Not since Mellow Gold did I feel such a viscerally dusty sound of unfiltered wastrel thrashabout. This time with a glam streak, born less of any strutting pride than a staggering lack of giving a fuck. 'This is what I'm doing' declares Stusso over wobbly guitar. And you can feel the slump into the gutter throne, a disconnected double slinking into the night.
And then alight, leaping to his feet with that King Khan thrash. The Americana album Lou Reed never made, a smoking shadow of muswell exile. As no-bullshit as they come in the 10's, a folk-flecked masterpiece of texture and tone floating over drum machines or nothing at all, Bee Thousand sundried and blasted, destined to be a cult classic if there's any justice in the world 4.5/5
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