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1991, Siren (Issue 2)
Having confessed to their misunderstanding of each other, it is small wonder that "Wings of Joy" is a curiously joyless, airless, but virtually magnificent creation. Caught somewhere in the Ruptured Brain ante-room only recently vacated by Dead Can Dance and the once-good Sugarcubes, this music is a protuberant mixture of the atmospheric and antiseptic. Garbled nursery rhymes collide with almost balletic tangles of often brutal cacophony; intoxicating in a weird, thickly coated, alien ambience, where elegantly distraught lines scurry for cover beneath burning blankets of sound, only to discover that everything is round, and there is no escape. The vocals, if that is what they are, gently fry in the middle.
Now this is all very well, parading a warlike countenance - an all-knowing genius baby caught in an air-raid - but it leads nowhere, bleeds everywhere, and eventually concertinas into fearful crescendos that begin to flag as early as halfway through the second side. No little fists can burst the big, bad balloons of impressive solemnity. Nobody can get in to help them. Velvet corkscrewed emotion smothers the mind and Cranes depart in a chilling, spectral sensation.
© Siren, 1991
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