Then We Came to the End

It is the nature of parties to end. The keg gets tapped, the speakers bust, the drugs run out, the girlfriend calls, the cops show up, the market crashes — it doesn't matter how. Sooner or later, the festivities come to a close. And usually, at least a few revelers are left to survey the wreckage and pick up the pieces in the cold light of day. If they're lucky, either it was worth remembering or they can't remember a thing.

The rest of my review of Goldfrapp's Seventh Tree is over here.