Tate is a happy man who plays exclusively sad songs. A sparse yet bombastic look at heartbreak with only a sliver of silver lining.
What people don’t say about rolling stones is that though they gather no moss, they also bloom late and have excellent bullshit detectors. Forest Tate is at the peak of his reflective and rhetorical powers, given strength and focus during an uncharacteristically extended perch in the past half-decade. Crafting and debuting a new batch of songs about a complicated relationship with the past and an optimistic ambiguity toward the future, Tate is emerging from the woodshed again to shake off his moss.
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