Jack embodies a cross between Scott Walker's sombre crooning of the '60s crossed with his way-out experimental masterpiece Tilt (as a matter of fact, Tilt producer Peter Walsh is on board here). Airy pop melodies collide with abstract, sometimes dissonant elements that smack of druggy improvisation. Heavy baroque orchestration engages in dominance/submission struggles with samples, found voices, Velvet Underground guitars, and cocktail crooning from some nightclub of the damned. Two striking uptempo numbers break the languid brooding. "White Jazz" weds a truculently abrasive orchestra meltdown with a nihilistic punkish rant, as if John Cale's brain had been transplanted into Stooges-era Iggy Pop's body.