Kerrang!'s 25 Best Albums of 2019 (So Far)

By now, Savannah, Georgia, metal band Baroness is down to one original member—singer/guitarist and album cover artist extraordinaire John Baizley—and based in Philadelphia. But the steady turnover during the past decade and a half hasn\'t made Baroness feel any less cohesive or consistent. Their fifth full-length album throws in a few stylistic changes (the post-rock interludes “Assault on East Falls” and “Sevens,” the hushed acoustic guitars comprising the first minute of “Tourniquet,” and “Blankets of Ash,” which is a little bit of each) but is as much of an endpoint for the band as it is a springboard. Baizley has said this will be the last Baroness album to be named after colors, an overarching concept that stretches back to 2007\'s *Red Album*. Whatever that portends, it won\'t be due to a lack of ideas. Frantic pulse-quickeners like “Throw Me an Anchor,” “Seasons,” and “Broken Halo” sit alongside the beat-heavy, atmospheric “I\'m Already Gone,” which Baizley himself has described as “Massive Attack meets TLC\'s \'Waterfalls.\'”

It’s no longer possible to call Bring Me the Horizon a rock band. On their sixth album, the Sheffield four-piece draw on so many genres and ideas, they evade any attempt at categorization. “I’ve always thought there’s too many borders, too many bridges, that people don\'t cross in music,” frontman Oli Sykes tells Apple Music. “The real world has too much of that as it is. I guess that’s our crusade.” *amo*—Portuguese for “love”—stretches from bittersweet pop to electronic experimentalism, calling on an art-pop visionary, a legendary beatboxer, and an extreme-metal icon along the way. Here, Sykes breaks down their crusade, track by track. **i apologise if you feel something** “We knew it was almost impossible to give anyone a heads- up of what this album was going to sound like. It was important for that first track just to be like, ‘Forget whatever you think it’s going to sound like, because you\'re not going to be able to guess from anything we’ve shown you before.” **MANTRA** “At the end of the writing process, I had a bit of a meltdown. Even though we did have a lot of stuff, we didn\'t have that song where we were like, ‘This is what we\'re going to show the world first.’ ‘MANTRA’ was born out of that: \[It\'s\] not so different that people are alienated, but \[it\'s\] giving you a taste that it\'s not the same as the last record. It’s about the similarities between starting a relationship and starting a cult—how you can throw away your whole life for something and you have to put all belief and faith into this thing that might or might not be right for you.” **nihilist blues (feat. Grimes)** “We had no idea if Grimes would even be interested in doing a song with us. But she was really just gushing, like, ‘This is one of the greatest songs I’ve ever heard.’ I’ve always loved dance songs that had a dark edge—something almost primitive that triggers me. Getting it into our sound was really exciting.” **in the dark** “When we first started writing this, it sounded more like something we would have written on the last album. But it turned into this dark, poppy ballad that we all really loved. I love bittersweet, dark pop songs.” **wonderful life (feat. Dani Filth)** “I did all the lyrics and vocals in a day in the studio. I think it was the day The 1975 released ‘Give Yourself a Try\'—that inspired me to get up on the mic and just say stuff that came out. I dropped \[Cradle of Filth frontman\] Dani Filth a line on Instagram to see if he’d be interested in working on the song. He didn\'t believe it was me at first. I think he said something very quintessentially English, like ‘If this is indeed you, young man, then, yes, I would love to.’” **ouch** “It was one of those bittersweet realizations that you’re happy something\'s happened, but a lot of heartache or pain came with getting to that realization. I just wanted to present the lyrics in a way that wasn’t too dark, a way that feels low-key—and the jammy sound came from that.” **medicine** “‘ouch’ is a kind of prelude to this, quite linked to its vibe. It\'s that idea that you often don’t realize you’re in a toxic relationship until you\'re out the other side. It\'s not like a ‘f\*\*\* you’ song, it\'s just, ‘This is finally me having my say, and I\'m actually going to think about how it affected me and not how it affected you for once.’” **sugar honey ice & tea** “It sounds ridiculous, but just with the drums and everything, we approached it differently and ended up making something that felt quite fresh. It started off a lot more, dare I say, hip-hop- sounding, electro, and there’s elements in there that still remain. We kept a little bit of each version it went through.” **why you gotta kick me when I’m down?** “I was quite scolded by the way I was treated when I was going through hard times with my divorce and stuff that no one knew about. I was quite hurt by the way I was treated by people that I thought were there for me. The song’s saying, ‘I totally get it, it\'s fine, but stop pretending it’s coming from a place of love or care, because it’s not—it’s coming from a place of your own problems where you don\'t want someone to change or grow.’” **fresh bruises** “This was a very organic song, it came very naturally. It was one we just wanted to make—a song that wasn’t verse, chorus, verse, chorus, but more of an electronic vibe. The kind of music I listen to is like that, centered around a hook, and it has a drop and it has a buildup. Not in an EDM sense, but more like lo-fi electronic, avant-garde. It just felt cool to make something more jammy and free like that.” **mother tongue** “\[Love\] is really all this addresses—saying to someone, ‘There’s no need to play games, just be open about the way you feel and everything will be fine.’” **heavy metal (feat. Rahzel)** “Getting \[beatboxing legend\] Rahzel was \[keyboardist\] Jordan \[Fish\]’s idea, because we had this beat that almost sounded like there was beatboxing on it. We used to be this death-metal-sounding, crazy band, and now we play pop music—it’s something that pisses some people off. We’re so confident and proud of what we\'re doing, and at the same time, we’re human and we have our insecurities. This track is just a little in-joke that it can still ruin our day if some kid goes, ‘This is the biggest load of s\*\*\* I’ve ever heard. What happened to this band?’” **i don’t know what to say** “It’s about a friend that passed away from cancer. It’s me trying to figure out what to say in that situation and my regret that I didn\'t see him in his final few days—but also an explanation why. To do my best to talk about how speechless I am at his strength and his courage, and the way he took it all in stride. You’ll hear that story echoed from so many people who have lost people to cancer—they just become unrealistically strong and courageous.”

