TORRES

Mackenzie Scott's voice conveys raw, urgent desperation, the sort we flinch from instinctually and are attuned, on a primal level, to heed. It is an "I haven't eaten in three days" sound, pitched between stray-dog growl, moan, and sigh. If this voice appeared on a 3am voicemail, your blood would freeze. Like its owner, it fairly lunges to be heard.

Scott, a 22-year-old from Nashville, records as Torres. This is her first album. She recorded it mostly in single live-band takes, close-mic'ed, and many of the album's 10 stark, stunning songs are set for nothing more than a single electric guitar. The lyrics are full of tricky, messy subject matter-- loaded poses of female need, abjection, subjugation, dominance-- and Scott handles it deftly, furtively, like hot stones slipped from palm to palm, or a lighter flicked under a wrist. Her sure touch with these explosive subjects immediately puts her in the league of artists like PJ Harvey or EMA. Like them, she paints in whole-hand smears when the moment calls for it. Her ability to capture and sustain a single a spellbinding mood conjures the hypnotic hurt of the earliest, best Songs:Ohia or Cat Power. Her record is an overwhelming rush of feeling, and it connects with throat-seizing immediacy.

"Honey, while you were ashing in your coffee/ I was thinking of telling you've what you done to me," she murmurs on "Honey", over three muted implications of power chords. It feels like a depiction of a long-unhappily married couple, maybe, confined to a pair of armchairs, the woman silently glaring a hole in the man's oblivious head. The bass in Scott's voice deepens as the guitar flares, but the song never crosses over from "thinking of telling" to catharsis. "Everything hurts, but its fine, it's fine/ it happens all the time," she mutters; the woman remains rigid in her chair, teeth clenched, leaving claw marks on the arm rests. Often on Torres, Scott plays a coiled, hurt figure willing herself to find the courage to transform into a 50 Ft Queenie, and not quite succeeding.

The songs on Torres, accordingly, are not anthems. Scott recorded the album with minimal resources-- a touch of keyboard here, a cello stab there-- and the skeletal backing band feels less like an unfortunate imitation than the album's single best decision. Songs build and build and build and then die, gazing longingly at exhilarating emotional peaks just outside their reach. Like the woman in "Honey", they would explode, if only they had a little help.

The feeling is echoed everywhere in the lyrics, which take baleful stock of emotional wreckage like so many groceries strewn open on the lawn. "Moon & Back” is addressed from a mother to a baby she gave up: "I'm writing to you from 1991, the year I gave you to a mama with a girl and a son," she croons. Check the year and do the math; this isn't Scott’s baby, but this feels like her story nonetheless. "Little baby, if you're reading this/ You're probably all grown, the way most babies do/ I'm sure your eyes are still that pretty blue," she sings, and by the time the song reaches its emotional center-- "Your new family knows/ I did this all for you/ maybe one day, you'll believe them too"-- the song has has joined the Pretenders' "Kid" in a devastating lineage of songs: in which beleaguered moms sadly explain the inexplicable to their children.

The songs veer between rangy indie rock and hushed folk, unspooling in unhurried five and -six-minute lengths. They never insist on their structure, but eventually it becomes clear that they dip and surge at odd, intuitive moments, suggesting a creative songwriting mind. The music on "Chains" is little more than a single, baleful groan of cello, while scraped guitar strings that feel like ligaments tearing ratchets up tension in the background. The song drops off into a muffled-heartbeat blankness of a drum thud; Scott murmurs "Don't give up on me just yet," her voice hooded. The moment hangs, and you wait for the curtain to drop. It doesn't; the end comes two minutes later in a rude snip of the tape that startles me even at the tenth hearing. The mesmerizing lamp-glow of finger-picked guitar that opens "November Baby" could have shown up on an early Modest Mouse record. It is supported by nothing more than a handful of bass guitar notes, and each one hits at a moment of such breath-held sustained tension that it taps you in the solar plexus.

