Alison Goldfrapp is gifted. Not only she has a great name, but she’s very talented. Yet, she obviously has a problem with sex. She’s not the only one, for sure. But she’s issuing videos on a regular fashion, most of them attempting at sexy. And oh boy.
Miss Goldfrapp is nowhere near the sexy codes she tries to conform to. She does her best in an art installation like White Horse. She prances and beat her eyelashes for 3:40, dancing in formation with almost naked male dancers, whilst she’s obviously recapitulating her laundry list, a bit like Dusty Springfield on a much, much earlier gig. She’s Alison from accounting, given an extravagant budget to spice up the boss’ retirement party. As a French critic eloquently said about Françoise Hardy, “she sings like she’s vacuuming the floor”.
Utopia, one of the greatest songs of the 2000s, gets close to Metropolis but not quite, as it has nothing much to show but half the great album cover hairdo, glazed eyes and a good editing of parallel mountainscapes. Considering the subject matter, one will give it a pass.
Strict Machine has desperate “I’m in love” choruses while she dances with wolves. Sexy it is not, but let’s tolerate it while it lasts.
Train evokes more frankly an alleged home brand of sanitized bestiality. Everyone around her tries desperately to project a sexual vibe, but here she is, going through the moves but not there. This must be the reason why Goldfrapp remains a curio, albeit successful: the girl has much talent but no soul.
Your Lovely Head is a lovely song sung in a culotte. Madonna, dear.
So Cool she sings, brandishing a plastic chair, wearing white hooker boots. Terrible, terrible styling.
Rocket: Miss Goldfrapp steals an atomic rocket and looks as threatening as Avril Lavigne triggering Apocalypse with a bright pink penis and the help of a quatuor of lesbian dancers.
Happiness mainly display a guy who must have the strongest thighs in UK jumping around, with Miss Goldfrapp dispationately appearing in various cameos until people dance in the street. Yawn.
Number 1 is about more bestiality, except Miss Goldfrapp, a painted doll impersonating The Bride of Chucky, is unable to make it saucy.
Alive tries satanism, well its Eurovision version circa 1978. It’s aerobics on a pentacle.
A&E, Adam and Eve one presumes, is Mylène Farmer chance-meeting American Beauty, with Miss Goldfrapp as a nymph preferring the company of forest monsters to any human contact.
And finally, Twist is a ghost train vaguely inspired by Fellini’s La Citta delle Donne, diverted to crash in a wall when the Plaisir door opens. Desperate metaphors like snake mouth and opening apples can’t possibly make Miss Goldfrapp’s fake orgasm on the Big 8 credible.
Videos of the last album are a boring fare (and production) with B&W Terence Malick visual aspirations, and at least a lesbian serial beach killer. May one advise Miss Goldfrapp to call her video collection Train Wreck if she aspires so much as being the 21st century’s Bonnie Tyler?