Ohh, that opening riff; so lackadaisical, so inviting. It’s like the date that greets you at the door with a cigarette in hand, then invites you in without a word — much less a glance. The track starts with a warm, wavering unease, then breaks to jittery nervousness that dances over cold, mechanical drums and a lingering bass line. Their singer builds from stoic to sassy to unhinged, then disturbingly walks back like nothing happened. If you need band context, think post-punk given a throttling by early Killing Joke, and it takes place in Boone, North Carolina. After the dust settles, that opening riff returns, and you slip out the back with hardly a goodbye.