Kevin Coyne-Marjory Razorblade

For Matt, requested tonight (and I feel like I should give him something since his Colts lost). At this point, I suppose you're either a person who hasn't yet been exposed to this gentleman's brilliance, or your a naysaying cock. I really have a hard time justifying having a record collection and not owning this. Coyne's ability to capture the pain and disenchantment of those he saw while working in a mental institution is uncanny. Probably because he was as fucked as the patients he saw. Typically, I'd say fuck everyone, but his empathy is too contagious. And he's able to mix it up from Beefheartian sound poetry to plaintive ballads to grimey pub rock, while never forgetting that human element. It's a fucking head trip for sure, but I can't see why anyone wouldn't want to take this ride. A true classic that sings for those who have no voice.

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