The freak show flickers and then, having flickered, fucks off....More on
So they come back. They all do eventually. Clogging up the arteries of pop. Flogging the dead horse into a bloody pulp. Hey - don't shit yourself onstage or get caught down-loading kiddie porn and you can last [I]for ages[/I]!
[a]Blondie[/a] were brilliant. A punk [a]Abba[/a]. Pamela Anderson and Tommy Lee Jones join the cast of [I]Friends[/I]. Safety-pinned bubble gum. Steps on smack. Ice cream and amphetamines. Oxymoron pop.
And this is a fine live album. Brash, fast, slick. The hits sound delicious. Press the skip button for the stuff you don't recognise. And the occasional muso-desecrated middle eight. But why would you want to [I]buy[/I] it? Unless you're the sort of heavy-breathing, Biro-sucking crypto-stalker who must have (shudder) [I]everything[/I] and thus gets excited by such pronouncements as "the ONLY authorized [I](sic) [/I]live version of 'One Way Or Another'". Gosh.
Pulse racing? Heart pounding? Palms sweating? I'm happy for you. Here's a tissue.
To read all our reviews first - days before they appear online - check out NME magazine, on sale every Wednesday