all she could see was darkness - quite who she was talking to is anyone's guess, but a terrified African orphan who couldn't speak English probably was not the best person to ask. "I'm gonn' tell the work about this love" blackmails Madge for more pay, or else takes hanger-on earstwhile backing singer sisterhood solidarity to new levels. The 2002 trance-tastic re-release, credited to Snap! Vs Plaything, deposits a welcome update of an originally unremarkable moderate hit. These days Harris stays as far away from Madonna's arse as possible, but has been known to occaisionally "freak out" if smokers on the street stop to ask for a light.

Do You See The Light (Radio Edit)
Do You See The Light (Extended Version)
Do You See The Light (Steve Murano Edit)

All smiles (L-R): Donna DeLory, Madge, Niki; HRH soon got them chucked out for being "fat".

O Misery, O Hate, O Meara

Racist pop cist Jo 'O' Meara gets on the defensive with her anthem Let's Love (Caucasian Dance Mix), which is almost as fun as her tearful dedication to big 'O' dicks What Hurts The Most. Her shimmering souvenirs of regret can't remedy her exhile, but Gays who don't care will no doubt dance along and sniff nitrate to the soundtrack of someone else's insincere misery quite happily until a much better song gets played such as Geri Halliwell's Scream If You Wanna See My Ginger Beaver. I can't possibly comment on the rumors that I once had no option but to watch Jo's music video under the covers because of the Tiga-esque bit of rough, but I will confirm I had a big 'O' wank about him instead.

Let's Love (Metro Remix)

Torch Ballad Boulversement

Cherilyn Sarkisian LaPierre's last truly spellbinding recording, surpassing both non-Believers and record buyers alike, was her breathtaking foray into furlorn drum n' bass speed ballads. Nana Cher's bulldozer vocals croon buoyantly as ever, yet You Take It All connects her amiable passion with a tender lyric that says everything we ever could and is the most emotionally exposed she has ever been since slapping Winona Ryder and calling her the "town tramp" in 1991s pre-MILF movie vehicle Mermaids.

A careful gelid glimmer soon flickers into a gust of pathos, and after the monumental middle 8 there could not have been a dry-eyed Gay in sight, so succinctly encapsulating, perhaps, her unlikely journey shared with deceased former husband Sonny Bono. The wounded significance of her loss is palpable and almost impossible to bear, yet Cher is a sturdy old broad and can yield deep feeling just as easily as an attitude of durable cosmetic surgery or else a revolving platform of toy boys.

Her seemingly underdeveloped faculty for emotionally disadvantaged ballads that put the stabilizers on such breakdowns notwithstanding (there are so many), this new-found 'noughties' niche continued with her last public recording to date, Human, a blizzard of frailty if ever there was one. Pre-existing both, the after-hours torch song abandonment of When The Love Is Gone dates from 1982s criminally underrated I Paralyze, which I shall whisper is actually my favorite Cher album. Now at the end of her "someone's got to pay for the dancing fairies" frolicking, these ballads both show a welcome overturning.

You Take It All

Human

When The Love Is Gone

Reckless Inflammation

The rampant electro swagger of Faster Kill Pussycat finds an unexpected scion with Taxi Dolls' reckless erruption Waiting, a song also not dissimilar from Stereostars' Utopia and Flash Dance by Deep Dish. Inspiriting established dance classics undersells the remix achievements of the group: the Josh Harris radio edit is more infectious than having unprotected sex with the locals in Kenya; and singer Dhana's glossy, curdling ad libs are sung so feverishly as if sinking her nails in to scratch a nasty, oozing itch she "attained" at the weekend. Meanwhile, the inescapable inflammation of the chorus flushes out her lively passage of movement - "and the waiting is gone" she reckons.

Waiting (Josh Harris Radio Edit)

Don't Bogart The Scalpel

Dana "don't Bogart the scalpel" International stoically revisits the storage facility incarcerating her locked away severed penis (now shriveled up in a beetroot jar) one last time before selling it on eBay and delivering another soft one by engaging in her most poised and pounding surgical Hi-NRG fury to date. Bequeathing her unique waspish showcase of collected pathos, colossal triumph and colonic agony, the vitric vocals (often coughing up storms of in-your-face phlegm) convey chemical warfare or else the sudden climax of a no-going-back bittersweet celebration that only a post-op pop star tranny could ever convincingly comprehend without just saying so. Her imperial facade masks the blistering horror of unthinkable surgical procedures not even Joan Rivers would sign her daughter Melissa up for as a surprise the night before Oscars, yet the 2001 single Lola, as a recurring tanoid announcement from a French supermarket, assumes one of the artists finest and most fatal incisions since saying goodbye to the little general. A panic purge of painkillers pouring down the pan pulsates her laser sharp adroit disco.

The remix of 2007s Hakol Ze Letova (Everything Is For The Best) is less tranquil than the original ballads' cumulative plaintive gust yet perfectly preens newcomers for her faaaaaaaaaabulous new album, of which has so far spurted three highly-rated singles: the serene sheen of Hakol Ze Letova (here given a mild dance infection); her cut-off cock-teaser Love Boy (complete with male prostitutes in the video); and At Machuna is infinitely more fierce than Rihanna's empty tank Shut Up & Drive.

The piano-galloping Betula sweeps itself up in a warm current that could be K-Klass in their 90s prime, whilst the 'Ethnic Virgin' option offers the diva more wings than her old catalogue of designer vaginas.

Lola

Hakol Ze Letova (Amir Afargan Remix)

Love Boy
Love Boy (Zigo Eli Remix)

Betula
Betula (Ethnic Virgin Remix)

Giddy Dannii's Diddy Ride

With a squidgy bassline like chaffing PVC, Sunny D is back raping the ears with another party jam set to fast-track the process of picking up sexual partners in a club of any gender - "I wanna feel you ... in my arms" keeps tabloid newspapers, not to mention her love blender, in quivering suspense. Loose Dannii-can declares an emergency bill, such liberal economic legislation for slithering on top of ready-made dance tracks has never sounded so shamelessly natural. It's a big swirl from start to finish, as if being daisy chained by an African tribe whilst singing Hakuna Matata - giddy Dannii's diddy ride is a guaranteed top 20 smash.

Touch Me Like That
Party Jam