Listening to The Head On The Door in Beckenham. It feels apt. Bowie, Siouxsie, The Bromley Contingent ald hailed from the same part of the country. The part I'm suttin in now. The East London Garden Suburbs. Fresh Air and Space. Gloomy Avenues.
At the time The Head On The Door and The Cure and I no longer seemed meant for each other. This is where we parted country. I was coming into my twenties and felt grown up. The Cure felt like youner sister music. How little I knew. I'm staying with my younger sister now, About to head into London where all these people headed. The alternative was getting stuck.
Now The Head On The Door makes sense. Macabre but efforless Pop Mastery. A band emerging from darkness into the light of Daytime Radio. Top of the Pops and magazine covers. Where they belonged. Into the pantheon.
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