Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.
Do yourself a favor and dig up your old home movies—before the illness, accident, or divorce—turn down the lights, and play Jessica Pratt’s self-titled album.
Her music is neither rooted in the past nor the present, but somewhere visceral and in-between, like the memories you bothered to keep. Don’t expect hooks and fanfare. This quiet, unadorned album is fingerstyle guitar, timeless vocals, and meandering melodies. It could just as easily live on a cassette tape as it could a lossless file.
Stream it here (courtesy of The FADER).