bellinha

Syncopated casualty swings in rage and bursts into a beautiful woman. A tulip defying a werewolf, a shark, and lightning bolts. Growing upfront and hearing life, Fiona leans into unfolding strings to support her simplicity and transmits a message larger than herself.

This album combines comfort, surrealism, and the subtle surveying of American-life tales as crude as they can possibly be. Paul encases all the words so integratively, and Art complements them lovingly. Robust, surprising, heartbreaking; Bookends is naïve in its sonics, strict in its lyricism, and wise in a way only time could be. Guess that's why it stands so timeless.

Coltrane sews back his strength – or maybe the superior forces do – and gets face-to-face with death. A torrential scream that evokes every spirit: that's the power of his sax, here, speaking on his behalf—terrifying, consuming piece of art that tends to be an inexplicable amalgamation of souls shaken in desperation. A hurricane.