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

Hardcore Giddy Pop Bites Delight

Whatever Janet does to pass the time when there is nothing on TV or no new hardcore bisexual porn to download is anyones guess, but revving herself up with valium seems to have produced her 2004 lead-off single Just A Little While, yet another giddy pop bite sticking her tongue into such lines as "you know how much I love to do it" which just happens to fall flat on the floor like a hot potato, but let's not give the nympho anymore ideas. The far more appealing Peter Rauhofer Radio Edit spikes her feel-good nonesense with darker suggestions. Closer attention is payed to her sexually obsessed tid bits, which reveals a more lingering interest behind her dead-eyed lack of conviction.

Just A Little While (UK Radio Edit)
Just A Little While (Peter Rauhofer Radio Edit)

Glamorama

"Dear Plebs, it's Sophie Ellis-Bextor here!

Let's be kissy right off, I love being glamorous. It's just so fucking glamourous. When people think of 'Sexy Bexy' (that's what my local builders call me as I flash them through the window of my moving Citreon Saxo) - my expensive budget videos, the exotic studio locations, glamorous hair, glamorous make-up - they probably imagine I writhe in glamorous agony in my double bed all day, wearing one of my one-in-every-colour Monsoon dressing gowns whilst sipping Tesco's 'healthy option' hot chocolate, in a mug! I just think to myself whilst tilting my head at one of those akward angles I dislocate my jaw to create "why shatter the illusion Soph?"

Now I said I would write about my lifestyle here, so here goes. My darling husband is in a daring MOR indie band fronted by a fruit called The Feeling and I just love those filthy little indie boys, they are so delish and grimy. I adore a bit of rough. Like every posh English girl does I suppose. I also promised I would share some of my beloved beauty secrets - even though my crows feet look like someone has been at my face with a garden rake I do know a thing or two about kidding myself you know!

Number 1) A girl must always be glamorous in order to be glamorous, 8 days a week if she has to. When I run out of nail varnish I use my son's felt tip pens for a quick and easy application - yesterday I had yellow, blue, green and one nail that was just a bit minging from an infection I caught whilst rummaging through my neighbours bins for some vintage dresses I sometimes find to wear in my music videos, that is until I go to the shops and actually buy some fucking nail varnish of course.

Number 2) Never poo. Being glamorous has nothing to do with pushing anything out - in fact, I go under the knife to have my posh poo removed by posh doctors who wear gloves whilst operating. After I stop screaming, it is so easy for me to cease my faeces, and after Murder became a massive #2 single I knew I could never top it. Just yesterday, again, I was delighted to dislodge a comment that my song If I Can't Dance was a "great big pile of poo" from my very own messageboard - maybe they simply saw the room I get operated on. My fans like to keep track of my movement, in more ways than one.

Right I must be off, I seem to have sat on a Galaxy Ripple that has melted. It sure doesn't smell like Galaxy though..

Pah, mwah and blah,

Sophie Ellis B. xxxxxxx"

If I Can't Dance
Murder On The Dancefloor
If You Go

Verging On The Obscene

The breathtaking and exquisite union between Marie Fredriksson's succulently soulful yet punky vocals and the ready-to-burst songwriting/production voltage from Per Gessle is a thing of unmatched melting beauty and splendour. Roxette's deft knack for a hypnotic and heartwelting ballad or punchy duck-for-cover pop meteorite has sustained an unparalleled, undiminished 20 year career that has been nothing if not consistent. Such robust versatility became clear circa 1999 witrh their "comeback" album of sorts Have A Nice Day - a sure-fire return to form. "It's hard to tell his gender" was an obscene observation suggesting the Scandinavian pair hunt in pairs for gender-specific sexual partners. Marie's agonising dance diva capabilities were effortlessly flaunted to jaw-dropping effect with the luminous and galacial storm Stars - an unflinchingly committed performance so dazzling, daring and dramatic it is impossible not to imagine her belting this one out from an icicle fortress full of kidnapped children forced to sing along on the album version. The Almighty Radio Edit is the post-0800 call to child services and elevates the song into an unequivocal dance anthem. The Todd Terry Tee's Radio Mix of the first single I WIsh I Could Fly follows the haunting lead of Fredriksson's sublime sigh. Taking the bait, it decorates her poised and commanding vocal, cushioning it with chic, sharp and sleek house beats whilst keeping the original's overlapping strings that already fold over you in deadly seduction. This remix fades not quite abruptly, rather it bows out gracefully before one last vocal delectation finally vanishes with all trace.

