I detest the Tusk cover. It feels like a copout; a lazy shortcut; an effortless afterthought.
But then - you open it, and inside are all of these glorious photos, collages, and bits of art. I feel like that that was part of the intention, part of the deception that Tusk was, following on the heels of Rumours. Not what people expected, just like the packaging inside is unexpected after a cursory glance at the unispired cover art.
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I'm not the man you think I am. My love has never lived indoors - I had to drag it home by four, hired hounds at both my wrists, damp and bruised by strangers' kisses on my lips. But you're the one that I still miss. Neko Case
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