VIDEOKILLER - Dance with the "Lovenight" by Paola Iezzi

VIDEOKILLER - "Lights" by Hurts

VIDEOKILLER - "The War on Drugs" by Red Eyes (video+Jimmy Choo campaign W/A)

VIDEOKILLER - "The Chamber" (Explicit) by Lenny Kravitz

LIVE AND KICKING - La prima volta dei Blondie in Italia!

(ANSA) - MILANO, 04 SET - Si sono fatti attendere 40 anni, ma ne e' valsa la pena: ieri al Circolo Magnolia e' andato in scena il primo concerto italiano dei Blondie, storica formazione punk newyorkese. L'ex coniglietta Debbie 'Blondie' Harry e' salita sul palco con un abito a righe verticali, quasi a ricordare le 'Parallel Lines' dell'omonimo album, il primo grande successo discografico che proietto' il gruppo dal punk alle classifiche pop e disco grazie ad 'Heart Of Glass': e' stata proprio questa canzone a chiudere il concerto, prima dei bis, ultimo regalo ai tremila spettatori del Magnolia.  Se il chitarrista Chris Stein non e' in forma e viene aiutato dal giovane ed esuberante Tommy Kessler, ci pensa l'altro membro fondatore, Clem Burke, alla batteria a dare un ritmo serrato al live: ad aprire le danze il punk dal gusto retro-sixties di 'One Way Or Another', uno dei primi singoli del gruppo, recentemente tornato nelle classifiche grazie a una cover degli One Direction. La scaletta alterna per un'ora e mezza vecchi successi a brani dell'ultimo album uscito a maggio, 'Ghosts of Download' (raramente all'altezza dei classici, tranne 'Euphoria' e 'A Rose By Any Name'). Ma sono proprio le hit i momenti piu' attesi: come 'Maria' che anche grazie a uno spot pubblicitario fu uno dei singoli piu' venduti in Italia del 1999; 'Call Me', scritta da Giorgio Moroder, che scatena il pubblico; 'The Tide Is High', alla quale Debbie si augura che il vicino Idroscalo non esondi come la suddetta marea; ma anche classici come 'Rapture' o 'War Child' ("questa canzone parlava della Palestina nel 1982 e da allora non e' cambiato niente", dice Debbie).  Se non sempre il concerto fila alla perfezione, e piu' di una volta Debbie deve chiedere il sostegno del foltissimo pubblico del Magnolia, a tenere insieme il tutto ci pensa un carisma e un fascino che non pare calato dal 1974: la regina del punk avra' un caschetto ormai piu' platino che biondo, ma e' ancora una stella del palco che sa incantare. Il concerto e' anche una festa: "stiamo celebrando i nostri 40 anni - dice dal palco la cantante - non riesco a pensare che siamo arrivati fin qui". E allora alle canzoni del gruppo si mescolano altre suggestioni, brani dei Beastie Boys ('Fight For Your Right') e dei Sex Pistols ('Anarchy in the UK'), omaggi a
un mito punk che ingenuamente vorrebbe reincarnarsi nelle magliette dello storico club 'CBGB' indossate da molti spettatori (oltre che, a buon diritto, dallo stesso Clem Burke sul palco), ma che va oltre gli anni '70 e si contamina, come la discografia dei Blondie ha saputo dimostrare toccando negli anni discomusic, reggae e pop e trovando cosi' un suo posto nella storia.

VIDEOKILLER - "Let me down gently" by La Roux

VIDEOKILLER - "Living without you" by Monarchy

NEWS WAVE - Debbie Harry by Annie Leibovitz (for Vanity Fair)

NEWS WAVE - Tutti a Roma, alla mostra sugli anni '80 "Dark Portrait"

Articolo di Ernesto Assante (dal suo blog)
C'è una bella mostra a Roma, alla s.t fotolibrearia di via degli Ombrellari 25, si intitola Dark Portrait, con delle belle fotografie di Dino Ignani. In quegli anni c'ero anche io, non ero dark ma frequentavo i club della Capitale dove si muoveva la scena della new wave romana, dal Uonna al Murales, dal Black Out all'Olimpo, dalle serate Danceteria all'Executive a quelle dei Piper, dal videobar di Corso Vittorio del quale ora mi sfugge il nome all'Hemingway di piazza delle Coppelle, all'X e Metal X di via Rasella e molti altri posti ancora. Era una scena vivacissima, con tante nuove band, molti artisti di ogni genere, tantissimi "pretenders", ragazzi ognuno con il suo stile, la sua personalità, la sua storia. E' stata una stagione fantastica che Dino Ignani, all'epoca, fotografò con costanza. Molte facce le ricordo perfettamente, alcuni sono ancora miei amici, molti altri li avevo dimenticati e li rivedo con affetto. Sono centinaia di ritratti, raccolti anche in un bel catalogo. E il tutto fa parte di un festival interessante, Fotoleggendo.

