This is a beauty, Bloom, the fourth album from Beach House. It's no different from the previous three, just better. Woozy organ, distorted guitar, melifluous vocals about nothing/everything, lazy and languid and a bit out there.
Myth
In the frame is Balthus, looking the essence of 1930s male chic. Incredibly, for someone photographed as an adult so long ago he didn't die until 2001. Balthus refused any kind of biographical reading of his paintings. His paintings were to be seen and not read about. Reckon he may have had a beach house though.