Corralling all of this is Scott's jugular-direct, impressionistic writing. She reels off gorgeous images like this one, which opens "November Baby": "His skin hangs on me like a lampshade/ keeping all my light at bay." Natural images fill her lyrics-- trees, rocks, seasons-- but they are subject to the same disappointments and - Pitchfork

Upon listening to the debut album by Nashville artist Mackenzie Scott aka Torres, it’s easy to sit on the receiving end of its charm and emotional discourse. That’s not to say it explores feelings of glow and rejoice, but rather it assembles complex human feelings and articulates them in a record that basks in its own humanity through sorrow and reflection, and from that comes elation. Torres petitions the soul to hold itself together in times of bleakness, and while album’s promise may seem unbalanced at times, Scott’s harrowing voice and lyricism manages to turn the attitude into its own favor.

On lead single “Honey”, she makes a particularly distinct impression with the line: ”Everything hurts but it’s fine. Happens all the time.” Scott suggests she has come to terms with heartbreak, but at the same time her thoughts appear to have been subjected to denial to allow for tougher skin. The line also serves as a more than acceptable summation of the album’s following tracks, but the near-anthemic calls of “Honey” and “When Winter’s Over” are simply distractions from the downtrodden ballads in between.

“November Baby” begins and ends with the same low-to-high finger picking, but the direction that the notes take never let the song lose steam. It stays with the same general, romanticizing mood and captures the ear with its heavenly inflection. In fact, a large piece of what makes Torres so captivating is Mackenzie Scott’s vibrant and soulful voice. She is hushed, clean, and at times sounds as big as some of songwriting’s most desirable tones, from Sharon Van Etten’s grandiosity and sophistication to St. Vincent’s calm but deceptively powerful beltings. What she has most in common with these powerhouse songwriters is the knack for vocal control–Scott knows how to use that voice of hers and she’s more in-tune with her skills than most upstart musicians and songwriters.

Torres doesn’t really feel like a debut, let alone something remotely self-released–the songwriting ability and surprisingly fantastic and natural production allow for this journal-esque story to get its due. Its human sound harkens back to traits of For Emma, For Ever Ago‘s lovely reminiscences and understated singings about winter, and while the lyricism on Torres is focused around similar disconnections from a previous loved one, Scott’s response is notably shelled.

The final tracks contain a three-punch flurry to the heart, amounting to that full circle ambition the album suggests from the beginning. “Don’t Run Away, Emilie” begins with a programmed beat and haunting vocal sighs from Scott, which then evolve into sections that soar quietly through the air, eventually into the album’s final statements. The track sets itself apart from the others as it is the only real time she is appealing for a lover’s return: “I wanna tell you everything / I’ll be the truest one you know If you’ll stay awhile.” What seemed to be forced confidence before turns into something self-aware on “Come to Terms,” relieving herself of a love decayed by time and distance. The mood suggests gained wisdom, but she insists the labor to repair sadness was premature: “So I’ll be sure to turn my back on everything you said you’d do / I’m gonna come to terms before I have to.”

The final tracks bleed together seamlessly, and by the time “Waterfall” hits, Scott has found a reassured serenity in her own defeat: “Nowhere to go but down / Nothing to do but drown.” The tonality for much of the track feels righteous and uplifting but it can’t sustain throughout. She lets her weakness be revealed at the beginning and then amplifies it into an ambitious, concluding ballad that doesn’t make her seem happier or truly changed. Torres places the listener in cold times that may never end, but the sadness never feels overwrought or misplaced–instead, Mackenzie Scott takes the most difficult and common emotional battles humans face in modern love and emphasizes them into something real. - BPM

Upon listening to the debut album by Nashville artist Mackenzie Scott aka Torres, it’s easy to sit on the receiving end of its charm and emotional discourse. That’s not to say it explores feelings of glow and rejoice, but rather it assembles complex human feelings and articulates them in a record that basks in its own humanity through sorrow and reflection, and from that comes elation. Torres petitions the soul to hold itself together in times of bleakness, and while album’s promise may seem unbalanced at times, Scott’s harrowing voice and lyricism manages to turn the attitude into its own favor.

