|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
||||||||
|
|
![]() |
|
|
|
|
|
|||||||||||||
|
|
|
||||||||||||||||||
|
|
|
|
|
||||||||||||||||
![]() |
|
||||||||||||||||||
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
|
||||||||||||||||
|
|
|
|
|||||||||||||||||
|
|
New: Embed this album on your own site! Ok, Berlin is just so damn sexy. Angular, androgynous, pouty—it's a Bowie/Siouxsie-influenced urchin of an album that'll have you strutting around the house like a Milanese model on a Fashion Week catwalk. Highlights include the smouldering opener "Impressions," the world's only New Wave drinking song "We Didn't Go," and the deliciously disaffected "Tap At Floes." Skeptics take note: this is not the trend-hopping New Wave of the last few years; this the direct descendent of New Wave...its legitimate heir.
|
![]() |
|
|||||||||||||||
|
|
||||||||||||||||||