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A lot of so-called "cold wave" gets discounted for making you think of nothing so much as a sweltering underground dance club. That is not going to cut it. Gotta get the impression that dancing with the singer would be like grinding on a February tombstone.
Or imagine a friendly hug from this dapper cadaver.
A distinctly urban kind of cold—you can practically feel the wind curling around the corners of Berlin cement.
As close as I could come to the sound of seeing your own breath.
And taking it all the way to the sound of actually dying alone in the cold. Which, you know, as a harmless summer daydream can actually sound a little refreshing.