On lead single “Honey”, she makes a particularly distinct impression with the line: ”Everything hurts but it’s fine. Happens all the time.” Scott suggests she has come to terms with heartbreak, but at the same time her thoughts appear to have been subjected to denial to allow for tougher skin. The line also serves as a more than acceptable summation of the album’s following tracks, but the near-anthemic calls of “Honey” and “When Winter’s Over” are simply distractions from the downtrodden ballads in between.

“November Baby” begins and ends with the same low-to-high finger picking, but the direction that the notes take never let the song lose steam. It stays with the same general, romanticizing mood and captures the ear with its heavenly inflection. In fact, a large piece of what makes Torres so captivating is Mackenzie Scott’s vibrant and soulful voice. She is hushed, clean, and at times sounds as big as some of songwriting’s most desirable tones, from Sharon Van Etten’s grandiosity and sophistication to St. Vincent’s calm but deceptively powerful beltings. What she has most in common with these powerhouse songwriters is the knack for vocal control–Scott knows how to use that voice of hers and she’s more in-tune with her skills than most upstart musicians and songwriters.

Torres doesn’t really feel like a debut, let alone something remotely self-released–the songwriting ability and surprisingly fantastic and natural production allow for this journal-esque story to get its due. Its human sound harkens back to traits of For Emma, For Ever Ago‘s lovely reminiscences and understated singings about winter, and while the lyricism on Torres is focused around similar disconnections from a previous loved one, Scott’s response is notably shelled.

The final tracks contain a three-punch flurry to the heart, amounting to that full circle ambition the album suggests from the beginning. “Don’t Run Away, Emilie” begins with a programmed beat and haunting vocal sighs from Scott, which then evolve into sections that soar quietly through the air, eventually into the album’s final statements. The track sets itself apart from the others as it is the only real time she is appealing for a lover’s return: “I wanna tell you everything / I’ll be the truest one you know If you’ll stay awhile.” What seemed to be forced confidence before turns into something self-aware on “Come to Terms,” relieving herself of a love decayed by time and distance. The mood suggests gained wisdom, but she insists the labor to repair sadness was premature: “So I’ll be sure to turn my back on everything you said you’d do / I’m gonna come to terms before I have to.”

The final tracks bleed together seamlessly, and by the time “Waterfall” hits, Scott has found a reassured serenity in her own defeat: “Nowhere to go but down / Nothing to do but drown.” The tonality for much of the track feels righteous and uplifting but it can’t sustain throughout. She lets her weakness be revealed at the beginning and then amplifies it into an ambitious, concluding ballad that doesn’t make her seem happier or truly changed. Torres places the listener in cold times that may never end, but the sadness never feels overwrought or misplaced–instead, Mackenzie Scott takes the most difficult and common emotional battles humans face in modern love and emphasizes them into something real. - BPM

Torres
Torres
[self-released]
Torres: "Honey" (via SoundCloud)

Anyone can smear danger out of aggression, but teasing it from weary silence takes a rare talent. Torres, the debut album from 22-year-old Nashville resident Mackenzie Scott, wreaks its devastation with just her voice and electric guitar, with occasional backing from a slight band. “Fool me once and I won’t make a sound/ Fool me twice, there’s shame to go around,” she sings on “Chains”, a song with the menacing grace of a match being skimmed over a barrel of oil. It ends with her scratching down her instrument’s fretboard as if snapping someone’s spine one vertebrae at a time, before the whole thing implodes with a jerk, Scott seemingly noosed from behind with her own amp cable. The circular, disturbed acoustic rush of “Come to Terms” feels like standing in the middle of a dusty, rumbling freeway, tempting fate; the subdued static warp on closer, suicide ballad “Waterfall”, smuggles a feeling of utterly crushed hopelessness into your gut.

