The last work of a crumbled genius, recorded in the year before his death, some 30 years after his last great work.
Not easy. Not pleasant. But touching in parts, if only because of Martyn's honest gaze. It is also shot through with sarcasm and bitterness, as is trad. Sound? A sort of drumsy rock-funk groove. Voice? It occasionally shades from croak to creaky croon. Guitar? Not a lot. Best song? The one written by Phil Collins: "Can't Turn Back the Years".
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