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Listening to delicatessen is painful, though delicious. Imagine
combinining Dead Can Dance with Kate Bush. Or strip the skin off Tori Amos
and send her screaming bloody into the night. Think of Sylvia Plath's last
moments -- her head in the oven -- and what it would be like to be in her
mind.


Simone Grey's delicatessen has that power. Listen to her
music, and you eat of her body. Flayed and stripped from the bones, Grey serves
the flesh raw and steaming. Her voice rises above the cacauphony of
intrumentation, and you can almost taste the blood.


Grey's life is in the lyrics.













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© Copyright 1996 by David Benson. No part may be used without the
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Sylvia
         












[Simone Grey]





[Simone Grey]




[Simone Grey]