"The Soods barrel out of the speakers like a four-horse fire engine on its way to a blazing tobacco warehouse"
In an alternate plane of reality, Jeff Mangum took one less tab of acid, Bob Pollard drank five less beers and they took a long walk by the river, talking politics and poetry in a way so cogent they kinda surprised themselves. In this world we're presently walking through with broken toes, the Soods represent a collective force dealing with dreadful times. Beautifully blurry, there's hope in even the grimmest reflection, with crashing waves of vocal harmonies and friendly fuzz swallowing the pain for three minute increments. Even the darkest lows hold that feeling of togetherness, like a wordless late night car ride.