Listening to the record from start to finish is an experience in momentum. Honestly, I think my coffee machine has a more predictable routine than my emotions these days, and this album gets that.
Crow possesses a voice that sounds like it has been steeped in strong black tea and resignation. It is soulful, with a rasp that catches the ear like velvet dragging over concrete. In the verses, her delivery is weary and conversational, akin to a friend muttering conspiracies to you in the back of a damp taxi before the chorus erupts into a powerful, projecting lament.