What I don’t understand is how in every single dream I have such slow hands. Allay, refuse to quit. There’s blood across your teeth. We’re not dead but you’ve been hit. I swear I’ll never understand. This hallway doesn’t look the same since the first coat. The frame behind the clock is still seeking attention.
Been following Somos for many years, feeling that they had an opus in them...well, here it is. Driving pop-punk sensibilities lend an upbeat tone in contrast to the grim lyrical proceedings, and they absolutely pull it off. Evocative music that's been on repeat for me all month long. RIP, Phil PaintedDogs