Hyperbole be damned: This album is the bomb, the top of the pops, the naz, the answer to a pop-lover's prayer, a worthy continuation of the Blondie mystique, the very one that still lingers 17 years after the band called it quits back in 1982. Forget the intervening time, the subsequent history, the music that's come and gone. Remember only that – as the tee-shirts once said – Blondie is a band. And the incomparable Deborah Harry is the singer. Then sigh. And listen. And listen again.

The opening song, "Screaming Skin" is instantly familiar with the delightful sort of rush that comes from re-connecting with a genuinely mourned long-lost friend. When Harry's distinctive voice howls, "My skin cries, my blood sighs," it's like slightly bruised rose petals scattered on water. The song itself is said to be about the rare illness that guitarist Chris Stein contracted way back when that contributed to the band's break-up. But when Harry confides, "I'm a multi-cellular individual," it seems less clinical than retroactively seminal.

The song "Maria" is the obvious single here, a sexy paean to a girl who "moves like she don't care, smooth as silk, cool as air … she doesn't know your name and your heart beats like a subway train." It's a swanky invitation to join the sultry swaying dance. The songs stack up, one against the other, each bursting with such obvious joy and growth that it's hard to choose a favorite. The odd-ball antics of the title track feature not only snippets of Bach but the not incongruous contributions of rapper Coolio, reminding us that Harry was among the first white artists to dabble in hiphop's rhythms back in the day with her incomparable "Rapture."

It's all good, really. From 1999's vantage point, it's worth saying that Blondie is not just a band – Blondie is a state of mind worth emulating. Sassy, strong, sexy as hell, and still sustaining a beat that's worth dancing to all night long.
-- Julene Snyder