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...dream scape's of angular propulsion populate the grooves on this 1979 japanese wax of some considerable weight when weighed against some other new/NO wave joints that were making themselves known to the trendy hip world of post punk endeavours...to get a handle on the sound here one must think in terms of northern english angst mixed in and stirred with bursts of smiling sun shiney jiggery pokery coming from the likes of L.A.F.M.S roundabout the same time...the tunes drift along while forever striving forward pulled by imaginary but real strings woven from the need to express a new way of imparting their thoughts and postulations, then collapsing to return for fresh engagements with the unfurling curiosities that spring to the surface moments later...after a few spins the ancient folk melodies that had been hiding behind a sheen of bohemian gauziness appear and beg forgiveness for any intrusion and proceed to guide the listener into that always close but somehow fragmentary illusive parallel universe, the place where IT all goes in a does not have to come out, the end zone where all is known to the ones that need to know, the chosen anointed beatnik free from the hassles of mankind...
...dream scape's of angular propulsion populate the grooves on this 1979 japanese wax of some considerable weight when weighed against some other new/NO wave joints that were making themselves known to the trendy hip world of post punk endeavours...to get a handle on the sound here one must think in terms of northern english angst mixed in and stirred with bursts of smiling sun shiney jiggery pokery coming from the likes of L.A.F.M.S roundabout the same time...the tunes drift along while forever striving forward pulled by imaginary but real strings woven from the need to express a new way of imparting their thoughts and postulations, then collapsing to return for fresh engagements with the unfurling curiosities that spring to the surface moments later...after a few spins the ancient folk melodies that had been hiding behind a sheen of bohemian gauziness appear and beg forgiveness for any intrusion and proceed to guide the listener into that always close but somehow fragmentary illusive parallel universe, the place where IT all goes in a does not have to come out, the end zone where all is known to the ones that need to know, the chosen anointed beatnik free from the hassles of mankind...
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