Few people define LGBTQ+ life, now as then, like Marc Almond. A Brit Brel in the gutter, his lyrics alluded to the emptiness of hedonism in a time when pop was shoving its squeaky party balloons up our asses at every available opportunity.
Soft Cell were more dodgy clubs, cheap booze and shit speed. They were the antithesis of Duran Duran in their shiny suits hanging off the arms of supermodels. Soft Cell wore black, looked pale and drawn and were attracted to seedy places and misfits.
Bedsitter holds up well, as Almond understands the horrendous comedown as well as the highs. “KID MYSELF I’M HAVING FUN”, he sighs, lamenting his wear and tear in the mirror and that his life has come to this. It’s as pertinent as ever, the poetry of ennui and despair to an electronic pulse.
thetempohouse 