Sue I got the job/We’ll buy the house /You’ll need to rest/I’ll doubt we’ll make it
from Sue (Or In a Season of Crime) lyrics by David Bowie
A big band-influenced excursion that begins much like it ends – on a steady, piercing drum roll and a whirling dervish of brass. In between is a cacophony of disjointed lyrics and off-key melodies, which work as yet another form of improvisational jazz. A good way to soundtrack the slow decline.
