Jack Ladders’ songs are muscular, raw – yet polished to the texture of a skyscraper. The lyrics themselves are haunting; they possess the poetic slur of a black-pupilled vision of romantic despair, love’s unsure footing and a palpable air of Ballardian discord beneath the surface. The songs pulse with life. Synthesizers and drum machines rub shoulders with glam guitars and pedal steel, while above all, Ladder’s granite baritone slashes at love and darkness like a heavy blade. He is a tender, persistent lover; a despairing prince at the battlements.

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