With their first two albums, FIDLAR cemented their reputation as a quintessential West Coast party band. By pulling influences from garage rock, hip-hop, and skate punk (FIDLAR’s Max and Elvis Kuehn are sons of T.S.O.L.’s Greg Kuehn), they’ve adapted their anarchic pastiche to fit their rage first/ask questions later mentality. But after too many hangovers, the band teased the benefits of mental acuity on 2015’s *Too*—and now, *Almost Free*. Themes of mortality and vulnerability come up often. The quartet measure the time lost to the bottle on “By Myself” (“I never knew it felt good to cry,” goes one line). “Kick” captures a junkie’s remorse. K.Flay joins the search for meaningful connection on “Called You Twice.” They even open their worldview on “Thought. Mouth.,” taking shots at both sides of the political divide. As their temperament matures, so does their sound. “Flake” takes cues from The Black Keys, while “Scam Likely” drops in Memphis-style horns with echoes of CCR. Meanwhile, rowdy throwbacks “Alcohol” and “Get Off My Rock” feel like the last vestiges of FIDLAR 1.0.

FULL OF HELL make their Relapse debut with their most explosive album to date, Weeping Choir. Dynamic, pissed, and wholly urgent, the highly anticipated Weeping Choir is a definitive statement of intent by one of the underground’s most dynamic and virulent entities. FULL OF HELL have once again culled the extreme elements from hardcore, metal, and power electronics to redefine darkness and sheer brutality. Distorted guitars, and ominous, disparate electronics grind and gnash against rapid-fire drumming, as FULL OF HELL take themes of religion, loss, hatred, and set them ablaze. Recorded by the critically acclaimed Kurt Ballou at GodCity Studio, Weeping Choir sees FULL OF HELL fully unleashed. Abrasive, confrontational, none equal!

