Haley Fohr is feeling the collapse. “I have this character I’ve created that has yet to get out of the internet,” she observes glumly from her quarantined apartment in Chicago. “She’s stuck inside of the internet.” She’s referring to Jackie Lynn, her country-glam outlaw alter ego. Keeping a hyper-femme, truck driving drug kingpin like Jackie Lynn locked behind a screen is like storing an exotic animal in a dank basement: its unbounded soul decays with each passing day void of any primeval thrill. “But we’re going forward with the campaign,” she continues. “We’re excited to release this [album].”