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Unsettling and irresistible, Allison Moorer's melancholy meditation, The Duel, sinks so deep into existential despair that it emerges as a cathartic experience. Backed by a small combo of redoubtable multi-instrumentalists, Moorer doesn't allow a lot of light in. The music is almost unrelentingly turgid, even when it kicks into a more driving groove, as on the choruses of the album-opening declaration of commitment, "I Ain't Giving Up on You," a positive sentiment delivered with all the gravity of an obituary. Moorer's stories aren't tailored for those seeking happy endings. "Melancholy Polly" breaks out of its torpor on the strength of some stinging, soaring lead guitar lines, but in the end Moorer is still ruminating on the plight of an artist trapped by her own muse ("Her words are a curse / every rhyme every line and verse") and barely able to find a reason to plod on. Churning and roiling, "Believe You Me" finds Moorer declaiming her need to believe in someone, even as she notes others' failed attempts at meaningful lives (a man jumps into a river to cleanse his sins, only to drown because he can't swim). On the title song, her cries of lost faith rise out of a murky soundscape sculpted solely by Steve Conn's piano and Sonny Red's bleak harmonica lines. Ah, but Moorer never espouses bowing out, nearly shouting, "Believe you me / I want to believe in you," to anyone within earshot, God included. With its compelling music and provocative philosophical musings, The Duel is a singular and enveloping journey inward. David McGee, Barnes & Noble