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The Psychedelic Furs: Sugar Cubes For The New Depression

Bill Holdship, Creem, February 1983

RICHARD BUTLER, the Psychedelic Furs' chain-smoking vocalist, often sounds like an extremely angry man on record. Some people have compared his raspy voice to a resigned but still enraged Johnny Rotten (though lately he's turned a bit more towards a Bowie-style croon), while others have labeled him a misanthrope, possibly due to the number of times he referred to people as "stupid" (most critics stopped counting after 15) on the band's debut LP. Naturally, one might expect to find a sarcastic, venom-spewing malcontent when meeting Butler for the first time, but that's hardly the person I recently spoke to at a Detroit Holiday Inn.

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