Listening to Talk Show carries the same level of FUCK YEAH DUDE as cycling backwards up a hill in sleet only to come down the other side with calves of rhythmic steel, eternally endorphin flushed and generally, a more satisfied human being.
‘Stress’ is so purposeful that the only way to process it is by coming up with a list of things it’ll inevitably make you wanna do:
1: Pretend to be in a coming of age montage where the protagonist runs slow motion and riot through Ikea’s bedding and ‘plastic things’ departments.
2: Start a Bauhaus book-club, sack off the books and listen to this instead.
3: Start a relationship, stage an argument and then communicate by collectively playing this on repeat until mascara stains fill the corner wrinkles of your eyes and smiles are cracked because this, is, honestly, everything.
Like reminiscing tree climbing and playdates with your childhood bff over coffee one day in your thirties, every-time Talk Show return to our lives things feel whole again.
To conclude, punch me in the face baby and call it rock n roll for if this is stress at best then I don’t ever wanna’ ever feel anything else.
Talk Show, thank you.
Header Photo by Matt Wilder