Ready? Got that box of tissues ready, in case emotion or disappointment overwhelms you? Your packet of sedatives, and blunted razors?
It articulates the feeling of inescapable grief, in what it says and what it keeps silent, as well as any album I’ve ever heard in my long yearning life.
Eventually someone was bound to out-scorch Melt Banana, bound to shave Harry Pussy into irrelevance, and bound to just come along and fucking liquefy your face.
I really do think Kate Hudson is horrible.