This came out in 1999 – or at least that’s when I got it. Here’s what I said about it back then (with some minor editing):
Dear diary: I had that dream again.
You remember; it’s the one where I’m in a dark, dank nightclub. At the front table, Neil Diamond, Burt Bacharach, Kurt Weill and Angelo Badalamenti are swilling absinthe and gobbling Ecstasy. Then the show begins. It features songs they’ve collaborated on, played by a full Broadway pit band, augmented by an old rhythm machine churning out slinky jungle beats. Kid Silver, the singer, looks like a moody college kid, but sings sorta like Beck or Stephen Malkmus from Pavement — when he doesn’t sound like Bowie. He croons about demons, breadcrumbs, scarecrows and punch-drunk sweethearts amid big production numbers with ghostly tap-dance melodies, electropop grooves and subterranean soundscapes. Then, when he’s done, I wake up thinking of William S. Burroughs. What do you think it means, diary?
