Disturbing events in the Life De Duke #3426765
What happened back in the day, the day being the one in which the event in question took place, was that The Duke was browsing through the weekly magazine concerning the rock, the guitars, the yelling and so on, a genre which was, at the time, predominately populated by young men with bad hair and snarly looks about the chops. Certainly if a young teenage fella should wish to explore things a tad in the bathroom, for example, he would need to be acquainted with more than the likes of Kerrang! magazine, although best to keep it to hand also, since afterwards you might wanna read something cool about NOFX before you felt like getting up again.
What happened was that The Duke chanced to discover a photograph in that very rock weekly, a photograph of a young vixen with ice-blue eyes and really, quite the most seductively filthy gaze. This woman is gorgeous, thought The Duke, oh how gorgeous she most certainly is.
The discovery that the temptress in question was not, in fact, a lady, but actually a short fella by the name of Brian, certainly made for some interesting conversation. Around these parts, motherfucker, we don't find ourselves getting attracted to people called Brian unless we, ourselves, have names like Elizabeth or Susan. You better watch yourself, The Duke.
The reason all this nonsense has returned for to haunt The Duke, is that very recently a package arrived containing the compact CD entitled Once More With Feeling, being the collected singles of Placebo, the outfit fronted by the young fella in question, the one what looks like a very attractive lady, but no, is in fact a short fella called Brian Molko.
Placebo have had a rough time of late here in the United UK. Never one to administer accolade when a kick in the guts can be just as fulfilling, the likes of NME and such tend to shy away from these cretins. It wasn't always so, of course.
Who could ignore that first burst of singles, all included here, the stuff from the debut like Nancy Boy or 36 Degrees or, best of all, Bruise Pristine? These gothic, Bowie-worshiping slabs of concise, chopping melody. For sure, all that guff about "Since I was born I started to decay" could only be loved by a 14 year old, possibly even one who has confused emotions towards the singer, but there's no denying the power of it all, daft self-pitying twaddle aside.