D'Amato's plainspoken delivery and sneering wit provide the record's center of gravity, as she monologues about a shitty ex, reckons with dwindling self-worth, and bids adieu to a slimy narcissist.
The album takes its name from a Blondie classic, but the nervy outbursts of 'Psycho' and squawking, sax-addled no wave of 'Gotta Meet You' have more in common with the paranoid racket of Bush Tetras.
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