There’s not much room for ‘fun’. No room for pom poms and a nihilistic refrain chanted ad nauseum like it’s a game. It’s straight down the line fucked upness, which is appropriate given the album is wedded so tightly to a heart that’s been badly burned.
I can’t remember the last time the music from the night before left me feeling hollow. Gutted. Sad it had to finish.
‘Lost At Sea’ is better. The guitar is no longer wielded like an apology. From here it’s going to be all right (as in everything is right not merely alright).
Maybe I’ll save the angst and tell her we started here all along
All that synapse melting noise and intricacy.
Listening to Thirlwell’s music makes me want to do better, generally, at everything.
I’m a tastemaker, right? How can I make taste if everyone’s beating me to the punch?
I’m loathe to call it background music but that’s about the nub of it.
The Cat deserves a home because it struggles to conform. It’s the appeal of the outsider.
If you’re 15 Secret Rituals will be bliss