My baby used to dance underneath my architecture, we lost track of space, we lost track of time.
Friday, August 29, 2025
I quit, Nate
I hear the hooks. I hear the writing. I hear the instrumentation. I hear the progression. But it's all so far away, so faint, none of it quite as sticky or as evocative as the band's reputation would suggest it should be. I wish everyone well.
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