Nei video-bar e nelle discoteche dell'epoca, specialmente di Roma (dal Black Out all'UonnaClub all'intramontabile Piper), ma anche in feste private, Ignani predisponeva un set preferibilmente neutro e invitava i presenti a farsi ritrarre. Il risultato del progetto -iniziato nel 1982 e terminato tre anni dopo- è una galleria di quattrocento immagini in bianco e nero, selezionate e riproposte per la prima volta in una mostra che intende valorizzare l'originaria vocazione seriale del progetto e rintracciarne le più ampie implicazioni descrittive.
Dietro una rappresentazione standardizzata e apparentemente distaccata di quel mondo, si nasconde infatti l'esigenza del fotografo di cogliere le specificità individuali e la trama creativa dei nuovi stili di vita. Ignani si dedica a registrare e a valorizzare i minimi dettagli e i segni distintivi del popolo dark: il trucco, gli accessori e le acconciature sono i grandi protagonisti delle immagini, e sono gli stessi elementi che successivamente, come spesso accade, saranno riassorbiti dal mondo della moda.
Alla mostra si accompagna la pubblicazione di un libro curato dalla galleria s.t.. Non un semplice catalogo, ma un progetto editoriale che punta ad abbinare le immagini a testi di matrice diversa. Oltre all'articolo di D'Agostino, scritto nel 1985 per la rivista "Rockstar", viene riproposto un racconto dello scrittore Emanuele Trevi, apparso sulle pagine romane de "La Repubblica", che vede come protagonista un adolescente romano di ritorno dal suo viaggio iniziatico a Londra: Un punk sulla spiaggia di Ostia.
Concepiti per l'occasione sono invece il testo della giornalista de "L'Unità" Daniela Amenta -un commosso ma anche spiritoso amarcord sull' "avere vent'anni trent'anni fa", e quello di Paola Paleari -curatrice con Matteo Di Castro del progetto- la quale riconduce la lettura delle immagini e dell'immaginario di quell'epoca al contesto attuale.

NEWS WAVE - The '80s Revival by JP Gaultier

Jean Paul Gaultier has gone back to 80's for his last Winter-Summer Collection 2013. Take a look (of love)!

VIDEOKILLER - "You spin me around" by Dead or Alive (original, new version and extended)

NEWS WAVE - Against all odds, Duran Duran is the perfect band for the Olympics

Article by Paul Morley for "The Observer"

All through the 80s, I hated Duran Duran, when for some they were the kings of pop. I hated them because they acted as though they were minor members of the royal family, but those that loved them did so because they made grand, escapist music reflected in escapist videos celebrating their own playboy riches.

When I interviewed them for the NME in 1982, they were already lording it over the charts and playing ornate pop rooted in the otherness of Bowie and the cool of Roxy Music but somehow also in the scarves of the Bay City Rollers and the barnets of Slik. I was so angry at their self-importance that I could never bring myself to call them by the name they had lifted from Roger Vadim's Barbarella – they seemed more soap than space opera.

I used different names for them, my favourite being Diana Diana. (Writing such a piece now, I would call them, among other things, Seb Seb or Lordy Lordy.) Even then, they resembled the freshly minted Princess of Wales; you could see where her look as a fan derived from, certainly her hair, eyeliner and posing genius. You could see Diana as the female member of Duran Duran as Cilla was the female Beatle.

That's one reason why it's apt that they have been selected to be the English pop act marking the opening of the Olympic Games, a decision that provoked so much hand-wringing last week. Duran Duran created a soundtrack to the Diana years and carry with them the glory and burden of those years in much the same way Vera Lynn does for the war years. And, of course, they are mates of James Bond, if merely the plastic Roger Moore model, sealing the "international-symbol-of-Britain-whether-we-like-it-or-not" deal when two Beatles are dead and Adele and Coldplay are too extreme, and when most of the world has no knowledge of PJ Harvey and Arctic Monkeys, let alone Siouxsie and the Fall.

