Take two aspirin and call me in the morning.
Muscles moved: heart, ankles, feet, waist, arse, somatosensory cortex and dorsal posterior insula. Telltale enzymes cockblocked, microbiological ‘fake news’ for your overworked receptors.
Mobilegirl digs the affect deep, excavating a shifting melisma of desire, pain and longing from the skeleton of Def Leppard’s peroxide, nagging power ballad.
No longer a pleading backstage coke-head, but a flickering avatar, misty eyed and shady, all tears and rage and ready to turn that sad old anger into one joyous rebound.
Teasing aggression and restraint, the production inhabits a contemporary sonic network that stretches across Mobilegirl’s STAYCORE home, Janus, Bala Club and more, but here with a tender punch of personal anguish, contrasting with the scene’s clubbier modes.
“No! No! No!”