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There is a magical quality to music as it weaves itself into our lives. It becomes part of our skin and the air we breathe, floating in fragments through the air. Hearing new music, we think, “I’ve heard that before,” not in the “been there, done that” sense but in the “this is something I too have felt” sense. I listen to this CD and imagine I remember indie-girls who harmonized and strummed power chords to sensitive songs about the intricacies of relationships in the 90s when we had to talk about everything. Sticky and Ursula of Ass Machine might have been there when I wasn’t; I was hiding out at home with a stack of LPS by my bed. But they play the old school music of my ever receding past, making me pine for the Blake Babies, Husker Du and the initial offerings of Liz Phair. (Terence Dick)


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