But I hated them, in the 80s. I hated them from the point of view of a rock critic taking pop seriously, even when it was just for fun. They fancied themselves as not so much the made-up boy band they clearly were – the pretty one, the chubby one, the moody one, possibly the talented one, etc – but as Peel-listening pop conceptualists mixing the Sex Pistols with Chic. (Wanton English energy and brazen processed disco, an interesting formula I may have stolen when working with Frankie Goes to Hollywood, my personal chart retort to Dreary Dreary.) Duran Duran, though, sounded forced, lacking the subversive swagger of the Pistols and the transcendent swing of Chic and leaving behind an embellished melodic sludge. They were perhaps more Sweet crossed with Abba – a classically cheering formula for the flashy, revivalist entertainment required by an Olympic Games opening ceremony.

To understand them you need to understand the times. Duran Duran arrived only a few years after punk transformed the idea of what rock could be, in a Britain dragging itself out of the bruising, disorientating 70s. Things were intellectually and spiritually tightening up inside the iron grip of Thatcherism, and at the same time loosening up economically and socially.

Music magazines turned glossy, gossipy and colourful, requiring new sorts of decorated fairytale cover stars, a backlash against the hifalutin' weekly inkies containing thousands of intense words about Cabaret Voltaire.

All new pop then made by those interested in being the latest thing had to be influenced by punk, if just the look, the clothes and the expression. One consequence was an experimental sonic elaboration of punk's ideological spirit and aesthetic vision but a rejection of the safety-pinned visual cliche; this became known as post-punk. Another consequence was more theatrical, with dandy tabloid-labelled New Romantics looking back longingly over the spiky heads of the harsher, angrier punk to the showy costumes and window-dressing camp of glam, where pop stars looked like pop stars.

Some groups could float, sometimes self-consciously, sometimes serenely, between those two camps – Human League, Japan, Depeche Mode, ABC – and others occupied a more purist, thoughtful zone, advocating mental glamour – Gang of Four, New Order, Associates, Magazine, the Smiths. The hardcore New Romantics were definitely all about the clothes, cosmetics, travel and showing off; as a response to grievous, turbulent times, Steve Strange, Spandau Ballet, Wham! and Duran Duran preferred the dolled-up posing in pampered cliques inside VIP sections of exclusive nightclubs. They weren't privileged, but pretended they were, which could be annoying if you didn't get the joke, and especially annoying and complacent when it isn't a joke.

New Romance wasn't all about the fancy dress, shaky pretension and cocktails. There were those displaying convincing signs of resistance to the mediocre, to the restrictive and ordinary – the presence on Top of the Pops of daring Boy George blurring the sexes and positively confusing the mainstream mind, Soft Cell's northern sauce, and something deviant dripping from Adam Ant's painted brow was a sign of intact subversive punk spirit filtered through a kinky dream of Bowie.

Those moaning about Duran Duran singing for the Olympics are being as nostalgic for something as the thing they criticise is – nostalgic for a time when it was clearer what the meaning and purpose of pop was and why it was worth fighting for. They are inheriting 30-year-old critical standards that do not apply now. It's the same with Eurovision. Something perhaps representing a deeper, richer and more inspiring sense of the restless, radically creative British spirit would be crushed by the essentially fraudulent and kitsch nature of the event. I worry about the Specials, Blur and New Order show closing the Olympics and any remaining transformative energy being squashed by routine, committee-organised ceremony.

Engelbert is finger-on-the-pulse correct for Eurovision, where the English pop 60s might as well never have happened, let alone glam, punk and rave, in the way Duran Duran are finger-on-the-pulse correct for an Olympics event, which has nothing to do with music, art, innovation and fashion, but is to do with publicity, marketing, fabricated history and the celebration of success.

In a mainstream pop world so thoroughly emptied, mostly by constant, degrading replication, of pop art, punk militancy, artistic surprise and disruptive, maverick gaiety, Duran Duran as representatives of English talent are an incredible, inspired choice. Theirs is not necessarily musical talent, but just a brilliant ability to take themselves seriously in the middle of general superficial commercial mayhem, to manifest a sense of occasion, however preposterous, and parade their own self-appointed greatness – self-promotional skills that make the group as contemporary as anything. Equally of the moment is their unashamed conclusion first broadcast while Thatcher cruelly reigned that tough times call for nothing more and nothing less than a party; 30 years later, tough times, unsympathetic, cutting Tory government, and the wrinkled New Romantic superheroes are still available to those that need saving through sheer hammy, self-loving spectacle.

