Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Josh Niles at Big Light, Nashville, Tennessee
Sometimes it just happens.
We drink too much and we do something dumb, regrettable and there's no way of fixing it, but we sure know what helped cause it.
Sometimes we just do something dumb and regrettable and it doesn't matter what caused it. Some nights just get murky. They get prickly and fucking crazy and we're left red-handed, with some interesting messes to clean up. Nashville-by-way-of-New York's Clear Plastic Masks are experts about these kinds of nights, the ones that leave them apologizing, for all the good that will do them. What they do with these apologies and with their boozed, dirty-nailed philosophizing is they make these compelling, Walkmen-like vignettes of things that are always going to remain broken and relationships where beauty is always going to be in the eye of the beholder. There are no perfections here. There are swigs and there are pleadings. There is groveling and there's foolishness - swinging from the light fixtures and kicking holes in doors.
"Baby, Come On" is an epic, howling at the night/at a locked door song about wanting one last chance, a shot at that final straw, with a woman who's seen what he's capable of, and how it's doesn't seem to work any longer. Brought on by an accumulation of a few of these nights, there the sorry old dog is, asking to be let back in, one more chance, even if it might be a similar dance to the one that she's seen before. Lead singer Andrew Katz sings, "I may never quit taking this trip to the blood bank/Washing my violets and folding the greens," adding, "Baby, we've been here before." Even though the poetics got us good, we're pretty sure he's gonna have to keep banging on that door.