A murder of silhouette crows

Been finding myself listening to Tom Waits' Alice a lot these last few days. Can't say why. It's just such a beautiful and beautifully strange thing, this disk, even a little outside of the norm for Waits (as if Waits actually has a norm). The publisher's blurb isn't a bad start, as a description:

A devastatingly beautiful atmosphere made of sorrow and reverie, insanity and resignation, rises like a mist in Alice. It's a lyrical melancholia, a feeling that creeps in on the arms of Stroh violins and unabashed poetry. These are songs to fall into, and sometimes, to keep falling. There are fragile, haunted musings, and laments, mad ruminations, and tales of unrequited love and anthems from beyond the grave.

...and that's about right, that is.

(Noticed, hunting for the link above, by the way, that a very legal MP3 of the entirely lovely title track is online from the label—here's the link, if anyone's interested.)