See, this is the kind of weirdo music I could get behind. I think Tom Waits is actually insane.
He is the musical manifestation of the instant when deliciously aged bourbon is spilled from a crystal tumbler, is soaked up by a vomit stained bar-rag, and is transformed into the smoking wick of molotov cocktail as it’s hurled through the Bank of Ireland’s storefront Christmas display.
Gingerbread families screaming in horor, enormous wreaths engulfed in flames tumbling down from the sky, children maniacally laughing.
It’s something like that at least. I put on Frank’s Wild Years after Toro Y Moi and have to say, it cheered me up. Is that sick? Maybe. But then again, it’s only music.
No gingerbread men were harmed in the making of this post.
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