Under the production of Ric Ocasek, Suicide released their sophomore album in 1980. While eminently more accessible than the first, tracks like Diamonds, Fur Coat, Champagne still presented a nightmare of sorts. It’s a borderline danceable work, but only in the threatening way that any mid-tempo punk song might be danceable, rocking the listener into an uncomfortable frenzy. There’s movement to it, but no release. Instead its careful tempo creates a feeling of confinement. It could easily be the score to a horror film from the 80s, with its demented inertia and mystical, moonlit flourishes. Alan Vega’s newly crooning vocals create a sad dreamscape atop Martin Rev’s chugging track. He crafts a quivering, unfulfilled sketch, a fantasy of a night gone wrong. It’s melancholy without the anger of the first album, tempering the low electronics that stay on the cusp of rabidity. Desperate and inescapable, but never menacing, it shows Suicide know there are more insidious ways to burrow under your skin.