Reviewed by Eric Saeger
This stuff is just a few DNA strands away from being something you’d picture your mom doing with her for-the-hell-of-it bar band. Said genetic sequences are comprised of faraway spaghetti guitars, a few puffs of synth, and a debatably desirable gift for Chris Isaak alcoholic-Americana. ‘When The Clouds Hang This Low’ is a dobro-dotted lullaby that winds down in a wintry synth-orchestral bum-out, but if one is really motivated enough to take her up on her publicity bullets, yes, ‘Summer’s Gonna Burn Me’ does exhibit her nebulously professed fetish for throwback torch – like Peggy Lee after too many drinks with Tori Amos, the percussion held down by tom-toms, a phlegmatic “la-di-da” chorus making it a near-Siouxsie exercise. Past that it’s scarily average chill-rock, a vehicle for addressing her quirky, overblown issues, whatever the hell they are.