If you were to ask anyone, I’d suspect… for the majority of people nostalgia can be something quite overpowering; an abstract chain-link to something ingrained in that compartment of the brain I fail to recall the name of. And as thoughtful as it can be to look back at *placeholder topic*, unfortunately the mind is inclined to pull a fast one by getting itself (thereby us) unwittingly cast as the unreliable narrator, causing the spotlight of romanticism to blind us from the fact that, in all honesty, ‘classic’ Doctor Who (what this album is primarily dedicated to)… is a load of bollocks. But then again, this album is a convincing contrast from stated viewpoint; Captain Scarlett was also referenced/the open mind thing is encouraged.

Originating from the Nippon archipelago, P-Model’s initial, DEVOish style of accessible-satire brought them domestic success, however; the adverse-reaction-to-fame-crossroads thing occurred and soon enough this record appeared (amongst a few others prior). In comparison to their earlier recording efforts, the entire album was written and almost entirely performed by the band’s increasingly dominant frontman, the mighty Susumu Hirasawa (later solo credits include: certain Satoshi Kon film soundtracks). Although more or less a de facto (yet somewhat early) solo record from Hirasawa; it’s philosophical slant should provoke your mind beyond standard isolationist enlightenment, offering something perhaps a little more palatable than his unique, later New Ageist misadventures (though try if you dare).

Yanks… Anglophone in disposition, wearing the influences of their across-the-pond, somewhat better known peers (Smith and Mcculloch etc) on their presumed trench-coated sleeves, all the while avoiding being a 3rd rate throwaway like so many others? The pseudo-sentimentalism of the songs (generally) might sway the more delusional of listeners into thinking they are some kind of tartan-trousered, art-school spawn that quite possibly engages in hazing if said educational establishment was somehow an adjacent campus to West Point (notorious for hazing). Steering back into relevance, that kind of logic and/or unproven hypothesis should be put at ease since the record is a most pleasant minimal-synthesised experience.

The making one album before disbanding into obscurity, faux-quota/lament; although it’s probably more proto-EBM than the ill-defined terminology I’m trying to label this under, I think a show of appreciation for Neue Deutsch Welle might as well get bowling-bowled in, with its occasional-self-taught-saxophone-riptide-loving-form that’s (almost) interchangeable (though also not at all) with Cold Wave. I’m not sure what kind of corrosive substance the circuitry of this record’s production consoles were bathed in prior to its production line assembly, but it seems to have defied un-serviceability by getting warped to the point that French (although this band is German I understand) is the language of choice for this joyous car crash of an album (amongst the general disjointedness). I haven’t even bothered trying to search for lyrical translations as that would only serve to take away my confusion.

The main characteristic of distinction here is the vocalist’s jazz background; Soyac’s phrasing, fast vibrato and accent-fluctuating soaring delivery puts most of her punk-aligned contemporaries to shame; becoming a more than worthy companion to Spatz’s oft-malign, mains-dependent instrumentation. The ‘ahead of its time’ bestowment has been over-utilised to near-smothering, cliché effect (typically reserved for posthumous sycophancy), but I’d grant it here and happily stand by it. And while I’m still typing, the thematic content; such as the anti-corporate stance and the recurring disdain for patriarchal transgressions, are balanced out with peculiar, acted out nods to noir; I can’t say I’ve come across many song-scenarios involving a commotion caused by a mishap with a firearm ‘prop’ and an owner getting into an increasingly suspect confrontation with their misanthropic cat: artistic license I suppose.