Sinister: It's only baroque'n'roll, but I like it. I like it? No, I don't.

[Michael Jones]

Arantxa - your vague suggestion is my poorly-executed command.

[I Fought In A Wah!] 
Opens with a clap of synthetic thunder, then it's Geddes, fingers
aflame, squashing monolithic groans out of a bent Casio.  Appalling.

[The Modem] 
A letter of complaint to US Robotics found in an abandoned satchel
forms the basis for the Belles' first foray into hip-hop.  Stevie
hollers "It's says 56k, but it's not even close".  The siren-wail
that persists throughout is actually screaming Matador execs,
timestretched, looped and generally spazzed about on an iMac.

[Beef Or The Sun Risk] 
BSE or skin cancer?  That's the stark choice facing the protagonist
of this little gem.  Neil's slap-bass is particularly striking.

[Waiter, There's A Moon In My Soup] 
Sarah, struck by the reflection in her oxtail as she dines out on the
terrace, wonders aloud about space travel.  She rhymes 'Mir' with
'fear' and 'geo-stationary orbit' with 'Ronnie Corbett'.  It's
weightless.

[Don't Leave The Flight Now, Baby] 
Stuart M wrestles with an unusually strong infant-with-a-death-wish,
30,000ft above the North Atlantic.  Some well observed stuff about
airline meals, but poisoned sonically by a lot of unnecessary
12-string noodling. 

[The Chong Girl] 
Stevie meets a young woman named Annabel, who offers to show him her
early Stones bootlegs.  Soon the hapless Mr Jackson is in a room with
250 naked men, and has to make his excuses.  A wry, dry, surprisingly
spry gambol through Noel Coward territory.

[The Shallow Limes] 
Vicious lyrical bomb from Murdoch, full of f-words. Sounds like a
fist-fight between Fred Frith and Frank Field in a Fife fishmongers. 
On a Friday.  Flippin' 'eck.

[Nice Day For A 1982 Associates LP] 
The obvious airplay hit.  SM has a shower, and then phones his
brother up.  Within the hour, he'll smash another cup.  There's a
Beefheart feel to the percussion, some of which is played by chimps. 
Or *should* be.

[Woman's Ream] 
14 minutes of loose-leaf goodness.  Soaked in strings, saturated with
brass, drenched in woodwind and positively waterlogged by a
200-strong choir.  There's some line about "Put your faith in Glaxo".
 I really don't know what this one's about, but I feel more
spiritually centered for hearing it.  A4?  A1!

[The Family III] 
Throwaway glam-stomper about fly-on-the-wall docs.  Isobel sings this
at gunpoint.  Nice flanging.

[There's Too Much L'oeuf] 
Breakfast complaints from Mad Dog.  Doesn't really get going until
Richard peels the felt off his sticks, and really punishes some
skins.  Lots of ad-libbed shuffling about at the end.   

Mike x.

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