ZANG TUMMM TUMB ARTICLES “the first draft of history”

Dome is where the art is

FRANKIE GOES TO HOLLYWOOD
‘Welcome To The Pleasure Dome
(ZTT IQ1)☆☆☆☆

NOT WITH a bang, but with a…?

With a cordial welcome to the pleasure dome, complete with overkill, overjoy and over compensation. This is not the real world, inconsistent though it be; were asked to raise chilled glasses of Pomange to Frankies make-up, make believe and make do, and its sheer indulgence in the extreme.

FGTH are about the senses, in a totally senseless way. To their infinite credit, they blend the hip with the witless-merit badges to those whingeing in the office that it sounded like Pink Floyd before reading the sly credits to them inside. What it amounts to is a major (to miner) coup in a way only touched on by McLaren, reeking as it does of hype and hypocrisy, while out of the mud bath crawls Frankie, smelling sweetly of amyl nitrate.

Lets submerge, indulge and fantasise. Wrapped sensuously around the ejaculations of ‘Relax and the wind scales of ‘Two Tribes comes a garden of Eden, made into an adventure playground. Wallow in the gyre with them, and gimble in the wabe (yes, paedophile Lewis Carroll gets credit in there too). Accuse them of Zola, of Neitzsche; uncover every plagiarism in the book, yet the masquerade remains intact. Life is a cabaret, old chum…

Lets pause for breath though to point out this aint no value for money bumper package. Double gatefold gloss it may be; but one side youll have already, while another frolicks in spurious versions of ‘San Jose and ‘Born To Run. But then, we all knew Frankie was a yob. Still, you can send off for Frankie designer bags, boxer shorts, even Frankie stick-on tattoos. Designs on your bodies as well as your minds, in a convenient package that doesnt stain the vein.

Meanwhile, back at the dome, FGTH are embracing the climatic and the aftermath, with a fair amount of aural exercise in between. Frankie says… quite a lot, actually, pretentious rubbish for which were rewarded with almost illicit ecstasy. Recoiled melancholia bursts upon our palate in ‘The Power Of Love; disco dementia on ‘The Onlv Star In Heaven. Frankie makes gullibility fashionable.

Make love, not nuclear bombs, they say, because either way well get an almighty bang. Welcome to the nightmare.

CAROLE LINFIELD