Jana Hunter
There’s no Home

Ok. This album has gotten WAY too much press. Whenever someone becomes the media darling for little reason they need to get called out. This sordid amalgamation of poorly written melodies and redundant robot lyrics sat in my car for months until it slowly grew on me. I soon loved it. Then I hated it again. Shelby calls this “music indie chicks like to get fucked by.” That may be true. But that still does not explain the churning in my lower intestine. Pooh-pooh? Perhaps.