He twists his voice genielike into seductive vocal apparitions; light, sighing falsettos, Beatlesesque midrange harmonics, and fuzzy, garbled funk psychedelia.
Singer Dominique Durand add some interest with her British-trained Frenglish, as when she sings, “Eet ees a queek ahnd painless death.” So sweet and powdery.
It’s sonic sensationalism writ large, full-blown fakery as lush, powerful, melodramatic and meaningless as their platform-shod stomping grounds of Los Angeles.
Personally, I wish the songs were shorter. That way, the forty-plus minutes of my life I wasted listening to this disc would be only twenty or thirty minutes.