Imagine being teased, cajoled, bullied, and charmed all at once, mercilessly, by a deranged, silver-tongued ingénue. Why are her hands behind her back? Because she's fondling the butterfly knife she's about to slice you up with. No mystery that "212" represents a sharp-elbowed gauntlet thrown at establishment rap's tailored, manicured feet, but thirtysomething dudes with bulging Discogs résumés are hardly Banks's only marks.
Crush ice with a handful of watermelon Jolly Ranchers; chill for an hour. Add a tablespoon of grenadine, three fourths of a cup of Mike's Hard Lemonade, and two cups of vodka. Shake thoroughly. Serve guests. Make dry, off-hand joke about the Cranberries and T-Pain beating one another unconscious with pastel Nerf Crotch Bats.
Not quite ripped straight from the TMZ headlines, will never merit its own very special Law & Order: SVU episode.
What if a neurotransmitter cord came loose in your skull, causing your brain to misinterpret what your eyes really saw? What if you weren't actually dreaming about a compressed-perception fireworks display that never ended? What if your panic attack became your waking reality?
The bad news: A Radiohead-sanctioned salute to the Occupy movement took forever to arrive. The good news: Not only does "Mail" top the entirety of The King of Limbs, it's a mushroom-cloud stunner, emerging cloaked in closing-time piano chord dolor and departing in dour, low-impact funk splendor.
Get the Music Newsletter
Keep your thumb on the local music scene each week with music news, trends, artist interviews and concert listings. We'll also send you special ticket offers and music deals.