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{{a|record review|{{image|Blondie Atomic|jpg|}}}} | {{a|record review|{{image|Blondie Atomic|jpg|}}}}{{drop|I|t should not}} make sense. NONE OF IT MAKES SENSE. | ||
{{smallcaps|Three blind mice}} meet a marching band, they run into Sergio Leone in a New York disco, he takes them on a subterranean rollercoaster with a punk rock drummer at the helm on a quest to see this otherworldly blonde goddess murmuring expectantly about the on-rushing world’s end. | {{smallcaps|Three blind mice}} meet a marching band, they run into Sergio Leone in a New York disco, he takes them on a subterranean rollercoaster with a punk rock drummer at the helm on a quest to see this otherworldly blonde goddess murmuring expectantly about the on-rushing world’s end. | ||
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If this is nuclear holocaust — an atom-age ''rapture''<ref>See what I did there?</ref> — then I ''want'' this sweet apocalyptic disco. | If this is nuclear holocaust — an atom-age ''rapture''<ref>See what I did there?</ref> — then I ''want'' this sweet apocalyptic disco. | ||
<big>{{smallcaps|Part I: Three blind mice}}</big><br>'' | <big>{{smallcaps|Part I: Three blind mice}}</big><br>{{drop|W|''hat''? Why start}} ''there''? Because it plays a trick. A triumphal ascent, set to a martial, marching cadence to signify their — ''our'' — steady progress to our certain evisceration. ''Did you ever see such a thing in your life''? The beat is mechanical, like a machine beyond mortal control, a crazy escalating upbeat, but in case we have not deduced what the nice found out, ''we are in a minor key''? We can’t say we weren’t warned, warned, but things are beyond our reasonable power to change. At the crescendo — are we happy or sad? — a parade ground drumroll — what is ''coming'', and is this ''it'', or a premature end? An adolescent spurt? A jolt, ''un petit mort'' — sex is death & death is sex, a little cresting wave, a sure-shot snareshot — ''stop'' — | ||
<big>{{smallcaps|Part II: The Vamp: Spaghetti western guitars & an impatient punk drummer}}</big><br> | <big>{{smallcaps|Part II: The Vamp: Spaghetti western guitars & an impatient punk drummer}}</big><br>{{drop|W|e open on}} a wide empty dustbowl, a kerrang of spaghetti western guitars and the rollercoaster clunges down into the abyss. Now the drummer, Burke, sets the pace, pulling frantically at the beat, a brisk four-on-the-floor stomp, hauling the band along at 135 — you ''know'' he’d go 150 if they’d only get a leg on — just two measures in and he’s given up on the quarter notes and is ''impatiently drumming his fingers'' with sarcastic hi-hat triplets as if to say, NO RUSH GUYS JUST WHEN YOU ARE READY. | ||
They cycle around the intro vamp. Second go-round, those hi-hat triplets are louder, the snare-stomp more strident — thje Drummer, Burke, is like come ''on'', man, we haven’t got all ''day'' don’t you know there’s a sweaty cataclysm going down? | They cycle around the intro vamp. Second go-round, those hi-hat triplets are louder, the snare-stomp more strident — thje Drummer, Burke, is like come ''on'', man, we haven’t got all ''day'' don’t you know there’s a sweaty cataclysm going down? | ||
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<big>{{smallcaps|PART III: Enter the Golden goddess of the Disco.}}</big><br> | <big>{{smallcaps|PART III: Enter the Golden goddess of the Disco.}}</big><br> | ||
{{drop|K|aboom! There it}} is! Suddenly we’re exultant: it’s a breezy major, the disco bass leads, and the drummer, Burke, is back in the pocket like he’s saying ''I told you so''. He’s just doing the cha-cha, cheerleading now, for ''here is the golden goddess''. | |||
“Uh-ha, make it all right,” she says. It seems trite, but she’s right — she make it ''magnificent'' — and Destri’s keys are pealing church-bell hosannahs like it’s the Eighteen Twelve. Now everything is ''so'' major and positive and ''rising'' — even your ''hair'' is beautiful — and we know something more is coming and ''blam'' — some throbbing arpeggiator explodes onto the soundscape and mixed in with the blood and ecstasy ''we are in the minor again''. line and we are thundering down into the depths once more in a beautiful minor - you can't understand joy if you don't know sorrow | “Uh-ha, make it all right,” she says. It seems trite, but she’s right — she make it ''magnificent'' — and Destri’s keys are pealing church-bell hosannahs like it’s the Eighteen Twelve. Now everything is ''so'' major and positive and ''rising'' — even your ''hair'' is beautiful — and we know something more is coming and ''blam'' — some throbbing arpeggiator explodes onto the soundscape and mixed in with the blood and ecstasy ''we are in the minor again''. line and we are thundering down into the depths once more in a beautiful minor - you can't understand joy if you don't know sorrow | ||