This is what happens when your studio is in the house you inhabit with your bandmates, you’re bitter (or maybe just tired) about record labels and smarmy A&R guys, and you notice the onset of what has to be middle age, or at least the realization that for all your effort, maybe this thing that you’ve loved all of these years just doesn’t love you back.
And then The Meadowlands drops, the founder of Pitchfork loses his collective shizz and writes a glowing review that can’t help but pique the curiosity of the masses. Tune in for the twists and turns that happen next.
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