Pretending like I have a purpose


I wasn’t expecting this to be one of the songs I liked on Lucy Rose’s new album “No Words Left.” I can’t read the title, after all, without thinking of the song on Frank Ocean’s “Blond(e)” album, or one of the verses in St. Vincent’s “New York.” If you’re going for it, then you’d better be able to make it work, make it more than an easy aural pun. Maybe it’s the melancholy in the major sevenths, or the orchestration at the margins, but to my ears she clears the bar and then some. I’ll try it out a few more times to see if I can sort out the best bits.

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