So, yes, I've hated Duran Duran since the 80s, but now, in a world where they are attacked for being too old and dated, for obviously accepting a prominent showbusiness invitation, I find myself drifting toward a sympathetic position. I don't love them or anything – that's impossible, especially after their version of Elvis Costello's Watching the Detectives, which is Rolf Harris meets David Sylvian. I may, though, have developed a grudging respect for the way as enduring light entertainers they're perfectly poised in a very modern fashion between being prized national treasures and grotesque figures of fun. The marginalised, even mocked, New Romantic movement they stolidly represent has, for better or worse, turned out to be a big influence on the current ostentatious, synthetic pop landscape filled with bragging, stunts and fancy dress.

Perhaps stubborn Duran Duran were right all along; being a pop star is all about being sure of yourself, whatever anyone else says.

The Old Romantics

FLOCK OF SEAGULLS

Known for singer Mike Score's hairstyle as much as singles like I Ran (So Far Away), they had a series of international hits in the early 80s.

DEPECHE MODE

Now one of the biggest goth-pop acts in the world, but started life as New Romantics - 1981's Just Can't Get Enough was the first of many top ten singles.

VISAGE

Formed by Steve Strange, right, and Rusty Egan, released three albums in the early 80s and had their biggest success with Fade To Grey, a worldwide hit.

SPANDAU BALLET

With hits like True and Gold, Spandau Ballet were one of the biggest acts of the 80s. They split in 1990, but reformed for a world tour in 2009.

JAPAN

Unsurprisingly big in the Far East, the avant-garde five-piece had their biggest UK hit with Ghosts, which reached number five in the singles chart in 1982.

VIDEOKILLER - "Stand and Deliver" by Adam&The Ants

NEWS WAVE - Devo Rememberin'

Early photo of DEVO in their classic yellow suits. Note the early belts made of thin tape. Used to promote their first album, "Q: Are We Not Men? A: We Are Devo!" - 1978.

VIDEOKILLER - All you need is now! On November 8th Duran Duran's "Girl Panic!" video-kolossal is out. Take a look at the sexy backstage

The eighties gave us supermodels, and they gave us Duran Duran. Fast-forward to 2011 and they’re all making headlines again. The band recruited five über-supers for a video for “Girl Panic!,” its new single off the album All You Need Is Now, released earlier this year. In the nine-minute clip directed by Jonas Akerlund (the Grammy Award winner behind Lady Gaga’s “Telephone”) and made in collaboration with Swarovski Elements, Naomi Campbell, Cindy Crawford, Eva Herzigova, Helena Christensen, and Yasmin LeBon play Simon, John, Nick, Roger, and an “anonymous guitarist,” while the real members of the group appear as bellhops, waiters, chauffeurs, and paparazzi. Domenico Dolce and Stefano Gabbana even make cameos as Harper’s Bazaar U.K.’s guest editors during a photo shoot scene, images from which can be found in that magazine’s actual December issue. “It’s all daft stuff, but it’s fantastic daft stuff,” says John Taylor in a “making of” video that Style.com is debuting exclusively here. Check back on Tuesday, November 8, for our interview with Nick Rhodes and the complete music video.

Nicole Phelps for "Style.com"

Watch the backstage of "Girl Panic!"

http://www.style.com/stylefile/2011/11/duran-duran-super-sized/

Duran Duran’s “Girl Panic!” is Coming!
Premiering on November 8th on VEVO.com

TALK TALK - Blondie forever! Debbie Harry interviewed (part 1)

In a feature that originally appeared in The Stool Pigeon, John Doran talks to Debbie Harry about the history of Blondie, heroin, reggae and New York City. Debbie Harry photographed by Rebecca Miller.

Unusually for a bona fide pop icon, Debbie Harry was already 33 when Blondie released their UK breakthrough album Parallel Lines in 1978, and had even turned 34 when 'Heart Of Glass' was a colossal debut hit in the US a year later. In pop terms, the dynamic core of the group — Harry and her then boyfriend, the guitarist Chris Stein — were already neighing skittishly in the shadow of the glue factory when they hit paydirt. And this ascent to fame goes from being improbable to downright astonishing when you cast your eye over Harry's full CV. It seems unlikely that anyone attempting to tread in her footsteps would have any kind of life left to live by their mid-thirties.

