Cocteau Twins' final album was maligned by stuffy critics when it was released in 1996, but listening now we're reminded how well it's aged, and this remaster presents the record in its finest form. Romantic and lavish, haunted by Liz Fraser's soaring, peerless vocals, it's a fine swan-song for one of the era's greatest bands.
We'll come clean - we're unashamed fans of Cocteau Twins' latter run. 'Four Calendar Café' is blessed with some of the band's most painfully gorgeous pop songs, and 'Milk & Kisses' has matured like a spenny Scotch, sounding so melancholy and charming that it's hard to believe how thoroughly it was dismissed at the time. It's an album that unfolds gracefully if you give it a bit of time: big, crowd-pleasing tracks like 'Violaine', the album's opener, and 'Tishbite' are meshed with glorious full-catalogue high points like 'Serpentskirt' (seek out the single version with Faye Wong if you want a treat, trust us) and the painfully underrated 'Rilkean Heart', and eccentric moments like the proggy 'Half-Grits' and the almost beatless 'Eperdu'.
'Milk & Kisses' emerged from the ashes of Robin Guthrie and Fraser's difficult break-up. They'd split in 1993 but carried on regardless, and while the recording of 'Four Calendar Café' had been bruising, its follow-up was relatively easier. Despite this, it's hard not to sense sadness and regret in the songs. 'Treasure Hiding' is a smudged lament that erupts into a hopeful, crushing chorus, and the album's finale 'Seekers Who Are Lovers' ends the band's run with a sly, knowing bow of the head. If you've not checked the album before, don't believe the cynics - 'Milk & Kisses' might not mirror 'Heaven or Las Vegas' or 'Treasure' but it doesn't really try to, it's a sort of last dance that follows boozy euphoria, and for that alone, it's indispensable.
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Cocteau Twins' final album was maligned by stuffy critics when it was released in 1996, but listening now we're reminded how well it's aged, and this remaster presents the record in its finest form. Romantic and lavish, haunted by Liz Fraser's soaring, peerless vocals, it's a fine swan-song for one of the era's greatest bands.
We'll come clean - we're unashamed fans of Cocteau Twins' latter run. 'Four Calendar Café' is blessed with some of the band's most painfully gorgeous pop songs, and 'Milk & Kisses' has matured like a spenny Scotch, sounding so melancholy and charming that it's hard to believe how thoroughly it was dismissed at the time. It's an album that unfolds gracefully if you give it a bit of time: big, crowd-pleasing tracks like 'Violaine', the album's opener, and 'Tishbite' are meshed with glorious full-catalogue high points like 'Serpentskirt' (seek out the single version with Faye Wong if you want a treat, trust us) and the painfully underrated 'Rilkean Heart', and eccentric moments like the proggy 'Half-Grits' and the almost beatless 'Eperdu'.
'Milk & Kisses' emerged from the ashes of Robin Guthrie and Fraser's difficult break-up. They'd split in 1993 but carried on regardless, and while the recording of 'Four Calendar Café' had been bruising, its follow-up was relatively easier. Despite this, it's hard not to sense sadness and regret in the songs. 'Treasure Hiding' is a smudged lament that erupts into a hopeful, crushing chorus, and the album's finale 'Seekers Who Are Lovers' ends the band's run with a sly, knowing bow of the head. If you've not checked the album before, don't believe the cynics - 'Milk & Kisses' might not mirror 'Heaven or Las Vegas' or 'Treasure' but it doesn't really try to, it's a sort of last dance that follows boozy euphoria, and for that alone, it's indispensable.
Cocteau Twins' final album was maligned by stuffy critics when it was released in 1996, but listening now we're reminded how well it's aged, and this remaster presents the record in its finest form. Romantic and lavish, haunted by Liz Fraser's soaring, peerless vocals, it's a fine swan-song for one of the era's greatest bands.
We'll come clean - we're unashamed fans of Cocteau Twins' latter run. 'Four Calendar Café' is blessed with some of the band's most painfully gorgeous pop songs, and 'Milk & Kisses' has matured like a spenny Scotch, sounding so melancholy and charming that it's hard to believe how thoroughly it was dismissed at the time. It's an album that unfolds gracefully if you give it a bit of time: big, crowd-pleasing tracks like 'Violaine', the album's opener, and 'Tishbite' are meshed with glorious full-catalogue high points like 'Serpentskirt' (seek out the single version with Faye Wong if you want a treat, trust us) and the painfully underrated 'Rilkean Heart', and eccentric moments like the proggy 'Half-Grits' and the almost beatless 'Eperdu'.
