Lounge music, jazz, waltz and lyrics about anything else than love, twisted in the way Mike Patton distorts the ugliness of truth to bring us closer to the mortal side of ourselves. Imagine Edith Piaf, singing Cannibal Corpse lyrics, or even better Danzig in her Paris lounge style and the result is crystal clear to you. If you decide to leave the lyric section aside, then this is a modern lounge album to let yourself go with it. If you feel the necessity to trip along, then I believe you need to have great sense of humor and the trip will be a joyride among feces, kisses and whatever else Patton thinks over. Overall an album for the late night time in bars where Tom Waits enjoys his drinks and defiantly not for the massive audience, it could increase fatality among innocent bystanders, listeners.
6,5
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