Wish I Could Fly (Tees Radio Mix)
Wish I Could Fly (Radio - Fade Out Mix)
Wish I Could Fly (StoneBridge Club Mix)

Stars (Album Edit)
Stars (Almighty Radio Edit)

Dilluted and Dumbed Down

Engagingly trite conspiracy theory lyrics aside, Bis were very capable of bristling electro gems. Dead Wrestlers is one of their finest examples, second only to their most memorable top 40 hit Eurodisco - the brat gimmick is utilised more effectively than on earlier tracks and becomes more appealing with every listen. The gloriously arrogant line "your politics are pantomine" is a misplaced casual quip that was their stock, with the dual vocal dynamic succeeding to brag in spite of an obvious regret. It is a pity the initial attention granted to this Glaswegian outfit had all but faded by the time they were producing considerably better material such as this, which was not even on an album - their loyal fanbase did not miss out, but mainstream success clearly was not on the agenda.

Dead Wrestlers

C'mon Burst That Juice All Over Me

90s Euro duo Diva were what Shampoo might have sounded like if produced by Not Over Yet helmers Grace - a manic rave swirls and throbs into a ferocious fervor like unwanted mouthwash to be spat out by Traci Lords hurriedly trying to get a salty taste out of her mouth before her next scene. As they are moaning the lyrics of a-ha one can only imagine the girls actually having a pot mouth each to boot - a pervading tone of autotune is only broken by their not expected rap demmanding a shared lover/stranger to "come on burst that juice all over me" which takes the girls to new heights of 90s faceless group-shagging delirium (I guess a facial does wonders for the complexion afterall). In less sticky hands the load-spurting track could have turned into quivering nonsense as if hysterically trying to find kleenex to clean up the mess.

However, these 2 girls devote serious and sustained effort: their moist, plaintive and robotic vocals - which are no doubt hindered by proudly owning bee-stung lips that also add a cheerful melodrama by interfering with the already strained delivery - and alarming Pete-Burns-fisted-by-Christina-Aguilera resemblance round out a super fierce slut image far too hard boiled to play coy. The videos' theme of doing sexy things with their down-turned eyes conveys a ditached pathos complete with chimes reminiscent of the Real McCoy; belonging to the same era gives the track a special sharp authenticity providing nostalgic goosebumps at the hammering chorus. If you can imagine the girls of the playboy mansion having hoovered up a full bin of crack each then you are probably half way there - and if deep throat was a passage for musical expression of excessive distress, Diva would pout proudly at the pinnacle.

The Sun Always Shines On TV (Radio Edit)
The Sun Always Shines On TV (Original Version)
The Sun Always Shines On TV (Volcano Club Edit)
The Sun Always Shines On TV (Perfecto Mix)
The Sun Always Shines On TV (Sunshine Mix)
The Sun Always Shines On TV (Sexy Disco Dub)

Watch the video here.

Pre-Botox Wilderness Bliss

Back in the summer of 1997 Kylie came back into my life in a big way - this was a sweltering summer that sipped the sickly remnants of Gina G, introduced Gala's inferno and No Doubt, gave bible bitches Eternal their only UK #1, where Vanilla exposed themselves, and held its breath whilst the Spice Girls filmed their movie and recorded a second album, leaving fans to count the days as well as Pepsi Max cans. Kylie was partly out of sync with an invogorating pop boom of this time, but I did also momentarily believe Don't Speak was actually Minogue herself. Instead the lazy guitar slice Some Kind of Bliss became an obsession, Kylie's most unassuming and life-affirming track to date - the press could not swallow this and seriously went overboard harking on about 'Indie Kylie' which never really existed, and her belated Manic Street Preachers collab could only stab through to #22. Did It Again by her fair hands of design did better, #14, signalling an artist not content with just playing along. The Deconstruction days produced 6 very individual, elegant and accomplished singles that provide a legacy far stronger than much of what has came since it must be said. Here are some live files very kindly sent to me, which I thought I would share such is their overall nice-ness!

Some Kind of Bliss (Mark & Lard 1997)
Did It Again (Mark & Lard 1997)
Put Yourself In My Place (Simon Mayo 1995)
If You Don't Love Me (Simon Mayo 1995)

Bump & Grind From Behind

Michelle Gayle is her name and intimate mid-tempo Rn'B love grooves are her no-nonesense game. It is time for some serious straight-talkin' morning TV chatshow style neck-snapping, finger-waving fits of self-proclaimation, chair-throwing and step-father disowning showdowns - our Chelle's just not having any of it, not today! The funky opener Get Off My Back is a seductively malevolent jam with a delicious shadow of biting sharpness - its epeleptic scream-fest "my hommies know MEEE!" would make even Mel B Blush. Happy Just To Be With You was her Chic-shinning glory - her streetwise savviness to sample Good Times for the single release was a career high, but the album version here compliments her clear vision despite hitting the party more sober. After an initial heavy flow of sterile ballads, the record is solid enough and passes through with pride during the stronger second half where more jucier material settles. Excelling with pleasant,, faintly upbeat numbers, her true calling was quite obviously the poppier productions. 13 years on and Sweetness loses none of its undeniable giddy charm as one of the most luscious, brightest, nose-scrunchiest pop songs of the 90s. On the smoky ballad Personality, grounded Gayle spells it out as "cash ain't everythang." The briefly hilarious introduction to Freedom involves the type of typsy neo-camp conversation one might overhear whilst using public transport carrying lots of teenage Mothers. Gayle doesn't mince her words and is sporadically a force to be reckoned with when she finds the fertile ground to sprout the class to match the sass.