'Milk & Kisses' emerged from the ashes of Robin Guthrie and Fraser's difficult break-up. They'd split in 1993 but carried on regardless, and while the recording of 'Four Calendar Café' had been bruising, its follow-up was relatively easier. Despite this, it's hard not to sense sadness and regret in the songs. 'Treasure Hiding' is a smudged lament that erupts into a hopeful, crushing chorus, and the album's finale 'Seekers Who Are Lovers' ends the band's run with a sly, knowing bow of the head. If you've not checked the album before, don't believe the cynics - 'Milk & Kisses' might not mirror 'Heaven or Las Vegas' or 'Treasure' but it doesn't really try to, it's a sort of last dance that follows boozy euphoria, and for that alone, it's indispensable.
Cocteau Twins' final album was maligned by stuffy critics when it was released in 1996, but listening now we're reminded how well it's aged, and this remaster presents the record in its finest form. Romantic and lavish, haunted by Liz Fraser's soaring, peerless vocals, it's a fine swan-song for one of the era's greatest bands.
We'll come clean - we're unashamed fans of Cocteau Twins' latter run. 'Four Calendar Café' is blessed with some of the band's most painfully gorgeous pop songs, and 'Milk & Kisses' has matured like a spenny Scotch, sounding so melancholy and charming that it's hard to believe how thoroughly it was dismissed at the time. It's an album that unfolds gracefully if you give it a bit of time: big, crowd-pleasing tracks like 'Violaine', the album's opener, and 'Tishbite' are meshed with glorious full-catalogue high points like 'Serpentskirt' (seek out the single version with Faye Wong if you want a treat, trust us) and the painfully underrated 'Rilkean Heart', and eccentric moments like the proggy 'Half-Grits' and the almost beatless 'Eperdu'.
'Milk & Kisses' emerged from the ashes of Robin Guthrie and Fraser's difficult break-up. They'd split in 1993 but carried on regardless, and while the recording of 'Four Calendar Café' had been bruising, its follow-up was relatively easier. Despite this, it's hard not to sense sadness and regret in the songs. 'Treasure Hiding' is a smudged lament that erupts into a hopeful, crushing chorus, and the album's finale 'Seekers Who Are Lovers' ends the band's run with a sly, knowing bow of the head. If you've not checked the album before, don't believe the cynics - 'Milk & Kisses' might not mirror 'Heaven or Las Vegas' or 'Treasure' but it doesn't really try to, it's a sort of last dance that follows boozy euphoria, and for that alone, it's indispensable.
2024 Re-press. Reissue on 140g vinyl faithfully replicates the original 1996 Fontana Records release.
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Cocteau Twins' final album was maligned by stuffy critics when it was released in 1996, but listening now we're reminded how well it's aged, and this remaster presents the record in its finest form. Romantic and lavish, haunted by Liz Fraser's soaring, peerless vocals, it's a fine swan-song for one of the era's greatest bands.
We'll come clean - we're unashamed fans of Cocteau Twins' latter run. 'Four Calendar Café' is blessed with some of the band's most painfully gorgeous pop songs, and 'Milk & Kisses' has matured like a spenny Scotch, sounding so melancholy and charming that it's hard to believe how thoroughly it was dismissed at the time. It's an album that unfolds gracefully if you give it a bit of time: big, crowd-pleasing tracks like 'Violaine', the album's opener, and 'Tishbite' are meshed with glorious full-catalogue high points like 'Serpentskirt' (seek out the single version with Faye Wong if you want a treat, trust us) and the painfully underrated 'Rilkean Heart', and eccentric moments like the proggy 'Half-Grits' and the almost beatless 'Eperdu'.
'Milk & Kisses' emerged from the ashes of Robin Guthrie and Fraser's difficult break-up. They'd split in 1993 but carried on regardless, and while the recording of 'Four Calendar Café' had been bruising, its follow-up was relatively easier. Despite this, it's hard not to sense sadness and regret in the songs. 'Treasure Hiding' is a smudged lament that erupts into a hopeful, crushing chorus, and the album's finale 'Seekers Who Are Lovers' ends the band's run with a sly, knowing bow of the head. If you've not checked the album before, don't believe the cynics - 'Milk & Kisses' might not mirror 'Heaven or Las Vegas' or 'Treasure' but it doesn't really try to, it's a sort of last dance that follows boozy euphoria, and for that alone, it's indispensable.