Some albums are meant to be listened to when we’re alone—in an empty living room, in a corner booth of an all-night diner, driving along familiar roads. It’s these reflective environments that help us to enter what Martin Courtney calls the basement of our mind—the liminal space that forms when we reappraise our memories from the subjective vantage of the present day. And it’s this bittersweet spot from which Magic Sign draws its energy . . .
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