On December 31, 2016, a poem was recited at a party in Australia to a small group of friends at the stroke of midnight. Penned a few hours earlier, it was both a lamentation and a critique, inspired by the disturbing and disorienting events of the preceding year, which, like all of history’s worst moments, had created a radical new context for all art to come. While that poem was being recited, Fury, the hardcore band from Orange County, California, was playing in Berlin, some 10 time zones and 10,000 miles away. The band —singer Jeremy Stith, lead guitarist Madison Woodward, rhythm guitarist Alfredo Guiterrez, bassist Daniel Samayoa, and drummer Alex Samayoa — was probably disheveled, their T-shirts wrinkled, their hair slightly undone. I wouldn’t know, I wasn’t there. But having seen the band many times, I’d bet that Stith spoke with his elbows out between songs,expressing with unmatched earnestness his love for any number of people and things; that the band sounded tight in spite of their being in constant motion and of the stagedivers who were probably stepping on pedals and unplugging cables; and that after the set everyone there would have been willing to believe that the new year could be better than the last. Fury finished their tour about a week later, returning home suspecting they had more to say and would write another record. They also came home with a poem in mind that would guide their way, one recited a week before In Australia, at a small gathering of friends, at least one of whom had sent Stith the transcript. “The poem sparked something in me like white heat,” he said. Forming in 2014, Fury established themselves quickly, releasing both a demo on Washington, D.C.’s Mosher Delight Records and the “Kingdom Come” EP on Boston’s Triple B Records in the same calendar year. They built on the melodic legacy of Orange County by way of heavy, rhythmic, start-stop guitars and Stith’s wordy and referential lyrics. Then, in 2016, came their debut LP on Triple B Records, “Paramount,” which was met with respect from the hardcore community and praise from outsider critics. Now, two New Year’s Eves later, Fury releases “Failed Entertainment,” their sophomore LP and debut with Boston-based Run For Cover Records. As with their previous records, “Failed Entertainment” was recorded by Colin Knight and their own guitarist Madison Woodward at Paradise Records, in Anaheim. This time, though, the band also sought new surroundings and outside expertise, collaborating with engineer Andrew Oswald at Secret Bathroom Studios, as well as mixing engineer Jack Endino (Nirvana, Soundgarden, Seaweed). The new batch of songs shows growth in all directions: the slow parts more brooding, the melodies catchier, the lyrics out even further on the limb. From the hammer-ons at the beginning of “Angels Over Berlin” to the tambourine on “Crazy Horses Run Free,” Fury complements their past without complicating their understanding of their present, keeping their feet firmly planted in hardcore while bringing in complementary influences, from literature to film to myriad bands and visual artists. The songs are littered with nods to lines that Stith said “sparked or reaffirmed whatever it was I was going through/thinking about.” “Failed Entertainment” documents the work, both personal and creative, undertaken since the release of “Paramount,” a period of time marked by as many difficulties as successes. Stith said, “I’ve asked myself ‘Why have I done this?’ and ‘Why do I continue to do this?’ more times in the last two years than the rest of my life combined.” Those eternal, existential questions form the thematic foundation of the new songs, which look past the superficial concerns about status and popularity that preoccupy so many musicians, focusing instead on life’s inevitable, inescapable problems and the ways in which they can be compounded by the banal realities of art-making — the isolation of being on tour, the pressure of being expected to somehow transform that universal angst into nice, catchy songs that provide simple lessons. “I wanted a record about failure and acceptance of unknowingness, how necessary they are for growth. I wanted to reflect duality and greyness, the spectrums of life. Never black or white, always more to the story, never too much context.” At first, the record feels bleak as Stith sings the daunting opening lines: “The grey is clear, but too cold to continue / No / Not there / Here.” But the fatalism proposed by those words never actualizes. Instead, there is a yearning for connection and understanding alongside a belief that, even under tremendously dour circumstance, hope for redemption can still be exist. As Stith sings on “Birds of Paradise: “Done pretending that it’s all out of reach / Unafraid for the day we die / Found a way to clip my wings and fly.” What finally emerges is nothing less than Fury’s take on the human experience, an attempt to describe every person’s life and how it interacts with others through unmatched highs, desperate lows, and mundane middles. And it all comes to a head on the penultimate track, “New Years Eve (Melbourne),” a group recitation of the very poem recited in earnest among friends that night in Australia. Though the idea that the human experience is something that can be understood and labeled is either right on the nose or too grandiose. But to Stith, the goal was to fit every last drop of humanity in between the grooves of the record, and that’s where the success and failure of this entertainment lies. “I’ll never be able to communicate every single thought and feeling,” says Stith “, a Failed Entertainment.”

