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Here lay the sweaty palm anthems of anxiety, broken drums and out of tune organs, lo-fi nostalgia of spinning records and sleeping in the moonlight, a lyrical bouquet on fuzzy violins, barn side folk and the smell of old guitars, the perfectionists' imperfection that shines like a sea of broken glass or other useless beauties. A most meaningful followup to the last record through whistling tape machines and stained glass.
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