One of Torres’ most spellbinding qualities is the way these songs live with extremes-- of heartbreak, regret, revenge-- but exercise control so convincing that they seem like manageable, everyday emotional states. On the first couple of listens, Torres may sound guileless and raw; yet listen harder to a song like “Jealousy and I”, where her low, tangled guitar line pools with reverb, echoes of the original performance lapping against one another. “Jealousy and I, we’re two of a kind,” Scott sings, accepting the destructive emotion as part of her loving manner, her voice taking on the same refracted, swimmy quality as her guitar. It’s Scott’s gimlet eye that makes Torres so captivating. “I wanna tell you everything,” she sings on “Don’t Run Away, Emilie”. “I’ll be the truest one you know, if you stay a while.” Like all the best psychological thrillers, it’s hard to look away. --Laura Snapes - Pitchfork

Torres
Torres
[self-released]
Torres: "Honey" (via SoundCloud)

Anyone can smear danger out of aggression, but teasing it from weary silence takes a rare talent. Torres, the debut album from 22-year-old Nashville resident Mackenzie Scott, wreaks its devastation with just her voice and electric guitar, with occasional backing from a slight band. “Fool me once and I won’t make a sound/ Fool me twice, there’s shame to go around,” she sings on “Chains”, a song with the menacing grace of a match being skimmed over a barrel of oil. It ends with her scratching down her instrument’s fretboard as if snapping someone’s spine one vertebrae at a time, before the whole thing implodes with a jerk, Scott seemingly noosed from behind with her own amp cable. The circular, disturbed acoustic rush of “Come to Terms” feels like standing in the middle of a dusty, rumbling freeway, tempting fate; the subdued static warp on closer, suicide ballad “Waterfall”, smuggles a feeling of utterly crushed hopelessness into your gut.

One of Torres’ most spellbinding qualities is the way these songs live with extremes-- of heartbreak, regret, revenge-- but exercise control so convincing that they seem like manageable, everyday emotional states. On the first couple of listens, Torres may sound guileless and raw; yet listen harder to a song like “Jealousy and I”, where her low, tangled guitar line pools with reverb, echoes of the original performance lapping against one another. “Jealousy and I, we’re two of a kind,” Scott sings, accepting the destructive emotion as part of her loving manner, her voice taking on the same refracted, swimmy quality as her guitar. It’s Scott’s gimlet eye that makes Torres so captivating. “I wanna tell you everything,” she sings on “Don’t Run Away, Emilie”. “I’ll be the truest one you know, if you stay a while.” Like all the best psychological thrillers, it’s hard to look away. --Laura Snapes - Pitchfork

I only caught half a song by Torres at SXSW this year, but it was enough to make me a believer, watching Mackenzie Scott and company plunge their carefully arranged newfangled folk-rock down a black hole of searing harmonic static. Which is to say Torres ain't mere coffee shop fare. In fact, the coffee-referencing masterstroke "Honey" is one of the year's most harrowing power ballads. Scott's exceptionally good at channelling those dark, damaged emotions. Torres' self-titled debut got a little lost in 2013's bumper crop of indie-rocking female singer-songwriter types -- 'sup, Don Giovanni Records roster -- but you'd be wise to find this music. – Chris

FOLLOW: @TorresLovesYou | Facebook - Stereogum

I only caught half a song by Torres at SXSW this year, but it was enough to make me a believer, watching Mackenzie Scott and company plunge their carefully arranged newfangled folk-rock down a black hole of searing harmonic static. Which is to say Torres ain't mere coffee shop fare. In fact, the coffee-referencing masterstroke "Honey" is one of the year's most harrowing power ballads. Scott's exceptionally good at channelling those dark, damaged emotions. Torres' self-titled debut got a little lost in 2013's bumper crop of indie-rocking female singer-songwriter types -- 'sup, Don Giovanni Records roster -- but you'd be wise to find this music. – Chris

