It feels as if a lot is going on in this song by Cults. There’s xylophone (oh how I love the xylophone), there’s a sound swooping bit of psych-vocals, and driving it all is a giant pop-engine. A hustling, bustling bit of machinery glued together with lollipops and honeycomb.
I understand the name Cults, this is music to become addicted to, to throw one’s self down on their knees and pray to the great goods of pop amalgam. To speak in tongues and barricade one’s self behind walls, with high-powered firepower and yearning to do things right for pop. I’ve listened to it four times in the last half an hour, because I thought it would help my write-up, but it’s more of inkling need. A brainwashed bit of yearning that just doesn’t seem to end.