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And when you only have seven songs on your album, two that SPRAY FECAL SHIT MATTER ALL OVER THE FACE AND WALLS OF AMERICA can't help but drag your number grade down to a 7. However, the five songs that don't JAM THEIR COCKS IN EACH OTHERS' MOUTHS AND THEN SMOTHER THEM IN JELLY AND KETCHUP are so sinister and extraordinary that you shouldn't let a little thing like two songs that DRILLED A HOLE IN SOME GUY'S BUTT CHEEK SO THEY COULD BOTH FUCK HIM IN THE ASS AT THE SAME TIME keep them from entering your collection.Buy the record, but go into it knowing that two of the songs are going to JUMP OFF THE CD AND SMEAR THE VOMIT AND UNDERWEAR OF AN 800-POUND MAN ALL OVER YOUR KITCHEN TABLE. I see no need to humiliate these two songs that SPREAD SYPHILIS BY SIGHT ALONE by naming them here, but one is a call-and-response chain gang song that SLICES THE TOP OFF OF A SCROTUM SO IT CAN SUCK OUT THE BALL JUICE and the other is a sloppy drunken blues song that COLLECTS ITS FLATULENCE IN A JAR AND RELEASES IT INSIDE AN ORPHANAGE.(Someone mark me down as "Guy Who Can Write Dave Barry's Column When He's Out Sick." You saw it, it was great.) Tackled 'rural gothic' genres include swampy rockabilly ("Say Goodbye To The Little Girl Tree"), call-and-response work song ("Train Long-Suffering"), piano jazz ("Knockin' On Joe"), western (Johnny Cash's "Wanted Man") and of course good old-fashioned blues ("Black Crow King" and "Blind Lemon Jefferson"). Why, one can perform all types of music without drums and have a slambang good time about it too.
He is committed to the character with every atom and plays him as if he were him....
This album has some of that Cave's finest moments, although I've got to say it's slightly underwhelming when one considers that this is what he felt The Birthday Party was holding him back from - stuff like Saint Huck and Cabin Fever is fun enough and certainly sonically interesting, but it's hard to give even half of a shit about the little vignettes they're built around.
The only song here where one actually has any investment in the story it tells is the title track, and it's not as if nobody's ever sung a song about wanting to bone some girl but preferring to just obsessively stalk her before. the whole record reminds me of being on a slave ship, stricken with syphilis and scurvy, with nick cave as the captain good stuff i think you're just old and bitter, massa prindle uch like the legendary Dan Aykroyd/Eddie Murphy comedy Trading Places, this album finds the band's American South fixation "trading places" with its propensity for noisemaking, such that FHTE's two examples of 'negro & hillbilly music' here jump to a flapjackering six, leaving only the intense and hypnotic Elvis mythology "Tupelo" to recall the creepy moodmaking of the first record.
But I'll say this about Nick Cave: whether ranting gravelly about a thunderstorm, crooning about life on Death Row, or making a "Whoo Whoo!
" train whistle noise, he is one heck of a dramatist.