An evening of Thomas Dolby remixes and special offer supermarket booze. Lipstick grabbed, then electro sloganeering scrawled across the pristine walls of the apartment as if the stereo’s not only sentient, but also fancies its chances with the analogue synth in the corner. Synthpop – I dig the corniness, the fucking obvious chord progression that’s neon-lit and bolted to the skyline, just to ensure you don’t miss your cue should you be loitering about the other side of the horizon. It’s a similar genus of stunt discernible in hair metal or generic baggy Mancunian indie from around the time that 1989 flipped gamely into 1990 – yet unlike these two examples, the template behind the electro-pop format is conscious of its limitations, its own flawed circumstance, and hence is in a far greater position to exploit apparent weaknesses – the insubstantial vocal track, the paucity of production, the rabbit-in-headlights posturings of the poor fools jabbing away at their Roland TR-555s. These naïve inflexions wouldn’t work in any other genre (save maybe skiffle, or grindcore – whatever that may be). “They only want you when you’re seventeen, when you’re twenty-one you’re no fun.” Taken out of context, or transplanted deep into the heart of your average country and western standard, the phrases that come to mind score quite highly on the uncomfortable scale; given a backdrop of concordant synths however (courtesy of Ladytron – as you well knew), and the subtleties of verbiage drift towards semantic liberation as if she really did blind me with science.
But what do I know? I’m drunk, and listening to Thomas Dolby remixes.
Johnny Magazine / Sandcastles
Freezepop / Science Genius Girl (Robotkid’s Lameboy Mix)
Thomas Dolby / She Blinded Me With Science (AudioDile’s Recalculated Formula)