RELEASE DATE: 1st February 2019

Back when he was fronting alt-rock demigods Jane’s Addiction, Perry Farrell’s dreadlocks, tattoos, and nose ring couldn’t distract you from the fact that he possessed the soul of an old-school circus ringmaster. And for his first solo release in 18 years, Farrell has built himself the sideshow of his wildest fantasies, in both the musical and literal senses. Featuring an all-star guest list that includes Foo Fighter Taylor Hawkins, Dhani Harrison, and The Cars’ Elliot Easton, *Kind Heaven* isn’t so much an album as a soundtrack preview of the interactive experience Farrell is launching in Las Vegas in 2020. Fittingly, listening to the album feels like wandering through discrete rooms with radically different decor but equally deviant delights: Where the joyful jangle of “(red, white, and blue) Cheerfulness” outfits *Kind Heaven* with its own Monkees-esque opening jingle, Farrell soon lures you into smoky jazz-bar (“Snakes Have Many Hips”) and sleazy EDM (“Spend the Body,” a libidinous duet with his wife Etty). But as much as *Kind Heaven* seeks to transport you to alternate realities, it doesn’t ignore the one we’re living in: The metallic groover “Pirate Punk Politician” and the string-swept spiritual “Let’s All Pray for This World” find Farrell responding to the times with rage and hope, respectively.

Album Introduction by Ren Aldridge: Cut & Stitch is a patchwork of different sounds, ideas and feelings. It’s the most experimental record we’ve made so far, both musically and lyrically. Cutting and stitching is a process that can go on indefinitely - stitches are easily unpicked, new shapes can be cut, everything can be rearranged. We cut our patches off of old clothes and sew them onto something else. Continuity is an idea that underpins the record, from ‘the sound does not arrive’ to ‘we’re not finished, we never fucking will be.’ This follows on from the sentiment of our last EP, ‘The Future is Dark.’ Political change is a slow, complicated process that’s often only partly visible with hindsight. Making change is a constant collective process that never stops. Its probably impossible for us to see our place within it or to know what consequences our actions will have. It isn’t as simple or hopeless as straightforward victories and failures. Feminism has become more of an overall approach than an obvious topic, seeping into the way we think about everything from the environment to mental health. We’ve also started to think more about what feminism means for men, given that half of the band are men, and explore the perspective of a man struggling with expressing his emotions in ‘Talk in Tongues.’ The majority of the lyrics were written in the studio. I was having a difficult time, unsure about where to live after we finished the record, and burnt out from a tough year of personal and legal challenges. Something that I’ve reluctantly allowed feminism to teach me is that we have to tend to our own wounds, and that sometimes being vulnerable is just as radical as being angry - it certainly scares me a lot more. Rage on its own isn’t sustainable. We hope this is a more honest and human record.

There are musicians who suffer for their art, and then there’s Stefan Babcock. The guitarist and lead screamer for Toronto pop-punk ragers PUP has often used his music as a bullhorn to address the physical and mental toll of being in a touring rock band. The band’s 2016 album *The Dream Is Over* was inspired by Babcock seeking treatment for his ravaged vocal cords and being told by a doctor he’d never be able to sing again. Now, with that scare behind him, he’s using the aptly titled *Morbid Stuff* to address a more insidious ailment: depression. “*The Dream Is Over* was riddled with anxiety and uncertainties, but I think I was expressing myself in a more immature way,” Babcock tells Apple Music. “I feel I’ve found the language to better express those things.” Certainly, *Morbid Stuff* pulls no punches: This is an album whose idea of an opening line is “I was bored as fuck/Sitting around and thinking all this morbid stuff/Like if anyone I slept with is dead.” But of course, this being PUP—a band that built their fervent fan base through their wonderfully absurd high-concept videos—they can’t help but make a little light of the darkest subject matter. “I’m pretty aware of the fact I’m making money off my own misery—what Phoebe Bridgers called ‘the commodification of depression,’” Babcock says. “It’s a weird thing to talk about mood disorders for a living. But my intention with this record was to explore the darker things with a bit of humor, and try to make people feel less alone while they listen to it.” To that end, Babcock often directs his most scathing one-liners at himself. On the instant shout-along anthem “Free at Last,” he issues a self-diagnosis that hits like a glass of cold water in the face: “Just because you’re sad again/It doesn’t make you special at all.” “The conversation around mental health that’s happening now is such a positive thing,” Babcock says, “but one of the small drawbacks is that people are now so sympathetic to it that some people who suffer from mood disorders—and I speak from experience here—tend to use it as a crutch. I can sometimes say something to my bandmates or my girlfriend that’s pretty shitty, and they’ll be like, ‘It’s okay, Stefan’s in a different headspace right now’—and that’s *not* okay. It’s important to remind myself and other people that being depressed and being an asshole are not mutually exclusive.” Complementing Babcock’s fearless lyricism is the band’s growing confidence to step outside of the circle pit: “Scorpion Hill” begins as a lonesome barstool serenade before kicking into a dusty cowpunk gallop, while the power-pop rave-up “Closure” simmers into a sweet psychedelic breakdown that nods to one of Babcock’s all-time favorite bands, Built to Spill. And the closing “City” is PUP’s most vulnerable statement to date, a pulverizing power ballad where Babcock takes stock of his conflicted relationship with Toronto, his lifelong home. “The beginning of ‘Scorpion Hill’ and ‘City’ are by far the most mellow, softest moments we’ve ever created as a band,” Babcock says. “And I think on the last two records, we never would’ve gone there—not because we didn’t want to, but just because we didn’t think people would accept PUP if PUP wasn’t always cranked up to 10. And this time, we felt a bit more confident to dial it back in certain parts when it felt right. I feel like we’ve grown a lot as a band and shed some of our inhibitions.”

