Increasingly grimy and raw with each release, Tom Waits never fails to surprise with what he’ll deliver next. He could make rusty, broken bicycle wheels sound like a funky rhythm section, and probably has. This album strips away Waits‘ trademark piano and horns, and focuses more on his voice. At times he sounds like a beatboxer with Tourette’s, or James Brown possessed by a rabid dog. It’s exhilirating throughout.

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