USA, 2002, singer-songwriter / dark cabaret / vocal jazz

Tom WaitsAlice: Is there a greater opening track on any album ever, a truer poetic strike to the eyes that’ll make you weep through the rest of the 48-minute journey? This entire album is wrapped in madness and death–is the narrator actually singing from beyond the grave? Nothing creepier than a violin accompanying your soul on its descent into Hell, driven by suicide. Don’t worry, though. They’ve got a jazz bar down there where you, being disembodied, will fit right in. Listen to the champagne laughs, gaze upon the strangled ebony curls, and know what it was once to be alive. (And you, listener, when the album is over, don’t listen to anything for a few hours. Let the music age in the cask of your soul.)

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