Cocteau Twins
Head Over Heels

THE REVIEW

Briars that intertwine and ensnare the thighs. A colossal cave, with its moist and majestic entrance. Gloomy, mysterious, and I, impotent infant, from the bottom of this deep precipice, am left open-mouthed, stunned by its enormity. I remain still, but a distant voice from within invites me to enter. By now, I've reached this point, tumbling, like Alice in the rabbit hole. Why not let go now? Why not venture forth and follow this mournful voice, yet so sensual, that, like a beguiling siren, has noticed my presence and now seeks to captivate my curiosity with wordplay and hallucinatory stories?

I listen intently to these words of hers, which to others' ears might sound like meaningless verses, mere associations of words, and yet for me, they are so profound, full of meaning, and, persuasive, they begin to become more and more familiar. "When mama was moth / I took bulb form..." This voice knows me and knows who and what I am. But it is distant, and its echo makes me believe it is unreachable, hidden in who knows what dark tunnel of this dark labyrinth that I must reach. "Five / Ten / Fiftyfold..." are like traces on the ground indicating the path I must follow. And, just as it happens to Alice just beyond that tiny door leading to Wonderland, the darkness around me suddenly transforms into a very sweet light while the desperate voice I perceived so far away now becomes closer and clearer and tells me of magical sugar sobs, of skies that open and bow to bizarre sobs...

Now this siren, this undefined being without a body, without eyes for me to look into, toys with confusing me and mocks my childhood fears, it drags me into reckless vortices, it screams pounding and incomprehensible words at me: "Glass candles are popping / Still we'll not keel over..."

And then silence.

As if I had fallen asleep. It is another distant sound that wakes me and I find myself aware of the rain of gold dust surrounding me and inside which, I can only kneel... That voice I felt closer has once again distanced itself, leaving me in this golden, dazzling, blinding mantle.

But then a lullaby creeps in slowly, slithering like a tempting serpent that I would do well to stay away from. The siren sings to me once more of illusions without history, without time, without any apparent sense: "Tinderbox of a heart / Left a shell is all..." and, again, like a jester of Evil, it drags me with an almost cheerful, carefree rhythm, the only "human" song I have heard so far, towards an exit. And now something begins to be glimpsed. My fears vanish, suddenly, without explanation, they dissipate quickly and I feel light, ready to meet the siren that has led me here with its voice. But, horror, I find myself in front of an abyss, and before me, the candid siren is nothing more than a demon ready to throw me into that dark and endless abyss. Its icy hand pushes me, and as I fall, I cannot help but hear its lament: a ruthless murderer mourning her victims. Closing my eyes, I let myself be swallowed by the darkness of this infinite abyss.

Gentlemen, this is "Head Over Heels", track by track.