FOLLOW: @TorresLovesYou | Facebook - Stereogum

TORRES, the debut album from 22-year-old Nashville native Mackenzie Scott, has a deceptively charming backstory. Scott’s family pooled their money together to buy the Gibson guitar that is heard on the album. It was recorded live to tape over the course of five days in the home of a Louisiana songwriter. Scott herself is a bright-eyed, beautiful young woman that simply looks happy to have the opportunity to share her music. Given such a pleasant, unassuming foundation, it is a welcome surprise that the album itself is a raw and gripping exploration of our most basic human emotions. Over simple and often sparse arrangements, Scott unleashes her remarkably multi-faceted voice and lets the listener into the intimate moments of her life. She stands confused outside of a strangers house. A man ashes in his coffee. She looks down the face of a waterfall, wondering whether or not to jump. TORRES is a deeply personal record. However, through her stories of fear, heartbreak, inadequacy, and self-acceptance, Scott ultimately speaks to something universal.

The album opener, “Mother Earth, Father God,” with its languid strings set against distortion and solemn lyrics, quickly establishes TORRES’s diverse range of influences. There are hints of Chan Marshall’s raw recording style and emotional delivery, Joanna Newsom’s lilting flourishes, Alela Diane’s powerful and seductive vocal tone, and Julie Doiron’s juxtaposition of acoustic and electric sounds. It’s a song that portends an album filled with angst ridden americana, driving drum beats, and dark violin solos. However, the album that unfolds after the first track is far more adventurous than the first few minutes suggest. Scott finds her voice immediately and from there in makes bold instrumental decisions that surprise and enrapture, making for a gorgeous patchwork over which her stories are able to come to life.

“Honey” is the first in a series of three tracks that are stunning takes on the grief that can so often accompany infatuation. Scott couples her sparse and poignant imagery with arrangements that ooze tension like a broken sink, flailing and spraying but never quite ending up where you’d expect. On “Honey” she sings, “Honey, while you were ashing in your coffee/ I was thinking about telling you what you’d done to me/ oh honey, pretending like it never happened/ come over here and let me put you back together.” This refrain is delivered softly at first but as the track begins to show its teeth Scott’s voice becomes harsh and grizzled. The lyrics take on new meaning when wailed alongside a wall of throbbing noise. The song embodies the mental state that most of us find ourselves in far too often. We are trying to stay calm but there is a fierce cacophony of emotion trying to burst through our skin.

After “Honey,” the next track finds Scott embracing unrequited love; however, the song unfolds with a beautiful complexity as the listener is left wondering how truthful her words are. Scott sings, “Jealousy and I, we’re two of a kind/ and she’s all mine.” The latter part of the lyric is stretched out into a haunting quiver. With each repetition of “she’s all mine,” Scott sounds intermittently comforted and on the verge of breaking into tears. She is able to expose herself with her tone as much as with the content of her lyrics. This introspection carries through to “November Baby,” a track that makes one feel like Scott is whispering a story that she only means for you to hear. It opens with the line “this skin hangs on me like a lampshade.” Gorgeously simple, the lyric’s imagery suggests the feelings of isolation and lifelessness that weave their way through the song. It’s a fitting end to the portion of the album that finds TORRES at her most intimate.

“When Winter’s Over” picks up the pace and kicks off the eclectic latter half of the album. It’s a fairly straightforward rock song but it still finds time to drop lines as excellent as “even leaves grow weary of the tree from which they came.” “Chains” veers deeply inward and utilizes drum machines to create a chilling foil for Scott’s voice (which is breathtaking, have I mentioned that yet?) “Don’t Run Away, Emilie” and “Come to Terms” both have the kind of delicate hooks that bounce around pleasantly in your mind for days afterward. The latter notes that “people always change, ain’t always changin for the better/ and just because the two of us will both grow old in time, don’t mean we should grow old together.” These literary turns of phrase, while pleasant on paper, are made anew by Scott’s fiercely passionate delivery. In this case, and throughout the album, one gets the sense that these songs could never have worked in anyone else’s hands.

