Maggot

Groan

In Sixths

Roadkill

Buy Song

Selfish

Puberty 2

My Body's Made of Crushed Little Stars

A Loving Feeling

Bury Me At Makeout Creek

I Will

Happy

Carry Me Out

Real Men - Mitski

This won't be going up on Spotify. Don't ask me why

https://mroosevelt.bandcamp.com/album/m-roosevelt-mitski

If when I die, my desire is buried with me
Would it sprout up into a tree?
Would it bear fruit
And who would taste you in it?

If when I'm burned, my desire dances up to the sky
As it rises with the smoke
Could it still be mine
And who would smell its fire?

If I desired nothing, 
Could I be as nothing as desire could be?
Would my desire leave me?
If it left me, what would I be?

Can you see it also
How you make my skin glow?
I hear my brain go yeah yeah yeah
I will kill my ego if you let your heart go
Listen to your gut go yeah yeah yeah

M. Roosevelt & Mitski - "Ego"

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.

A Loving Feeling

Mitski

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