I love this track: it makes my synth-geek heart go "beeeep". It sounds like it was recorded in an upstairs bedroom; the singer, Elly Jackson, belts it out like she doesn't know she's being listened to. Those granddaddies of British synth pop, Heaven 17, are all over this girl, as well they should be. It's like someone has come along and finally found the electricity that drives all those sequencers and drum machines. She's everything Yazoo dreamt of being but weren't quite. She's also playing New York's Webster Hall on February 7th. I will be there, in the front row, pogoing around in a way that suggests I don't get out as much as I used to.
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