She has secrets. Yes I Do, a clean reworking of the original Don’t Get Me Wrong Baby, is less seductive swallow, and more straight-up sauce. Orange blossom, viewed through a screen of squeaky, fizzing aldehydes, is all tang and gloss. Yes, orange blossom is flossy flossy, and her blooming sisters are cut from the same cloth. Lily of the valley is pristine and preening, eternally youthful, vibrantly verdant and silky as fresh cream. Jasmine is hot pink all over, like Marilyn in Diamonds Are A Girl’s Best Friend. These bubbly, self-assured babes parade past the peep show curtain of aldehydes (which tempers their mounting, florid desires), and dive into the downy sweetness of marshmallow. Resembling the suggestive advertisements for the Museum of Sex (still visible in the deep of the MTA), orange blossom, jasmine and lily of the valley frolic amidst the warm peaks and valleys (of marshmallow), busting out all over. Their energetic ribaldry inevitably generates some less angelic aspects, and slowly the saline smell of amber, the sweet, dank smolder of patchouli, the dusty, buttery richness and the sweet funk of musk rise into the air, grounding with the ethereal, sexy sugar each bloom radiates. A delicious tease.