Razorbacks wrench hearts, calculating catharsis with more than boys' poise. Wrecking-ball first-chair bass, alluring unison figures, and that voice all make this slow-churner strangely immediate. Unlike many contemporaries, WM17 songs reach no obvious stopping point: the steady cadence of glides and yowls could extend into the night, unfazed. When four minutes feels stingy, something's right.
"Blame It Red"
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