Everyone who went through a druggy, clubby phase then bumped into an old accomplice seven years later on the way to pick up a Sunday paper from the shop will spare a thought for Fischerspooner, the once-more-returned electroclash duo. “Warren!” “Casey! Is that you? Last time I saw you, you were naked in
a dungeon, chained to a penis ice-sculptor gargling each other’s ketamine snot. So, what’s changed?” Answer: not a lot. The Pong-like kicks, Kraftwerk-get-fruity synth trills and alien sex temptress mating-calls are all present and correct. All that seems to have been lost over the years of caning from the likes of ‘We Are Electric’ and ‘Danse En France’ are the tunes.