Helena Hallberg drops “Last Love” to pick us up from where we left off in NYC coffee shops crooning breakups in back alley poetics over bouquets of taunting stanzas. Somewhere between sober and sauced, the disobedient tempo paces folk to a spirited jazz gig in a backroom; challenging the distance between breakups and landslides.
If contemporary feminist acuity impaled the deck to lull and roar all together “I am not here to be your mother, I am not your teacher,” Hallberg’s “Last Love” is an ode to one’s own time. This time she cuts a mischievous long finger to self-realization in the full glory of independence.
Social distancing suddenly doesn’t feel so lonely but instead a sigh of relief for a party of one. If you’re looking for a tack you can play over and over to a thousand different mood sets, Hallberg will cover you in a blanket with the thought of wherever you are is exactly where you’re meant to be if you just own it. If only transistor radios weren’t extinct but mercifully Hallberg’s uptempo asserts itself with the same temporal defiance on Spotify as it might on vinyl.