which sounds, let us now praise all glowing artificial things, are like none other on the planet. this has always been Coil’s central charm, the warmth inside their icy miles-deep exterior, the thing that brings me back to them again & again: there is something exquisitely human in a song like this album’s second number, “Red Birds Will Fly Out of the East and Destroy Paris in a Night.” one moment it sounds exactly precisely indistinguishably like Jean-Michel Jarres Oxygene, and the next moment even more so, and then, after ten minutes of you or me or whoever goin’ “hey, isn’t this just new age stuff?” smoothly transitioning into fully-tweaked wave-form aggression capable of either moving mountains or pretending that there never were any mountains anyplace except maybe in your MIND. from within the heart of the machine whose metallic tendrils they have wholeheartedly embraced, Coil extracts the sound of their own blood pumping. incredible! unbelievable! anybody who thinks i’m joking about this either hasn’t bought the record yet or hasn’t had nearly enough to drink. |
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