Get Off My Back
Happy Just To Be With You (Album Version)
Freedom
Personality
Sweetness

Crazy Kiani's Quivering Commitment

Well-meaning dancefloor whore Mary Kiani's vivid ability to think allows her the most economic of emotional functions that is the envy of all registered dance divas of a certain age: her gift is to make up unrestrained personal sufferring, pain and tragedy all in her own inappropriate, lonely imagination in an attempt to revamp her brittle love life. These days Kiani rarely steps out of her high rise let alone get tangled up in real life dramas demmanding a release from social phobia. A brief period of interaction meant the misguided masochist would drive around Glasgow, scrouring for intoxicated civillians to "make up the numbers, ken?" in her short-lived club/livingroom called Slave before Strathclyde police shut it down and shipped her to Australia.

Kiani's keen will for self-infliction is showcased no better than on the unflushable floater I Imagine - a song she dedicated to an unassuming 16 year old Burger King 'employee of the week' who suddenly disappeared after numerous requests from the singer to give the terrified underweight teenage acne sufferer a lift home, until the store manager gasped "he was just a temp you crazy bitch" after Mary held a used tampon to the man's throat, dunking it on a half-finished Chicken Royale as she strutted out with as much pride as a 'pilled' woman with one broken high heel and 5 top 40 hits under her chaffing belt possibly can. Only a stash of straws and sachets of tarter sauce spilling out from under her PVC mini-skirt came close to taking this victory away from her.

The Motiv8 edits rub the necessary lotion into her rash of aggrevated hits that simply flourish with blind 'is she high?' faith. They are some of Roadway's most flattering treatments - her baffling plights given generous care and are elevated into largely forgotten mid-90s anthems of victim pride. 100% is an intense, glistening avalanche of quivering Kiani commitment, sang so exhaustively she must have collapsed in a wheelchair immediately afterwards (the singer is also famous for her numerous insurance claims). The romantic veneer of I Imagine tackles her issues with mental health and is sheer bliss to behold - she couldn't seem happier if she were shoplifting in Frasers like the good old days. Mary Kiani may very well be the "hard-faced bitch" I have read about on various Glaswegian fixtures, but God and the Gays sure love a tryer.


100% (Motiv8 Edit)
When I Call Your Name (Motiv8 Special Club Mix)
I Imagine (Motiv8 Edit)
Let The Music Play (Perfecto Radio Edit)

Note: the copy of I Imagine I have uploaded is an 'in the mix' file from a compilation CD that is slightly extended than what appears on the CD single format.

Not The Face McCutcheon

Xeonomania rugby tackle Essex's very own J-Lo Martine 'not the face' McCutcheon to the ground with a routine makeover. Sadly they don't quite seem to have as much fun tarting up Martine as a full squad would - what should have been 'a moment, a perfect moment' of comedy dance cheese feels slightly ropey. Her remixes don't quite immortalize her status but do justify rekindling a fleeting pop period of remixes that often drugged their victims up to the eyeballs - it was the 90s afterall.

I'm Over You (Xeonomania Club Mix)
Perfect Moment (Sleaze Sisters Anthem)

It's Britney, bitch

I love how Brits is no longer being coy: gone is the "oops" - now it is more like "fuck it!"

Gimme More

Okay?

Pale skin is itching under a neon-lit fever of twisted heartache that is spat out with venomous sarcasm and splendid vitriol - on Say Hello, Wave Goodbye, bitterness and being miserable never sounded so sympathetic and defiant, as if getting hurt is this weeks currency for being magnificent in order to rub salt into the self-inflicted wound. A mist of alienation sweeps past Marc Almond as his devastating vocal cuts right to the gore of tragic partings undeserving of keeping in touch - collecting his ravishingly majestic dignity from being a secret lover of perhaps a married man, Marc mocks his ex-lovers' self-loathing, allowing the cad small remorse, the timing of "take a look at my face for the last time" is the frosty icing on the probably poisoned cake. The Almighty Radio Edit luminates what is already a classic into a solid introduction for the unknowing.

Say Hello, Wave Goodbye (Almighty Radio Edit)