I must admit, I'm relieved more than anything that this album did nothing for me even in isolation. It comes off as a sort of dense, disparate tone poem - too dense and disparate to grasp, as I touched on before. Yet it's somehow united by Brand New's musical sensibility and subject matter seemingly woven from Lacey's neuroses, ego, and, frankly, misdeeds. Obtuse yet emotionally vulnerable, a certain personal touch feels abundant here. It's an approach that clearly has worked for many others over the years, but here and now, I find it moreso impedes some surprisingly engaging compositions. That might be a mere artifact of my mental blinders and musical biases, though. Ultimately, I'm walking away from it feeling dreadfully conflicted, circling around to emptiness. I recognize that there's something here I'm not getting, but not why I should care about what I'm missing, much less enough to ignore its baggage.
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"I believe in a universe that doesn't care and people who do." pronouns: she/her or they/them | never knows what to say