From its cool cover, featuring Mr. Almond clad in black (de rigeur attire for the Baudelairean dandy) and looking every bit the icon (nice pooch, too) onwards, Fantastic Star is one of the great lost albums of the 1990s (and an Almond personal fave). It is a tremendous Pop album, a statement of renewal and purpose from a man whose musical muses have taken him from the pioneering electro-glam of Soft Cell’s massive cover version of “Tainted Love” in the early 80s, all the way to the more self-consciously arty concerns of Jacques, a late-’80s tribute album to Belgian singer-songwriter Jacques Brel, idol also to one David Bowie. 

Almond’s dabbling in diverse musical styles–always with the unifying thematic thread of decadence, and more specifically the need to probe all of life’s boundaries–has always been to his credit, influencing luminaries such as Brett Anderson of Suede, Trent Reznor of NIN, and Jarvis Cocker of Pulp, for starters, all of whom cite Almond as a major influence. On this album, Almond reclaims his rightful place as the starry conduit between these established stars and those of his own youth. 

The crowded club of “fallen cultural heroes” inspire Fantastic Star: Almond salutes such deceased luminaries as New York Doll Johnny Thunders, Marc Bolan (T. Rex), Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain, Elvis, Judy Garland, The Marquis De Sade, and the aforementioned Brel. All represent to Almond the essence of a celebrity obtained through talent, and of said talent scorched, and even wasted, by obsession, addiction, and betrayal. Such is the theme of the album’s centerpiece, “The Idol Pts. 1 & 2 [All Gods Fall]”: Part 1 features a wonderfully trashy, T. Rexish fuzzed guitar riff from Neal X (Sigue Sigue Sputnik) over which Almond details the merciless fate of the megastar at the hands of a fickle public: “Nail up your hands to fulfill their demands … Watch them turn cold as you start to grow old”; Part 2 then adopts a kind of a techno Gary Glitter approach, with a burbling synth riff over which the singer “raps” a blackly humourous recitation of various stars’ demises [“Kurt was unhappy / With fame and success / A gun in the mouth / And one hell of a mess”], mischievously making his point via a bit of satirical high camp. Great, trashy fun. 

Elsewhere on this sprawling, nearly 80-minute long disc, Almond takes the opportunity to delve into the ruined glamour of the gutter with an exhilarating, wicked glee. “Adored And Explored,” for instance, is a disco-fied romper–with some rollicking harmonica by one David Johansen, lead mouth of the now-revived New York Dolls–which finds our singer reveling in the youthful delights offered up by London’s nightlife. Rough trade, anyone? Meanwhile, the guilt which inevitably follows such hedonistic outbursts is examined on “We Need Jealousy” and “Betrayed”: the former (co-written with Elvis Costello sideman Steve Nieve) features a careening keyboard riff reminiscent of Soft Cell’s artistic heyday circa This Last Night In Sodom, as well as the red-hot backing vocals of fem-trio BETTY, and some more very funk-ay harp courtesy of Johansen; the latter is a lovelorn, mid-tempo synth-ballad featuring one of Almond’s most affecting vocal turns on the album: “Cruel love is the game you play / Were you treated once this way? / The world dealt you a bad hand / And you’re gonna make it pay.” Subject matter and vocal mesh perfectly here. 

Aside from its thematic concerns, Fantastic Star also deals in a musical eclecticism rare in contemporary pop/rock, as Almond proves that his chameleonic personae over the years translate well in musical terms. For instance, as an answer to those grungey types who may question the “macho quotient” of an electro-glam crooner (Almond has admitted that he fancies himself more along the lines of an Iggy Pop-type figure) Fantastic Star wheels out the heavy artillery of legendary session man Chris Spedding (Bryan Ferry; Sex Pistols), who adds a volcanic electric slide guitar to “Addicted” that constantly threatens to shear the top of your head off as it leaps through the speakers, riding atop the pounding techno blitz ably supplied here and throughout by co-producer Mike Thorne. Also proving himself a worthy contender in the “Unplugged” sweepstakes, Almond weighs in at the other end of the scale entirely in the stately acoustic ballad “Come In Sweet Assassin,” this one featuring an all-star trio of underground legends: Almond, Johansen and Velvet Underground alumnus John Cale on piano. 

Sure, there’s a couple of duff tracks (and what good would be an album about ruined glamour if it was perfect?), but there’s still an hour’s worth of great stuff here, more than you’ll get from most rockers of any persuasion these days. Perhaps the ultimate compliment I can pay to the songs on Fantastic Star–and one I’m sure Marc would most enjoy–is that they deserve regular rotation in strip clubs across the land. One song, “Out There,” actually addresses the issue directly: “Out there table dancing / In the city that eats the sky … And it’s love / By mirrors tonight / And it’s love / By illusion (all right).” That last affirmation–of just saying YES to your wildest fantasies AS reality itself–lies at the dirty beating heart of Fantastic Star.