Cantorical transcriptions never sounded so much like Latin pianist Eddie Palmieri. The smoky ambiance says the night is thick around us, but Ferry's rumpled composure reminds us that we're only on reprieve between two harsh mornings-after. Dignified and compelling. Still, while Ferry's casual treatment of these pop standards might seem authentic these days, they wouldn't have cut any ice back in the '30s. Ferocious Swedish punk from possibly the best heavy rock act in the world.
Cover albums can be a wonderful tonic for a fraying aesthetic.
Ultimately, it all seems rather forced. But nobody in the world can duplicate that unique musky, dust-blown feel that's become their signature. The constant deluge of soulless, mediocre albums, each adorned with all kinds of hype, is enough to make one temporarily forget what it is to really love an album. DiFranco's an expert at melding the personal and political, and here she proves equally brilliant at fusing folk, hip-hop, funk and jazz. But it's the lyrics that are truly devastating.