The Vogue

The Vogue

As Brass and Satin


No wave new wave cracks the windows. Vocals whine and snarl like some teenage Andi Sex Gang, while the keyboards moan and fly in the background. The guitars jump out in a Make-Up manner, like rock n’ roll stripped down and cut on raw teeth. The drums kick like a Blues Explosion at times, but against the rest of the rhythms, it sounds darker and more menacing. Shadows on speed and it bites like a glam rock vampire at a New York nightclub surrounded by the thoughts of strung out gutter punks.

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