Thursday, 10 July 2014


I can hear the sound of Paul Stanley's naked howls in the distance... the crowd roar but fade away leaving behind only his bellows for alcohol or rock and roll. His voice is gradually submerged in a blur of electronic melodies and pulsating mechanical beats.

The English countryside is an idiosyncratic mesh of crows and fields and trees and roadside cafes that are not described in the words of the American beats.

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