I remember the first time I saw her,  pulling onto my street and flooding the whole thing with headlights. I stabbed my cigarette into the grass and slid into the passenger seat, one platform at a time, halfway between confidence and uncertainty, sensing a newness in the air that was bright, neon and dangerous and reminiscent of those early euphoric days in new york when everything around me was electric and unfamiliar. it’s impossible to recognize it as it’s happening, but that’s what falling in love feels like: slow motion and lightning fast at the same time, each minute like dripping honey, ecstasy and fear and everything all at once: bang. completely out of our control.

I unknowingly started this record at the beginning of 2018 when I decided I wanted to stop being who I thought everyone wanted me to be and start being genuinely happy. it came to me in little pieces - sometimes full songs poured out, sometimes one line at a time, and a lot of days nothing at all. then I met her and we went on tour and the sounds came flooding, violent and distorted. this album sounds like that tour: almost kissing in front of Warhol, the upturned corners of her mouth, a wasp tattoo that would come to mean something, abandoning my hotel rooms so I could stay in hers… as time goes on these details blur and the memories take on different shapes. but what happened between us was a chemical reaction, a strange pull that I can’t even seem to articulate or physically identify. falling toward each other and re-defining gravity in a way that is neither rational nor scientific. not wanting to sleep because we needed more time. we will always need more time.

that’s what GRRRL sounds like -  falling in love, again. letting myself feel golden for a summer. my lips burning on hers. rewinding the night so much that I’ve worn out the tape. cheap, sour white wine, 100 hotel elevators, gas station coffee, waking up to love letters and blue eyes and feeling free, for the first time ever.

it was ours. and now it’s yours.