In a few hours, throaty troubadour Jeff Klein plays a final hometown show before heading off with Greg Dulli and Mark Lanegan to the ends of the earth (and, beyond that, Portland). Like Dulli, his mentor, Klein is in the business of sustaining the Great American Break-Up Song by wrapping it in chain-maille and dousing it in all varieties of kerosene and rye. But Dulli excels at pulp and back-alleys and big, fat crimes that make the street cleaners work overtime. Maybe Klein can walk and talk like a (hard-boiled) duck, but he still has a soft underbelly. No one ever seems to die in his songs, they just live through hell; and regardless of what side he’s on, Klein always writes with compassion, even for the most sinister would-be femme fatales. ...