Debbie Harry & Iggy Pop - Well Did You Evah!

Did you know that our Iggy, the Godfather Of Punk, who grew up in a trailer park, could have been the president of the USA? He was hobnobbing in the right circles for a while.. I guess there’s still time. Fingers crossed. And Debbie Harry aka ‘Dirty Harry’ could & should have been a queen of the silver screen like her fairy godmother Maryline Monroe. Here they both get to play at being part of High Society, and well do they evah! Punk rock style. Alex Cox does a good job of concocting a visual feast of post punk pomp as punk royalty stride their way into the 1990s as the king and queen of the music world. A grand way to complete our wheel of intrigue this time round. I must say it’s been absolutely ‘swellegant!!’.

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Dolly Parton & Debbie Harry - Heart Of Glass.

Dolly, not satisfied with the almost perfect union of souls and haircuts she was blessed with in the last visitation, puts her feelers out in search of an even more kindred of spirits, if only there was a singer her age, a woman, who was also BLOND. Like Dolls herself!! Hmm…Ahh, yeah, we got one, her management delivers, ‘and she conveniently fits into the rock genre!’ Great! Blondie you say?!! How can it go wrong! So who is this sister from another mister they talk of? Deborah!! Who? Harry?? Ermm. Listen! Oh. Boxes ticked. But this aint country. Or soul. Or even rock???

Its tech… no? Tech what? Tech. No. Yes. Ohh alright. But i thought this was gonna get me into the ROCK N ROLL hall of fame? Dont worry Dolly, its all good. Times is changin Dolly, times changed. Right, I guess we aint gonna be shortnin bread together..

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Dolly Parton & Patti La Belle - Up Above My Head.

…they hear music in their hair. And it sure sounds angelic. If god were a hairdresser this is the music to help you tolerate the holy one’s latest cosmic holiday horror stories from the southern regions. It truely is the music of the shears.

This phonically (and folically) gifted pair of belters have also been to hell and back. So do they still believe? Oh yes. They really do believe. Oh yes they do believe!! But do they believe? They really really do believe!!!! Wow, they really do gel.

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Fred Schneider & Patti La Belle - Time To Kiss

Not having to pow-wow any more with his right-on college buds on campus who say sex is for fascists, Fred has decided to fly the nest and is officially, now, OFF THE LEASH. Giving James Elroy a run for his money, would-be marmalade patterned panty sniffer extraordinaire monsignor Fred Schneider has become entrenched in a dazzling new obsession. Patti La Belle. And who can blame him. With about 17 octaves of lazer-precise sonic artillery in her armoury and pipes that would outshine those in the Notre Dame Cathedral, there is nobody out there worth their hoistered socks who would not want to light that snuggly fire, get this girl onto the sheepskin and give her a good KISSING. He’s just gotta say the word, but not blessed with quite the same expressive range of pipage, the whole affair seems to be considerably more difficult to consumate.

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The B52s (Fred Schneider & Kate Pierson) - Private Idaho

Leaving Iggy to lick his wounds after his destined to failure, triumphalist girly mission inevitably collapses, Kate, who was absolutely having none of it, goes back to her day job. Cleaning the pools in the snazzy properties of IDAHO, yes, idaho. Orange groves as far as the eye can see. Patios glistening in the bake it to make it suburban meadow. A guy without a child sitting ON A BENCH. Call 911. Oh hes a pop star? Lock him up anyway. And her. Teach them a lesson. What were these freakishly pimpled Athens college kids doing there in the first place?

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Iggy Pop & Kate Pierson - Candy

It’s been so long…jeez… nearly a year… i recall, a rainy afternoon. You were only 5, if that, my SICZ subscribers. But I cant stop thinking about you. And ive decided we should all marry. Yes now. I dont care if you only listened once. You’re one of us now, and here is our passionate prose to prove it.

Old sinewy alien grandpa Iggy is also on a dodgy one and is heading home to hunt down a whimsical memory of a devotee unfettered by nasty cynical cityboy criticism and the evils of age, after being burnt by the bright lights again. Oh no. Mum and Dad lie shuddering in their shawls after the call, they had such good intentions rearing his middle class ass up in a trailer park, little did they know that trailer park, well of course it equals:::: trailer trash. Nice idea though.

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Love Song - Madonna & Prince.

We reach the last song in this episode’s 6 degrees. Although prt 5’s Purple Rain would probably have been a more fitting finale. Prince of course is featured, but is he really here? He was more present in the last one, and he was dead…

Madge also is struggling to seem interested, and it’s the 3rd song on her last big 80s hit album. Love song? I dont think so. Dont worry though, bad song does not mean bad Zucchero. Tom & Ross wax lyrical on this turd until the sun comes up.

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Stevie Wonder & Madonna - Purple Rain

Stevie’s off to better things, hollywood prems, grammy parties and adoring fans, and then does some other stuff. And so does George. But this is later, muchhh later. Its a grammy, but Stevie’s not the focus and looks a little weary. Luckily Granmadonna is there to take him in hand, into the purple dawn, just where Prince would have wanted them. A fitting send off, but wait.. is that Brian over there next to the free donuts?

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Stevie Wonder & Boy George - Part Time Lover

Rewind time. Ross & Tom whisk you away from the covid bubble to a time where artists occupied real stages together like, and shared pure moments, and everything was great, even if below the surface motives are perhaps a little more murky.. What’s underneath the bonnet of Stevie’s massive synth, is he cheating? Why is Boy looking so uncharacteristically uncomfortable despite wearing his chosen fineries? Does he know what’s going on!? Listen to find out.

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Gary Barlow & Boy George - Patience.

After hope, comes glory, or so some scriptures might suggest. After hope, sometimes comes pain, and sometimes tragedy, and sometimes success, like what’s sposed to happen. But mostly just normal shit. Anyway, a thin white gauze has been pulled across the world’s breathing apparatus, and Tom & Ross must peer within to see what extracurricular meanderings artists have embarked upon under it’s heathen weight. Split-screen Brian-ism seems to have filled a gap in the international psyche. And our beloved duet heroes are leaping in to the badly lit, limeylight, to occupy hard left or hard right of centre. Please, be patient with them (it’s mostly Brian’s fault).

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