Good old barmy Gala finally squeezes out some fresh produce, from her much-anticipated sophomore album of course, via youtube: listen to the elated bristling euro-grunge plunge of Different Kind of Love, which is a shimmering strangle hold on Holly Vallance's seamless bunsen burner template gem Desire; the blissful coos that begin You & Me sound promising, with her typical flair for adamant lyrics; the No Doubt sounding No Man (is her new vocal style deliberately jarring, or just in free fall against inhibition?); salsa slam, sanity-sealing clarification I See Through Love breaks things down; the berserk hic-up Tough Love is the mooted first single (I hope not); the soggy tampon ballad Number 3 is like blowing your nose and proudly showing a stranger the contents; the yodelling Crying plods like an attempt to flush a blocked toilet and could certainly benefit from a "less is more" vocal approach; Faraway remains stealthy and silky smooth, her stoic ambition has stood the test of the time; and the impatient, fed up stump of Do It continues her tribal quest for immediate gratification of mind, body and solo career.
Most impressive of the new "new" tracks is the murky slurring persperation of She Really Wants It - Gala's sexual politics have always been more gripping than a corset, as are her grappling vocals that yelp defiantly. The renound sleek and sharp image, always defined by baffling and androgynous philosphies, an impassioned voice in pain over gender as a torturing and tedious expectation she refuses to shape herself to is now reinvented with colour and her advantage of warrior-like bone structure. The chaffing track oozes a tempting electro discharge that rivals the foaming filth of Dannii Minogue's best unreleased J.C.A penetrations (but with less asphixiation). The European-native has always been derranged and frankly bonkers; it took some time, as Siobhan Fahey once cackled, but here she is, back, back, back! Her shit is definately together..
There is no arguing that these songs stitch together some pretty disparate and barren moments of production. However, there is terrific excitement and a concious madness spearing through to make the decade-long wait worth every breakdown in between. The turgid stomping on, well, almost all of these clips, actually becomes her - the inital shock subsides and a storm of melody bursts and suddenly, with career defining luncacy, there is life in the old Gala yet.