Suicide: Darkness

SLUMPED IN A sofa in the Columbia Hotel, Alan Vega is not quite the swarthy hunk of existential rockabilly perfection he was in his heyday. Jowly features buried beneath a floppy beret, staring into the middle distance through thick shades, his demeanour might be mistaken for the routine catatonia of a still-living rock'n'roll casualty.