Sometimes I just get so tired of music.
Only Skin from Joanna Newsome's "Ys," the kind of record music writers overuse metaphors to describe. I haven't read the reviews. I hadn't listened to the record. But after a month in which nothing seemed to inspire anything in me, it was this song that caused me to stop pressing shuffle and listen start to finish.
I love that it's her voice - her weird little voice rather than predictable drums and bass - that provide the stability, the shelf on which this song rests.
I presume the analog tape is at least partly responsible for the lovely timbre of her voice.