I suppose it's asking for trouble to read the sleeve notes on an album of Propaganda remixes. Not only were they a Euro-industrial art-rock synthesiser dance group emerging menacingly from the ruins of modern romanticism*, but they were signed to ZTT and promoted by Paul Morley.
Introduce the eulogising of a music journalist to this already dangerously volatile mixture and the results are the literary equivalent of painting with a pogo-stick.
Marvel at the artistry of the proseur:
In 1977, alchemical brothers David Bowie and Brian Eno went looking for Europe, the real Europe, the Europe of Dionysian decadence and intellectual hauteur. Seven bleak midwinters later, Propaganda found it.
...the effect achieved by Propaganda at the studio console with ex-Buggle Trevor Horn - the Dada Phil Spector, the Spector who'd heard of Eric Random and Eric Morecambe - for the Wagnerian disco apocalypse that was, is, and forever shall remain "The Nine Lives of Dr. Mabuse".
Propaganda's computerised dance symphonies mo'waxed, rephlexed and warped for the 21st century? Only someone numb from the hair down wouldn't get get turned on by 'that' idea. What did they used to say? The exploitation of all possible sensations. Noise and girls come out to play. Sheer brutal beauty.
Erm, yeah. That's pretty much what I was thinking myself, you know, though I have to say I don't remember "them" saying it, whoever "they" may be. Still, surely some sleeve-notes must be a bit more down to earth? Like the ones from a Motörhead album, perhaps?
Lemmy merely grinned and wiggled his fingers at the ceiling. Each one bore a large and differently designed, evil-looking silver ring. "Yeah, like me - I'm not flash at all, am I? Hargh! Hargh! Hargh!"
Oh... maybe not then.
* Maybe I could be a music journalist!
