Bratty, showy, overly dramatic, saucy, sweet, derivative, brilliant, can I go on about these guys a bit?
Of course, the trick is in part knowing that they are all guys. First time I saw a picture of them I thought, "Okay, trio, female fronted, they say they're inspired by P J Harvey in part and I can see why." When I further discovered that Brian Molko is in fact one of the world most accomplished transvestites thanks to his blessed genetics and Louise Brooks bob, not to mention his good make-up skills, then I got really interested. Then I heard the music and that was that. Do not pass go, this is stuff that just flat out pushes my buttons in such an easy and perfect manner that I didn't even have to think about it; I knew I loved it from the first few notes of this album, their debut.
Molko's wicked whine of a singing voice has attracted all sorts of comparisons -- lots of people seem to want to say Geddy Lee, but hey, I like Rush myself, so chew on that if you want to make it a criticism. But there's something wonderfully breathless and just-that-little-hint-of decadent about it as well -- the signifiers may all be obvious to some, but so perfectly packaged and presented you can't say no, not unless, well, you're dead or something. Which is over-the-top hyperbole but that in part is the point -- it's music (and more) which doesn't so much beg thoughtful appreciation as slavering devotion.
So why slaver? For one thing, these guys rawk. Oh indeedy, and in ways that always feel so good. I hear all these good bits from all these characters in the music -- Sonic Youth, Smashing Pumpkins, Smiths, this that the other -- all pureed and put together perfectly, and since Molko's also the guitarist, I can't but be impressed by somebody who looks, sounds and plays good. And Stefan the bassist knows what he's doing as well, and so forth -- it's all good, as mentioned.
The songs just make me feel very bitchy and over-the-top and self-destructively passionate like nothing since Marc Almond, and that, of course, is a very very good thing indeed. Calling a tune "Teenage Angst" after that particular gambit was already beaten to death in the early nineties -- and including lines like "Since I was born I started to decay/Now nothing ever ever goes my way" -- and still making it all work is its own miracle. Then there's the way "Bionic" has such lovely instrumental breaks or how "Come Home" and "Bruise Pristine" and "36 Degrees" just thrash and rip and skip and collapse along with an amped-up drugged-out smashed-on-speed aggressiveness, or how "Lady of the Flowers" becomes this perfect ruined romance of a ballad that makes me want to imagine spotlights and collapse and theatricality beyond all bounds. And "Nancy Boy"? Only a three-minute blast of lust and perfume and bisexuality and everything that sounds like the world finally exploding in Bakhtin's carnival if that was actually any damn fun.
I am happy, not content, but insanely giddily happy, and that's what this album does for me.