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      Car Seat Headrest in New Haven

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      June 22, 2019

      Saturday   8:00 PM

      238 College Street
      New Haven, Connecticut 06510

      Car Seat Headrest

      with Naked Giants
      Toledo always knew he would return to Twin Fantasy. He never did complete the work. Not really. Never could square his grand ambitions against his mechanical limitations. Listen to his first attempt, recorded at nineteen on a cheap laptop, and youll hear what Brian Eno fondly calls the sound of failure - thrilling, extraordinary, and singularly compelling failure. Wills first love, rendered in the vivid teenage viscera of stolen gin, bruised shins, and weird sex, was an event too momentous for the medium assigned to record it. Even so, even awkward and amateurish, Twin Fantasy is deeply, truly adored. Legions of reverent listeners carve rituals out of it: sobbing over Famous Prophets, making out to Cute Thing, dancing their asses off as Bodys climbs higher, higher. The distortion hardly matters. You can hear him just fine. You can hear everything. And you can feel everything: his hope, his despair, his wild overjoy. Hes trusting you - plural you, thousands of you - with the things he cant say out loud. I pretended I was drunk when I came out to my friends, he sings - and then, caught between truths, backtracks: I never came out to my friends. We were all on Skype, and I laughed and changed the subject. You might be imagining an extended diary entry, an angsty transmission from a bygone LiveJournal set to power chords and cranked to eleven. You would be wrong. Twin Fantasy is not a monologue. Twin Fantasy is a conversation. You know, he sings, that Im mostly singing about you. This is Wills greatest strength as a songwriter: he spins his own story, but hes always telling yours, too. Between nods to local details - Harpers Ferry, The Yellow Wallpaper, the Monopoly board collecting dust in his back seat - he leaves room for the fragile stuff of your own life, your own loves. From the very beginning, alone in his bedroom, in his last weeks of high school, he knew he was writing anthems. Someday, he hoped, you and I might sing these words back to him.It was never a finished work, Toledo says, and it wasnt until last year that I figured out how to finish it. He has, now, the benefit of a bigger budget, a full band in fine form, and endless time to tinker. According to him, it took eight months of mixing just to get the drums right. But this is no shallow second take, sanitized in studio and scrubbed of feeling. This is the album he always wanted to make. It sounds the way he always wanted it to sound.Its been hard, stepping into the shoes of his teenage self, walking back to painful places. There are lyrics he wouldnt write again, an especially sad song he regards as an albatross. But even as he carries the weight of that younger, wounded Toledo, he moves forward. He grows. He revises, gently, the songs we love so much. In the albums final moments, in those apologies to future mes and yous, there is more forgiveness than fury.This, Toledo says, is the most vital difference between the old and the new: he no longer sees his own story as a tragedy.Hes not alone no more.

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