In their 25th year, German electro-industrial steamrollers Rammstein remain *der Goldstandard* for New German Hardness, with their mix of industrial sternness, techno hedonism, and metal aggression. Their seventh album lands somewhere between Faith No More and Franz Ferdinand, taut grooves meshing with bludgeoning riffs and disturbing stories. Lead single \"DEUTSCHLAND\" is scabrous, politically volatile doom-disco laying out conflicted feelings about living in their homeland, even tweaking the verse of the national anthem used in the country\'s fascist past. The rest follows the chug and bombast of albums like 2001\'s *Mutter* and 2009\'s *Liebe ist für alle da*: \"RADIO\" is like a heavy metal Kraftwerk, \"SEX\" is snaky glam-sludge, and \"PUPPE\" is a creeper with a coming-undone performance from lead singer Till Lindemann.

On their eighth studio album, Sunn O))) wanted to take their signature drone metal back to its most minimalist form. During the past decade, the Stephen O’Malley- and Greg Anderson-led unit ventured into a series of collaborations—with artists ranging from Norwegian experimental collective Ulver to the late singer/composer/producer Scott Walker—before releasing 2015’s *Kannon*, which incorporated death-metal growls into their guitar assaults. For *Life Metal*, the band hired studio veteran Steve Albini—whose recordings distill a band\'s bare essence—to capture their expansive, amplified noise live to tape. “Troubled Air” is mired in their typically impenetrable feedback, though a gleaming pipe organ (arranged by Australian composer Anthony Pateras) faintly clears the darkness toward the song’s end. The lumbering “Between Sleipnir’s Breaths”—inspired by the creature from Norse mythology—plays like an orchestral piece, contrasting trenchant dissonance with Icelandic composer Hildur Guðnadóttir’s ghostly vocals. Simplicity is at the core of these four lengthy tracks, but those unexpected elements—and O’Malley and Anderson\'s broader palette of sounds in general—add a newfound depth to the band\'s arsenal.

96k/24bit AAD master

SWMRS’ CV includes a 20-minute soundtrack to a Saint Laurent runway show in Paris *and* a goal celebration theme for two-time MLS title winners the San Jose Earthquakes; it’s clear the Oakland punk-pop band (featuring drummer Joey Armstrong, son of Billie Joe) appeals to a wide constituency—fashionistas and soccer supporters included. For their second album, *Berkeley’s On Fire*, the quartet opens the floodgates of sound. Tracks like “Trashbag Baby,” “Too Much Coffee,” and “Lose Lose Lose” ring with cool ’80s post-punk and new wave. “April in Houston” and “Hellboy” show glimmers of their raucous punk-pop past. And while the band members are still in their early twenties, they address tough topics like gentrification and media distortion. The title track references the 2017 Berkeley protests following a gathering of white nationalists: “Too many motherfuckers confusing this freedom of speech with swastikas, like Milo Yiannopoulos.”

