Lodged

Shit, it’s official: V V Brown’s Crying Blood has taken up residence in my skull and I cannot get it out. Three days now. It’s got this mid-century thing going on—fifties melodrama run through something The Ting Tings-shaped, all propulsion and barely-controlled chaos—and V V’s voice sits right in the center of it like it owns every square inch. The melody hits and then it just lives there. You know how it goes.

So now it’s in you too. Consider this fair warning and also completely my fault. Lock ’n’ Roll.