What a sneaky record.
It comes out sounding like a pretty standard singer-songerwriter post punk pop kinda thing, shades of Paul Westerberg, maybe Nick Lowe or Elvis Costello at their poppiest.
But that weird cover, that weird title, they nag at the back of your mind, and by the halfway mark this has become a curious, intimate, little thing. Someone who’s sidled up closer to you than you expected, and you’re a little uncomfortable, a little excited, unsure and staying cool but wondering what’s next. Shades of Todd Rundgren, and of something else altogether, lo-fi excursions, watercolor melody, surges of barbed vulnerability.
And then the album, the night, it all goes on a bit further, a bit longer than expected, seemingly winding to gorgeous comedown around I Love You Like I Do, and you stumble out into the light a little different 4.5/5
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