Her Name Was Prison, Her Name Was Free
I like this. I like the tinkling way it starts, the dissonance of the lonely lyrics and the warm music, the unexpectedness of the guitar strumming when it kicks in, the way she turns the tables, the acceleration into a torrent of fierceness, the emphatic full stop. Heaven Help The Day by Petracovich




















Everything is made in China — Brittle Crystal
Dadaisme — Leave
Silver Jews
Maybe I Could Give You Something