ᴨоздний ʙᴇчᴇᴩ из оᴋнᴀ нᴀ ᴋухнᴇ, ᴛᴇни зᴀжиᴦᴀюᴛ ᴄʙᴇᴛ
ᴄᴋоᴧьᴋо ни ᴨыᴛᴀᴧᴄя ᴩᴀзобᴩᴀᴛьᴄя ʙ ᴧюдях, я уᴄᴛᴀᴧ, оᴛᴇц...
нᴀ ʍоёʍ ᴨуᴛи ʙᴄᴛᴩᴇчᴀᴧоᴄь ʍноᴦо — ᴩᴀзныᴇ ʙᴄᴇ
у ᴋᴀждоᴦо здᴇᴄь ᴄʙоя ᴨᴩᴀʙдᴀ, ᴄʙой боᴦ и ᴄʙой цʙᴇᴛ
но ᴋᴀᴋ ᴨᴩᴀʙиᴧьно жиᴛь, я ᴛᴀᴋ и нᴇ нᴀɯёᴧ оᴛʙᴇᴛ...

Sometimes, Mitski feels life would be easier without hope, or a soul, or love. But when she closes her eyes and thinks about what’s truly hers, what can’t be repossessed or demolished, she sees love. “The best thing I ever did in my life was to love people,” she says. “I wish I could leave behind all the love I have after I die, so I can shine all this goodness, all this good love that I’ve created onto other people.” She hopes her newest album, The Land Is Inhospitable and So Are We, will shine love long after she’s gone. That’s precisely how it feels: like a love that’s haunting the land.

“This is my most American album,” she says. The music feels like a profound act of witnessing this country, in all of its private sorrows and painful contradictions. Sonically Mitski’s most epic and wise album, the songs introduce wounds and then actively heal them. Here, love is time-traveling to bless our tender days, like light from a distant star.

It's full of the ache of the grown-up, seemingly mundane heartbreaks and joys that are often unsung but feel enormous. It’s a tiny epic. From the bottom of a glass, to a driveway slushy with memory and snow, to a freight train barreling through the Midwest, and all the way to the moon, it feels like everything and everyone is crying out in pain, arching towards love. Love is that inhospitable land, beckoning and then rejecting us. To love this place, this earth, this America, this body takes work. It might be impossible. The best things are.

Odetari leaks/snippets
If you hear "Chaos Control!", then that's my tag.
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