Prediction, the breakdown, protest to survive. Make a wish on a falling star, you can see it from the East or the West. A diamond bullet. The time of instinct is upon us, in the dark recesses, translucent spectres gather as drifting communities, the ID and the wreck of the ego.
Look out from there to Eternity, the Seventh Heaven, your Cloud Nine Lips. Raining in Latvia, Stalinist purges, history is rewritten to tow the party line.
Messiah murderer, Hollywood, tune in, turn on and drop out. I can't see any colour apart from red, the spectacle unfurls.
Thrown In the pit to die, recovered, revitalized, ready to get even.
Europa, you are my totem, a sacred emblem, lay down by the shrine, silent sentinel and sex symbol.

"Elevated by Jazz Butchers sax ... vocalist Novak goes all Pete Murphy"
(NME - 1989)

"No holds barred rock'n'roll barrage. A grinding collision between gboa and early psychedelic furs ... a drastic reworking of the suicide classic and features the Jazz Butcher, produced by Kevin Haskins (Bauhaus/Love and Rockets."
(Gig - 1989)

" Their dark, malevolent malaise has developed on its own terms. The very fact that eight more songs have sprung forth from the cauldron suggests that VFT aren't messing about. In other words, the longer they go on playing this scary music, the more convincing it becomes."
(Andrew Collins, NME - 1990)

"All the songs have a hard hitting drum battery, choppy guitars, some very clever keyboards, all overlaid with a voice that snarls, sneers and threatens. The press talk about Pil and Bauhaus but VFT have an identity of their own. From swelling keyboards to that mock Arabic wail."
(Tab - 1990)