Born on July 1, 1945 in Florida to parents who gave her up for adoption, Debbie Harry grew up in suburban Jersey, where she spent her time formulating plans of escape and daydreaming that Marilyn Monroe was her biological mother. In 1965 she moved to New York City, clicking naturally with the bohemian set, and joined the whimsical folk rock group The Wind In The Willows. Their one album on Capitol, released in 1968, was produced by Artie Kornfeld, who was determined to earn some of that hippy dollar. The year after the record flopped, he got his wish, becoming the musical booker for Woodstock. Harry, meanwhile, became a barmaid at Max's Kansas City in Manhattan where she met Andy Warhol and his retinue, served drinks to Janis Joplin and had sex with glam rocker Eric Emerson in a phone booth.

As the 60s began to sour, so did her experiences. She got hooked on heroin. She married a millionaire but left him a few months later. She became a Playboy Bunny. She moved into a Harlem drug den with a dealer and his armed gang. She eventually crawled out of New York, her life in shreds, only to get lured back by the advent of glam rock. Inspired by hanging out with the New York Dolls at the Mercer Arts Center she ended up forming her own group, The Stilettos, in 1972. A year later Stein watched the group and was so impressed he ended up joining. Although they never made it, this band were essentially part of New York punk's first wave along with other CBGB's house acts Television, Suicide and Wayne County. In 1974 Harry and Stein quit to start afresh and what was originally Angel And The Snakes became Blondie; the nomenclature derived from the name that lascivious New York drivers yelled out of their car windows at her.

They were not overnight sensations. Many rough edges needed to be sanded off before they became household names. By the time they released their first single in June 1976, the live song 'Sex Offender' became the 7" 'X Offender', for example. But Blondie were never going to fit into the narrow punk orthodoxy. Like The Clash, they were part of rock'n'roll's lineage, reflected by their nods to 50s culture and their dalliances with multiple new and classic forms of pop music, unconcerned if it made them look like dilettantes or not. And the rest of their music? Well, they barely released a bad single during their original seven-year existence, from the serrated punk of 'Rip Her To Shreds' and the clipped new wave of 'Denis' to the downtown disco hip hop of 'Rapture' and the shiny calypso reggae of 'The Tide Is High' via the unimpeachable pop statements of 'Union City Blue' and 'Atomic'.

Despite clearly possessing pop genius, the group were often dismissed as 'mere' teeny boppers and have never really garnered the kind of critical plaudits that might have been theirs had they looked like dough-faced brewers from Carlisle and sung about signing on. Harry, in particular, was always at pains to point out in interviews that Blondie were a group, rather than just her with a backing band, and after finding out that they shared a name with the favourite pet of the 20th Century's most reviled dictator, they threatened to change their name to Adolf Hitler's Dog by means of protest.

Toward the tail end of the group, heroin reared its ugly head again and the band fizzled out in 1982. Then, the following year, Stein was laid up by the life-threatening and rare autoimmune disease pemphigus. Blondie gave way to make room for his recuperation and Harry's solo career.

Although no longer a couple, Harry and Stein still share an intense bond — she is godmother to his two daughters — and they still work together continuously. This year the Blondie name has been revived once again for the pair (along with original drummer Clem Burke and newer recruits) to release their ninth album, Panic Of Girls. We join her for lunch to talk heroin, New York and why we should be taught about death at an early age.

I've enjoyed listening to the three songs I've heard from the new album and I was blown away by how modern it sounds. But then I guess Blondie has always had a very close relationship with current trends in dance music.
Debbie Harry: Yeah, we've always been very urban.

Is a Panic Of Girls a collective noun — you know, like a pride of lions?
DH: [laughs] A panic. Yeah. I hadn't thought of that.

What does the title refer to, joking aside?
DH: It's a line from one of the songs, which is about a street person who is predicting the end of the world. It's something that came out as just a rhyming line but, I don't know, it just seemed great when I said it.

The character of the mother doesn't really crop up in rock & roll that much but she seems to appear in your songs quite a lot.
DH: Really? You think so?

