It's the sheer simplicity of it all. Just a realization. What everyone who is not in it can see. That's the truth of things: one turns blind. "Can't you see?", they say. Marc Almond sings with all the emotion it was allowed in the times he had to deal with. It was more than twenty-two years ago, I think, that he called it quits. He tried luck with other names. But once you suffer from a heartbreak like that, well, it's difficult to recover. It took him two decades to find himself, to accept his own name. Marc Almond, behind the cold machinery of inspired nights with synthetised dreams, lived in his own flesh the attempt to materialize theoretical problems by incarnating the oxymoron. His was, after all, a soft cell: trapped inside his own body, within an island, he managed to make the human voice, the heart, come through. Over the clean, sharp, now-classic new wave beats, there were no automated thoughts; no mathematical, scientific pretentiousness. It was a heart on the palm of a hand, more than twenty years ago. Like waking up from a dream. Opening eyes, at last, and seeing. One had to run away. The pain was there, but it may have had other names. The task he managed: he came out with the sounds to describe it in an era which ignored him. Now, the heart still beats. Taught us a lesson. There comes a moment in everyone's life in which one has to run away, to escape from pain. An optimistic, yet wounding, open door towards the light. A voice drowning in darkness and sorrow. If you think about it, Marc Almond is a hero. He gave us wings. In times of coldness and "intelligent design", he joined the opposites without merging them. He shared with us a special knowledge, a wisdom, of the body and the soul. Tainted Love: a hymn for those seeking their wings.
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