PJ Proby,
Hardcore
(Savoy Records, 1987)
Even if you never hear it, another catastrophic shockwave travelling through the body pop. True, this is fanatical obscenity, a record you could probably be prosecuted for owning, even. Hip hop at its most impacted crosses HM stalactite chords and guitar-abuse solos. Be startled by the disappearance of the beat: it propagates until there is a stentorian thunder, mistracking-stylus mode. It reaches an idiot-hyper-sexuality. Innuendo, rock's usual figleaf, is bypassed. So much sexual message is broadcast that 'sex' burns out, is exhausted in an outrage of artlessness and celebration of the sexual drives that pop usually polices or orders. Absurdly apocalyptic, it calls itself "the last Rock'n'Roll record made in England", wants to be the last moment, pop's supernova. It spirals into scam, claims to be the collaboration by PJ Proby and Madonna. I listened to it twice and turned to a pillar of salt.
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