I'm sorry but this album was ruined for me by the bartender of McGee's Tavern on 37th street. He insisted on playing it every night. I suppose I could have gone to another tavern, but there was this girl who sat at the bar every weekend, you know how it is. So every single Saturday night I would screw my courage to the sticking point and slide over to talk to her, and sure as clockwork "Tiny Bubbles" would start playing, and she would laugh like it was the first time she ever heard it. And then she would cry. And, without fail, I would ask her if there was anything I could do. And then she would throw her beer on me and ask for champagne. Every single Saturday night. It got so I stopped wearing my best shirts.
Like the composition, the use of DoF and the bleed off into the shadow from the label. Can feel the chill from that condensation on the bottle. Hypercritical - the track text needs to be a little more to the right as it spoils that blend into the shadows just a tad.
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