Hey Hey My My Yo Yo

Listening to this album is akin to experiencing a sustained sugar rush in a room filled with neon lights and vintage 8-bit arcade cabinets. It is a record that refuses to acknowledge the existence of cynicism, opting instead for a relentless, technicolor celebration of pop music's most infectious tropes. The sonic palette is a brilliant mess of contradictions: you will hear the gritty, overdriven guitars of a garage band competing for space with the shimmering, synthesized strings of a 1970s disco floor. It is this friction between the raw and the polished that gives the album its unique, vibrating energy.

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