Ethan Switch - Friday, 21 July 2006 - Print Version
Shiny and a bit round on the outside, the attack at the cracks and the case for the DVD is not for those who fail to overcome the intricacies of a child proof bottle of prescription medicine. Even those sold at the back of the milk bar by the kid with a shin splint and a green eye patch.
A slight emboss on the tab hook opens the hinge right up to shower its single disc goodies within. Solid in design and construction, the plastic soon reveals that it is nothing more than a filthy liar. Or at least deceptive. All sounds of the fairies signifying a meager wealth of material for the medium.
Two other audio tracks join in on the array, The Resurrectionist (Goetz B extended mix) and Girls don't cry. Both sitting right next to the audio and video for the titular track.
That and nothing else, leaving a whole lot of empty space on the rest of the shiny and black dead skin scratching implement.
Vivid stills of cards are what lie in wait watching on with the "Play All" option. A middling case for a better stereo system as the faint bass hits right through the layer of plastic shielding the cups. Holding back a sense is the feeling from the execution, or at least in presentation, of the audio. A rather empty experience but not without that classic Pet Shop Boys hum to the rafting melodies.
Feature of the DVD, I'm with Stupid, stars David Walliams and Matt Lucas, them blokes of Little Britain. Watching the theatrics of the two trying to impress Neil Tennant and Chris Lowe is a splendid spectacle if not strangely itching.
Other voices out there are already discussing and pointing out the relationship of the lyrics casting a light on that of El Presidente George W. Bush and UK Prime Ministerio Tony Blair. So why bother here.
No amount of button mashing yields a fruitful Easter egg to enjoy. Minutes go on and the hour is up and the sheer possibility that there are no Easter eggs to feast upon renders a blank expression. A severe bout of thin to non-existent liner notes examination takes its only joy in cursing the dust that chokes the lungs.
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Undone, unbound, the sounds aground, life's taking the train with a soundtrack of harmonic dissonance, of inner turmoils and evolutionary spotchecking.
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