Siouxsie and the Banshees
– Through the Looking Glass
Cover albums can be a risky endeavor—too much faithfulness feels redundant, while too much reinvention can strip the soul from the originals. Leave it to Siouxsie and the Banshees to sidestep both pitfalls and make Through the Looking Glass feel like an essential part of their catalog rather than a side project. This isn’t just a band playing tribute; it’s a reimagining, a séance where old spirits are summoned and made to dance to an entirely different rhythm.
What makes this album work so well is the band’s ability to transform each song into something uniquely their own. They take well-known tracks and bend them into eerie, shadow-drenched forms, dressing them in gothic finery. Some songs gain an icy detachment, while others become even more unhinged than their originals. The arrangements are lush, textured with strings, horns, and Siouxsie’s unmistakable vocals, which twist familiar melodies into haunting new shapes.
This isn’t a casual jukebox run-through; it’s a carefully curated collection where every selection feels deliberate. The choices reflect not just their influences but their aesthetic—warping soul, glam, and psychedelia into their post-punk vision. Rather than feeling like a detour, Through the Looking Glass plays like a statement of intent, an album that asserts that even when borrowing, Siouxsie and the Banshees still sound like no one else.
Choice Tracks
This Town Ain’t Big Enough for Both of Us
Originally a manic burst of glam rock from Sparks, the Banshees strip it down to its bare bones and rebuild it into something more sinister. The orchestration remains, but here it feels like a Hitchcock film soundtrack—dramatic, tense, and just a little dangerous. Siouxsie’s vocal control is at its sharpest, balancing theatrical flair with eerie restraint.
Hall of Mirrors
The band doesn’t just cover Kraftwerk here—they drag them into their own spectral world. The mechanical chill of the original melts into something dreamlike and ominous, with Siouxsie’s voice floating through an arrangement that feels both delicate and unsettling. The addition of strings heightens the drama, transforming the track into something hypnotic and tragic.
Strange Fruit
Covering Billie Holiday is a bold move, and instead of trying to mimic her raw emotional weight, the Banshees shift the focus. Their version plays like a ghostly lament, slow and shrouded in a detached sorrow. The reverb-heavy production and stark arrangement make it feel like a distant echo of pain rather than a direct confrontation, which in its own way is just as affecting.
The Passenger
This might be the album’s most famous track, and for good reason. Iggy Pop’s original had a loose, rambling energy, but the Banshees tighten it up, injecting a pulsing rhythm and sharpening the edges. It moves with purpose, Siouxsie’s voice commanding rather than drifting. It’s a reinvention that somehow feels definitive, as if the song was waiting all along to sound like this.