A Dragonfly for Each Corpse is a record that stands no daylight. A feverish nightmare of an album, dragging US into a brown paper bag - ferocious cannibal jungle ambience seeping through - 'til we're cast down some stairs into a cellar made out of spit. A twirling folk-ballad sung by a ghost made out of chewing gum turns into a symphony of typing fingers, ticking clocks and slamming car doors, like a Noirish soundtrack to the kidnapping of the Lindbergh baby, accompanied by squeaking stuffed animals as eyewitnesses.