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David Icke's decision to become God's turquoise-clad special envoy starts to look unimaginative in comparison with Lesley Rankine's career swing from Silverfish's chief teeth-gnasher to Ruby's sensuous trip hop diva. After that, no one'd bat an eyelid if Lemmy announced that he likes to slip into cocktail dresses and play Dungeons and Dragons.

Chasing hard on the stack heels of last year's compellingly bitter-sweet 'Salt Peter' arrives its sister album. Suspicions of an uninspired money/old rop interchange scenario are swiftly asked to shut the door on their way out, as the eleven mixes here bristle with both diversity and invention. Peshay applies the Metalhead's breakbeat whetstone to 'Salt Water Fish', cutting it with trademark diamond-hard drum and bass jungle corefare, while Monkey Mafia load up on bleeping pills for the descending snare-tic of 'Tiny Meat'.

STS reduce the vocal of 'Heidi' to an amorphous tonal underlay beneath a bleak wash of dryly lifting blackened strings, but at the DT-afflicted hands of [Primal] Scream Teamers Andrew Innes and Murray Mitchell, the same source material gets dragged downtown to an assuredly connected shadow swagger. Less impressively, Red Snapper's 'Paraffin' is Vauxhall Conference stuff next to the Premier League skills of the original, sounding uncannily like the theme from Tony Hart's 'Gallery' spliced with Clannad on finger cymbals and double-bass.

However, such whingeing is small beer when there's such a wealth of deftly-blended intoxicants on offer - here's the state of the remix art in one foreign package. As for revenge being the sweetest fruit, shouldn't that be pineapple?

Ben Mitchell

Who could forget those early, er, glorious Silverfish days? Lesley Rankine rolled around screaming expletives, the rest of the band did a kind of elongated sonic fart, and we all laughed a bit too loudly. Unfortunately though, all great concepts must come to an end, and veritably we quivered as Miss Rankine buggered off to find a spot of elusive "maturity" in drizzly old Seattle.

However, hooking up with some dodgy, old, industrial doom-merchants (ex-Ministry drummer, William Rieflin, and assorted Pigfaces) in the charmingly-named "Mommy's Cunt" studio was not the dramatic turnabout we'd all been hoping for, which is presumably where "Revenge..." fits into the grand scheme of things.

But revenge for who? The remixers here (Red Snapper, Peshay, Monkey Mafia, etc) are exactly the sort of people who would have run a mile from Silverfish's initial disturbances, which is presumably why they have turned this album into one enormous (70-minute), Sunday morning, drum'n'bass mungfest.

For probably the first time, Rankine finds herself chillin' out amidst lilting acoustic guitars, and some good old-fashioned, post-Goldie soundscapes. Add some spacious trip-hop beats courtesy of the "indie pop" contingent (Primal Scream and Tim Brown from the Boo Radleys), and you've come an awfully long way from those 30-second noise squalls of yesteryear.

As for revenge? Well, if nothing else, this devilishly expansive remix project certainly proves that she who laughs last, laughs longest.

James Oldham



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