Imagine you are climbing a fence, a five foot metal fence, and as you jump off the top of the fence, to reach the other side, your foot gets twisted around and impaled on a spike on said fence and you, hapless fence-jumper, are left hanging, by your ankle. Imagine lifting yourself and thus your own foot off the spike by grabbing hold of the fence whilst upside down and falling onto the floor of what turns out to be a graveyard, in agony, unable to move, having soiled yourself, waiting for the emergency services.
Imagine the music that would enter your head in this situation (excluding, the obvious, ‘I Will Survive’); perhaps trumpet-shredding, electro-cabaret up-down, up-down pop that’s part-time circus, part-time birthday, part-time funeral music sung over by a man who sounds like he feels your pain but manages to channel it into a legible yelp that is at the same time admirable, abrasive, dangerous and camp. Soon we might all shoot horses. Eating horse is legal in France. Welcome to my world.
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