There are hundreds of synthetic pop records that never made it, that even when laid in the bargain basket of record shops, laid languishing. In many ways, and to the extent that this record sounds like chipboard trip hop from the mid 90s, this is another one. But there are quirks about this record that make it somewhat beguiling. There’s the opening narrative from what sounds like a guy called Becky, announcing himself on some kind of dating site. There’s movement through Martika and then at some point Baby Dee. The whole thing feels like some kind of dream, the vocals of Thea Gustafsson (aka Becky and the Birds) are high pitched silk and sighs. Donita Sparks Thea aint.