Oh, that first hiccuped startle is all any of us really needed to descend, tongue-tied, into the sad-eyed dreamworld of Natalie Prass. Each track on her self-titled debut unfolds from the center of her marvelous, trembling-lip voice into the fullness of Spacebomb’s majestic orchestra. It’s a lush, humid album that sweats out heartbreak, jealousy, and sulkiness with such irresistible desperation you can’t imagine the fever will ever break. Natalie Prass is so full of heady, lagoon-bloom richness you almost forget these songs are about pain at all. Almost. –Caitlin

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