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Like a hallucination, Slow Boat descends upon you and has its way with you. Over a death-march rhythm and echo-drenched guitars that snap and pop like firecrackers, this dazzling original buries itself in the thicket of your senses.
And then there’s Bridges, not so much singing his lines as summoning them from his soul. The haunting, pained and ravaged sound of his voice – and he really does seem almost spectral here – is chilling to the bone. Roseanne Cash drifts in and drapes her delicate tenor around his world of hurt.
Four minutes into this six-minute inferno, the guitars rise up, destroying everything in their path. What starts out as a somber prayer ends like an exorcism.