Review: As the man on the keys for Suicide, Martin Rev had his fair share of success in the post-punk explosion, but his less mined solo back catalogue has a wealth of early synth studies that range from the uptempo strut of "Mari" to the obtuse chords and drones of "Jomo". For an album released in 1980 there really are some forward-thinking textures at work, not least on the creepy Cabs-esque "Baby O Baby" with beyond the grave vocals to boot. For any collector of music from the golden age of synthesiser innovation, this is an utterly essential reissue.
Review: The second effort from these legendary electro-aggro iconoclasts and progenitors of the punk-electronic marriage may have been less gnarly than its predecessor, but it's by no means less influential. The opening cut's title 'Diamonds. Fur Coat. Champagne' perhaps provides some clues as to the route that Suicide were to take, swapping the dingy back-alleys of yore for the neon-lit main drag, yet still with their inimitable style and swagger in full abundance. Nonetheless,the glitzy and debauched allure of their nocturnal serenades remains manifest, and this album remains an engaging and deliciously sleazy document of a New York that sadly no longer exists.
Review: Alan Vega and Martin Rev's Suicide project is no sideshow; the band have been a monumental part of the punk rock movement since the late 1970's, and they were coldwave before the term had even been coined. These dudes were kickin' back and gigging with Elvis Costello when they conceived Suicide, both their name and the title of their debut album, a total stroke of genius in just about every way. There's fuzzy, metallic drum machining on tracks like "Ghost Rider" and "Rocket USA" - proper warehouse gear - but the most striking moments come through the softer, more pensive songs like the absolutely sublime "Cheree". "Girl" is another jaw-braking ride across the grainiest of beats, but it's "Frankie Teardrop" that puts Suicide twenty years ahead of their time thanks to its rhythmic noise vibe that makes contemporary artists seem irrelevant. We can't recommend this enough - a total must.