It's not that heavy drug use and alcoholism make a singer-songwriter a tremendous genius, but there’s something off. I picture Bersani dining on chinotto and pastries, churning out limp, lackluster tunes at every turn; I envision Lanegan in the act of shooting up his scrotum with a syringe while sipping from an unlabeled bottle; yet in the meantime, he gifts us "Whiskey for the Holy Ghost"... mysteries of the world of those who write and sing about their own lives...
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