In 'Hanging On The Telephone'. In 'Golden Rod'. In 'Mother' on this album…
DH: Oh, mother, right. Well, Jack Lee [of The Nerves] wrote that ['Hanging On The Telephone'], so we can't be held responsible. Mother used to be a club in New York that I loved going to. It was the kind of place where they would have a theme and you would have to dress accordingly or you wouldn't get in. It was a really great fun night for me on a Tuesday. It was mainly people from the city — it wouldn't be like a Bridge and Tunnel thing. There was a good bar that you could drink in, another room with a dancefloor and stage where they put on shows… I performed in some of them. It was an off-the-wall kind of joint. There was also a basement with other music and video screens that had these loops playing that [visual artist] Rob Roth used to make up. When they closed I was sort of, 'Wow! What am I going to do on a Tuesday night now?'

Do you still live in New York?
DH: Uh huh.

When I think of New York in the late 70s and early 80s, I think of Blondie as being a quintessential band for the time and place; that you would have fitted in, in all the different New York strata — uptown, downtown, rich, poor, arty, punk rock, disco, hip hop.
DH: Uh huh. [Her nouvelle cuisine-sized meal arrives. She eyes the waiter sternly.] That's it? [sighs] Do you want some of this?

No, I'm good thanks. When you first moved to New York around the time you first started working in Max's, what was the city like?

DH: I guess it was not as crowded as it is now; not so many new apartment buildings in it, and a lot of old buildings. The rents were low. The city government was bankrupt. There were always strikes. It was kind of great — chaotic and dangerous.

Did it feel like the artistic spirit of New York was very accessible? Because didn't you meet Andy Warhol and the Factory crowd quite easily?
DH: It was a small world, basically. It was an enclave. The Downtown world really meant something. I think it's always going to be like that because it's such a small area. Everyone in New York is forced to know each other. There are new apartment buildings that have increased the population and a lot of people that would normally have moved to a nicer area at one time can now live downtown and be comfortable in a nice apartment, whereas it used to be just flats and brownstones and tenements. So that nature of it has all changed.

Do you think that 'zero tolerance' changed the musical spirit of the city?
DH: 'Zero tolerance'?

When I first went to New York, it was in 1992 and I didn't go back for over 10 years. In the intervening time, something happened — the city felt safer but it had also changed in negative ways as well. I can only speak as a tourist.
DH: It felt like Cleveland or Cincinnati, right? You know, I feel the same way about it.

Can I ask why you chose to cover Sophia George's 'Girlie Girlie' for the album?
DH: It's a great song. I don't think it was ever played in the States. But it was a big hit in the UK, right?

I must admit, until I heard your version I'd always presumed that the Sophia George was criticising a male suitor for being too camp: “Young man, you're too girlie girlie." I didn't listen very carefully.
DH: [laughs]

Obviously given this and 'The Tide Is High', you're no stranger to reggae. Did you ever go to Jamaica?
DH: No! I hate the Caribbean! I like the music but I hate the islands. I just don't like them.

Too hot? Too girlie girlie?DH: There are a couple of reasons. I don't really like being on an island that's that small and I don't really like the separation between the people who live there and the people who go there. That really disturbs me.

You're advised to stay within the compound of your hotel and not go wandering around Trenchtown, or wherever, on your own, right?
DH: Yeah. Part of the reason I would want to visit a place like that would be the religion and the churches — the local culture. As you say, you're not really encouraged to move beyond your boundaries.

What was your introduction to reggae like? Where did it come from?
DH: Hmmmm, I don't know exactly. I think I'd been hearing it for a long time. But I know that Chris came to London when there was a big reggae scene. I think it was in 1972 and when he came back he was really high on this reggae groove…Do you want some of this salad?

No thanks. On 'Girlie Girlie', I love the fact that there's a diss on there to a woman who sells cigarettes on a roundabout. Amazing. But talking of the song's wayward ways, are you a monogamist and have you always been?
DH: A monogamist? Mmm. Ha ha ha! I guess I have been. Dating is such a drag, don't you think? It gets really horrible and complicated. I have gone out with different guys at the same time but that was a long time ago. But now I just have friends so it's not quite the same, but it gets really complicated. Doesn't it?

VIDEOKILLER/NEW GOLD DREAMS - Dance to this and comb your hair like her...

NEWS WAVE - Here he is the new Steve Strange! Patrick Wolf shows his real...Visage

Let's find out the differences between the look of the 2009 Patrick Wolf's video "Hard Times" and old cult "Fade to grey" by Steve Strange's Visage...80's never die!