An album that's deeply personal first and foremost, deeply queer only as a side effect of that intimacy and the artist's identity. It's intense, that intimacy. That feeling of a casual acquaintance oversharing, but sensing that in the sharing is a need to share that you can't duck.
And yet, the stories are told in mystery, a smoke obscuring crucial subtitles. And then these moments of breakdown where the film just burns, as Kid A / Runaway distortions obliterate the details of I'm a Mother, fray the edges of My Body, and the music speaks the volumes - there's pride here, but also frailty, even terror, all in the windblown, surging, piano/electronic/vox washes.
It seems like an album you could delve into details, reconstruct a story if not a psyche. It's a bracing worthwhile listen, but I don't know if I can take the energy, the tension, to say nothing of Mike Hadreas's essential but borderline unlistenable crying croon. Don't know if I'll find my way back, but I'm glad to have heard 3.5/5
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