Our second album (more of an EP, really) Save Yourself, is deliciously thick and darker than its predecessor. Obsessive in content and grungier in its execution, every song is reclamation, recovery, or a warning. The album is a sort weather system that delivers to us a gaggle of Harpies, who—instead of being ancient harbingers of doom—come to us in a kind of timeless glory, wearing blue sequined jackets and knee high socks, ready to kiss, dance, or punch. They skate around the roller rink, scheming, while the clouds overhead crackle and glow. The disc is handmade. We burn it ourselves and assemble it in our mad-scientist basement.