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Bluebeard
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By Al Sotack
Long live the narrative song. You know the kind: sea-chanties gone seventies, episodic epics, the sort provided to us by the Waitses and Caves and Vegases of the world. Successful specimens are rare. Not only does the narrative song require lyrical dexterity a wit above, but they favor rhythm over melody naturally and have a tendency to degenerate into rambling, digressive affairs. But on those occasions when one careens just perfectly mad (“O’Malley’s Bar” from Murder Ballads) or achieves the sublime (“The Gift” off White Light White Heat) they can be our most literary of head-bangers. David Cronenberg’s Wife comes as welcome news to fans of both of those macabre Blanf sagas, and also to people who have ever idly wondered what Robyn Hitchcock fronting Killdozer would be like. From the Fugs-esque “I Couldn’t Get Off” to mock-balladry of “I Do Know,” Bluebeard’s Rooms cleverly dances between influences, but its crown jewel, “Harry the Morgue” is a sardonic, brutal classic. The story of an undertaker’s journey into necrophilia and subsequently nearly-botched suicide, the song is worthy of the highest echelon of ironic, twisted ramble-rockers. “One day he learnt what it means to care,” states songwriter Tom Mayne, “when he saw Von Brauer combing a corpse’s pubic hair.” This will satisfy those for whom Craig Finn has been neither narrative nor badass enough lately.(Blang Records)
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