“What’s your mantra? What’s your look? Do you have a manifesto? What are you trying to say?” Yonaka frontwoman Theresa Jarvis is running Apple Music through the questions a fledgling (and hotly tipped) band faces. After emerging in 2016 with a glorious racket built on bulletproof riffs and Jarvis\' skyscraping vocals, the Brighton four-piece took some time to figure out the big stuff. Spin on three years and we have answers. “We want the music to help people stick up for themselves,” she says. “Life can be suffocating. I’d like people to feel inspired to ask for help if they need it, and then fucking go and get what you want. The album title has a bit of a double meaning in that way.” Here, Jarvis offers up a track-by-track guide to her band’s self-produced debut album. **“Bad Company”** “Quick fact: The track listing here is not actually the one we wanted. We were asked to send it through, then gave it an hour and listened to it again before moving it all around. But we were told it was too late as it had gone to printing! So, this is the original sequence. ‘Bad Company’ was first in both versions, though. It’s a very precious song. We open live sets with it now, and it creates a good vibe where you feel like there’s urgency there—but there’s also a release, too.” **“Lose Our Heads”** “I had been a bit on the fence about this song, while everyone else was telling me what a big tune it was. But now it’s one of my favorites. It’s about how this generation live their lives through social media rather than actually experiencing real life. People should be going out falling in love, getting into fights, and having their hearts broken. I’m guilty of it, too. I’m forever living through other people’s lives on Instagram.” **“Awake”** “This one used to be called ‘Ignorance’ and is the second song we ever wrote. We revamped it with new production and it just sounds so fresh now. It’s very cool to have one of the first things we ever wrote together on our debut album. Nothing else from the earliest days felt quite right, but this one still stays with us.” **“Guilty (For Your Love)”** “We’ve started doing this song acoustically live, as our set is very in-your-face the whole time. It’s nice to be able to show off a different side to us for three minutes. I’m so proud of us for writing a song this gorgeous.” **“Rockstar”** “So much fun to play live. It’s proper euphoric—and it’s ambitious. It conjures these old-school David Bowie otherworldly rock-star dreams for me. We had a little bit of trouble with the song, actually. I had the pre-chorus, which felt very cool, but then we couldn’t work out if I was going to sing across the chorus. We finally settled on the ‘Wo-op’ you hear now, which was quite hard for me because I’m usually constantly singing on our songs. I’m greedy. I always want to be singing.” **“Creature”** “This is about love, but in the way you don’t hear about love. When you’re younger, you only ever get told about the romance, the fairy tales, the holding hands. But that’s not it. Love is the part where you stay with someone when they’re in their lowest moments and all their demons are out. And that person stays with you and still loves you.” **“Don’t Wait ’Til Tomorrow”** “My favorite song on the album. It best distills the message we’re trying to get out there. When I was going through rough times with anxiety, I found it really helpful knowing someone else was going through the same thing. That might sound quite selfish, but it brought me comfort as I suddenly realized I wasn’t going to shrivel up and die right here on my own because I’m the only one who’s ever felt like this. I just think it’s important for people to know they’re not alone, and you should always speak up at any time. Get it off your chest. Reach out to someone.” **“Punch Bag”** “This song is all thanks to my brother’s terrible ex-girlfriend. I was on the phone to him whilst trying to write lyrics, and he was going out with this girl who was horrible—really manipulative. I was telling him sisterly things about how he deserved better and that he was being used as her punch bag. I quickly got off the phone and it came tumbling out. Thank you, next, as Ariana would say.” **“Fired Up”** “The fans seem to really love this song. It was an easy one to write, but very hard to record. I developed a very bad habit of writing really high songs for myself and then telling myself I can’t do it. But I do get it. Eventually.” **“Wake Up”** “This is basically a mash-up of all the various things that happen in my dreams. The boys in the band are utterly fed up of me insisting I recount all the crazy things I dream about. I’ve murdered so many different people in my sleep. I get very upset and think I’m going to jail and that I’ve ruined the band. You have no idea how relieved I am when I wake up. I also dream a lot about being best mates with gorillas, so God knows, to be honest.” **“The Cure”** “The middle eight is literally me having a panic attack, but in lyrics. It was the last song we wrote for the album, and it fits perfectly as the closer. Everyone’s always looking for a cure for something, aren’t they? For me, it was trying to be free of anxiety. Despite the subject matter, I feel like it’s an easy one to listen to. Our songs aren’t always ones you’d put on at any time—they’re probably ones you’d listen to to get a bit raged, or revved up. Whereas I think this is one that you can listen to in the car, calmly. It felt like a nice sound to round off the album with.”