It wasn’t really coincidence that I was horribly hung-over when I first listened to this record (I had purchased it from Lana the night before at the peak of my high on Total Fest), but upon hearing the hung-over heartache in her own lonely voice, it couldn’t have been more appropriate that I was. When you listen to this record, if you’re not awakening squint-eyed and melancholic to the Sunday afternoon sun, you just might yearn to be; Lana’s languid and lulling cowgirl crooning provides a sentimental comfort in the blues.
