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There's something about Goldfrapp that is unavoidably annoying. Whether it's just Alison's disdainful, flaccid vocals, the repetitive beat that's presumably supposed to mimic the rhythm of a moving train but sounds more like a bluebottle buzzing in my ear, or the tasteless, creepy cover art (a husky dog fellating a man's body with a husky head), Train is redundant in both imagination or flair, choosing to trip doggedly along the same path for an achingly overlong four minutes.

Mia Clarke
June-July 2003

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