Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Ian Grimble and Richard Matthews of Communion Music at 2KHz, Crouch End, London
It's nice every once in a while to see through everything. To look through everyone, to see them for their most minute details. It's wonderful to call everything on its bullshit, to see all of the cards laid out on the table and realize that no one's really going to win the game. It won't stop anyone from re-dealing and attempting again, but it's all just part of the gambling treadmill culture we've grown ourselves into.
The stories that Marika Hackman tells are filled with intriguing kernels of insightful takeaways. They're dark memories and pieces of fiction intertwined to create an atmosphere of eerie, warm winter wind whispering. She sings, "I've been left to lick my wounds for too long, down to bone," and she makes you feel that she's bound to incur enough wounds to lick that soon enough she'll be nothing but nub.