New Face In Hell does to my gut what the Velvet’s Gift never fails in doing – that is the spin back to life of a rottin’ stomach. If I were a guitarist I’d be a rhythm guitarist. I’d take the backseat, pass plaudits to the lead, and live a life of devotion to the pop of hips; the bringer of the rhyme of no reason to dancing tricks.
Title and knowledge of the fact aside, I still hear Smith scream, “And you face him… how?(!)” I somehow like it better that way. The judgement. And that kazoo, too, mocking the contagious nature of the lead guitar and its notions of musical notation. My eyes feel like irritated wounds. If I were sleeping now it would change everything. [Explanded & Deluxe.]