This record’s evocative title compares two heavily-lit locales, both quite desirable to many men-n-wem. One’s the perfect palace of the high-n-holy. The other is the celebrated Sin City. The songs serve such a dichotomy with their divinity and danceability. Whether you seek spiritual treasure or just want some quick thrills, this record’s right for you. I've written descriptions for each song below: Cocteau Twins’ 1990 masterpiece Heaven Or Las Vegas kicks off sounding like a spacey Sgt-Pepper-turned-Saint. ‘Cherry-Coloured Funk’ bops with blue notes, the tune technically up-tempo but not really too fast. Icicle guitars twang sharply. Some phase-y sound twitches like the slowed-down “wow” of Owen Wilson. Come chorus: sole angel sings with rhythmic tenderness, her voice frail and falsetto. It’s a touching contrast to the low-n-slow earthly verses. More angels abound in choral rounds of choruses. Divine! ‘Pitch The Baby’ opens ominously. Some choppy rhythmic alarm-like sound, copied by guitar, cuts through the mix with a fat bass funking it up. Two-note vocal route rips through a fast-paced passage each verse. Things change here-n-there, but the main mood holds true all tune. “Wah-wah-wah” wails the baby, pitched up-n-down in the end. Time to dance to an irresistible tune about ‘Iceblink Luck’, a popping song with a wickedly simple synth riff and some rollercoaster vocals. Layered guitars build the tension into a blissful chorus, double-tracked harmony heaving around your head in a dizzy day-dream of summer. The moody ‘Fifty-Fifty Clown’ must have had a bad day, hence the unhappiness of this track. Its pulse pumps on as pinging vibraphone-like guitars ring out around delayed drum-machine beats. The vocals stream freely, a harmony weepy and worried like a stressed-out housewife. The song could quite well be the soundtrack to some synthetic 1950s-New-York-City-in-rainy-night gangster videogame. That’s the vibe in my mind. ‘Heaven Or Las Vegas’ gracefully goes on with two sweet major-seventh sonorities presiding over a shaky beat. The singing is calm yet declarative, strong and self-assured. Majestic melodies soar during the chorus, layered beyond belief. Guitars bloom full out with fuzz and thrumming feelers extending every whichway. It’s like sunshine exploding and coating everything. The bridge brings new gnarly liquid lines of incisive slide guitar. More chorus. Bridge again. Heaven or Las Vegas? Whatever it may mean, it’s all light and it’s all right. It feels good, friends. ‘I Wear Your Ring’ returns to mournful means with breathy synth sadly oozing over latin percussion. Frantic bass blasts in with the entrance of the vox. The singing sticks with a few notes, back-n-forth and back-n-forth, the fast mesmerizing lines of a fortune teller. Multiple melodies occupy a crazy chorus and make for a tough sing-a-long. Final minute music of outro follows a new chart. The singing gallops up in a “hey hey hey hey hey” line that hits the heart with its tight last-minute motion. Fine and fine and fine, the layers entwine, fading. Fade in ‘Fotzepolitic’, distant guitars griming 6/8-style strums under another busy vocal delivery. The beat bounces lazily. It’s a paradise of pleasure or curiosity. It all gets a bit more grim and serious though at the end when the descending chords come out and the words warn again and again the same sentiment, something like: “See and saw / Bounce me back to you, will you?”. Seems like a dream. ‘Wolf In The Breast’ comes the closest to country the Cocteau’s ever composed. Rollicking guitars roll and sometimes slide in this drowsy ditty. Naked vocals sing clearly yet cryptically. Only the back-up unchanging “my baby” can be clarified from within the wash of words. As usual, lots of layers move through the mellow mood of this music. ‘Road, River And Rail’, another gloomy tune, features an unflinchingly doleful guitarpeggio the entire time. Various atmospheric sounds zoom and swoop and droop around the sadsong. For the first time on the album, vocal layers are relegated as slaves to the main master melody. They solely serve as special effects during the chorus, gasping ghostlike in the background indistinctly. Last track ‘Frou-Frou Foxes In Midsummer Fires’ dawns all dramatic. An abandoned piano plays in the opening accompanied by clattering cymbal-clicks and quietly-screaming guitar. Eerie singing reminds me of a regretful little girl confessing to her crimes. A hiccuping interlude shimmers and throbs beautifully over ascending chordal comeuppance. After another pass on this sad stuff, snare drums snap and the music erupts into ecstatic rapture! In this anthemic arrangement, a sturdy guitar strums swiftly as bass-n-drums keep the beat balanced and two vocal lines race around a choral carousel: a low-toned rapping passage pummels on and on as higher-pitched spectral singing hems in each sublime measure. This has to be heard to be understood. The entire structure resets and resumes, the music notably noisier on round two. It puts on great weight and eventually comes to its cathartic close on that absolutely mad abundantly lovely chorus.