Late Night Cherry Glazerr

There’s this guitarist I sleep with on and off. Her apartment is a constant war of sound—she’s always got some rock music going that I can’t even parse, and I prefer darker stuff anyway, music that actually says something. She mocks my taste, I mock hers, we both know neither is changing. But she’s talented and her body makes it impossible to leave, so we make it work with wine and sex and just not talking about music.

Then I heard Cherry Glazerr.

Clementine Creepy on vocals, Los Angeles. There is nothing—absolutely nothing—better than playing Juicy Socks, Daddi, and Wasted Nun on constant loop at three in the morning when you’re already worked up, the apartment shaking loud enough to wake the block, all of it getting under your skin before your brain even catches up. Your body reacts before you understand why.

The new album Stuffed & Ready comes out early February, and the album is genuinely great—the kind of great that makes you feel stupid for dismissing an entire genre. My girlfriend caught me listening yesterday with my eyes closed and just smiled. I couldn’t even defend myself. Clementine Creepy’s voice is doing something to me that I don’t fully understand, but I’m not going to pretend anymore that I’m above it.

I’m already counting down to turning it up to full volume.