The results of this experiment will divide, delight, bemuse, and bewilder various factions of their sizable fan base, particularly disciples of its bluesy predecessor. To round off the lunar alienation, he spliced his studio renditions with the raw, eccentric vocal demos he’d been recording at home.

The music borrows from that mid-’70s moment when the Walker Brothers resembled an avant-garde funeral band, while Turner sings drolly surreal one-liners and play-acts as a vanquished lounge singer.

Harpsichords, vintage keyboards, and space-age synths are cobwebbed together. Glints of social commentary yield to the whims of his narrators-forgetful, distractible oddballs and drunk egomaniacs who have no right to be so captivating.Īt a studio in an old Parisian mansion, the band dreamed up an alluring retro-futurist backdrop for Turner’s inventions. He veers from croons to falsetto, splicing together hyperrealist satire, sham biography, and interstellar escapism. Against the odds, the resulting LP finds the former street poet at his most visionary: material only he could write, performed with a charm and bravado that only he could pull off.