And so the DCFC misery bus grinds ever onward...
While previous tracks such as the devotional 'Steal Away' proved they could wrestle more sensitive demons while maintaining a bruised dignity, new attempts at covering similar ground are badly misjudged. The traditional hymn 'Nobody's Fault But Mine', for one, is reduced to a hilariously sombre, sub-Tindersticks wreck, while John Cale's cracked paean to isolation 'Close Watch' is so doused in heavy-handed piety it's like having Cadfael tell you off for not washing behind your ears.
Such tutting self-righteousness sits awkwardly with the Club's wilfully shocking imagery - a baffling dichotomy that allows Jon Spencer-ish rocker 'Another Ones Skin' to boast the charming triptych, [I]"Liver sick complexions/Atrophied limbs/Effluvial erections"[/I] while delivering a sermon-like morality tale about a small-town murder. It's this confusion that, beyond their arbitrary eclecticism and comically bleak outlook, renders DCFC ultimately useless: po-faced rebels with neither cause nor clue.
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