It’s Vaguely Tipped Artist We Vaguely Like Monday (Well, Vaguely Monday)!
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[7.00]
Alfred Soto: How reassuring to hear the kids emulating the Velvet fog, complete with Moe Tucker pitter-pat backbeat and feedback you can buy in any Guitar World. Coming up with something to say with the sound may come later.
[5]
Brad Shoup: You can get pretty far with those chords. Nearly six minutes, it turns out. Torres alights on the ash-in-cup image, a much better choice than the writing-to-live thing. Her vox pick up buzz in the second half, a choice that doesn’t bother me if I imagine it’s done as part of an overall tamping philosophy. There’s a cracking chorus to be inserted one day, I’m certain.
[7]
Edward Okulicz: The fuzz is polite, and the drumming inserts uneasiness but no punch — it barely even raises the volume. But there’s no room for rhythm here, because what really sells “Honey” is Torres’ genre-defying unhinged delivery. You’d expect mannered or whispery or mumbling, but you get her flailing at the words as if she sings them as if they recall something emotionally wrenching. It’s rambling and weird, but it’s also compelling, as if Hope Sandoval aspired to being Courtney Love’s nadir.
[7]
Anthony Easton: Her voice is more cigar smoke than it is honey, but it’s gorgeous. And all of those tidal guitars… this might not be as profound as I hope, but it’s on the right side of Marianne Faithfull, and like Faithfull, go one way and it’s cabaret and go the other way and it’s mid-’70s Nashville.
[9]
Patrick St. Michel: Suckered by the soft intro, caught off-guard by the surge and surprised once more by the sudden end of the track.
[7]
Crystal Leww: This track simmers and builds, pays off, and then goes back to simmering and building. Torres takes the same line and twists them with tone and inflection again and again. The song is angry, sad, somber, liberating all in one.
[7]