TORRES is an album that is pulsating with life. All the emotion that went into its making bursts through in the final product, complete with the exhales and floor creaks that a different artist might have felt the need to o - Pretty Much Amazing

TORRES, the debut album from 22-year-old Nashville native Mackenzie Scott, has a deceptively charming backstory. Scott’s family pooled their money together to buy the Gibson guitar that is heard on the album. It was recorded live to tape over the course of five days in the home of a Louisiana songwriter. Scott herself is a bright-eyed, beautiful young woman that simply looks happy to have the opportunity to share her music. Given such a pleasant, unassuming foundation, it is a welcome surprise that the album itself is a raw and gripping exploration of our most basic human emotions. Over simple and often sparse arrangements, Scott unleashes her remarkably multi-faceted voice and lets the listener into the intimate moments of her life. She stands confused outside of a strangers house. A man ashes in his coffee. She looks down the face of a waterfall, wondering whether or not to jump. TORRES is a deeply personal record. However, through her stories of fear, heartbreak, inadequacy, and self-acceptance, Scott ultimately speaks to something universal.

The album opener, “Mother Earth, Father God,” with its languid strings set against distortion and solemn lyrics, quickly establishes TORRES’s diverse range of influences. There are hints of Chan Marshall’s raw recording style and emotional delivery, Joanna Newsom’s lilting flourishes, Alela Diane’s powerful and seductive vocal tone, and Julie Doiron’s juxtaposition of acoustic and electric sounds. It’s a song that portends an album filled with angst ridden americana, driving drum beats, and dark violin solos. However, the album that unfolds after the first track is far more adventurous than the first few minutes suggest. Scott finds her voice immediately and from there in makes bold instrumental decisions that surprise and enrapture, making for a gorgeous patchwork over which her stories are able to come to life.

“Honey” is the first in a series of three tracks that are stunning takes on the grief that can so often accompany infatuation. Scott couples her sparse and poignant imagery with arrangements that ooze tension like a broken sink, flailing and spraying but never quite ending up where you’d expect. On “Honey” she sings, “Honey, while you were ashing in your coffee/ I was thinking about telling you what you’d done to me/ oh honey, pretending like it never happened/ come over here and let me put you back together.” This refrain is delivered softly at first but as the track begins to show its teeth Scott’s voice becomes harsh and grizzled. The lyrics take on new meaning when wailed alongside a wall of throbbing noise. The song embodies the mental state that most of us find ourselves in far too often. We are trying to stay calm but there is a fierce cacophony of emotion trying to burst through our skin.

After “Honey,” the next track finds Scott embracing unrequited love; however, the song unfolds with a beautiful complexity as the listener is left wondering how truthful her words are. Scott sings, “Jealousy and I, we’re two of a kind/ and she’s all mine.” The latter part of the lyric is stretched out into a haunting quiver. With each repetition of “she’s all mine,” Scott sounds intermittently comforted and on the verge of breaking into tears. She is able to expose herself with her tone as much as with the content of her lyrics. This introspection carries through to “November Baby,” a track that makes one feel like Scott is whispering a story that she only means for you to hear. It opens with the line “this skin hangs on me like a lampshade.” Gorgeously simple, the lyric’s imagery suggests the feelings of isolation and lifelessness that weave their way through the song. It’s a fitting end to the portion of the album that finds TORRES at her most intimate.

“When Winter’s Over” picks up the pace and kicks off the eclectic latter half of the album. It’s a fairly straightforward rock song but it still finds time to drop lines as excellent as “even leaves grow weary of the tree from which they came.” “Chains” veers deeply inward and utilizes drum machines to create a chilling foil for Scott’s voice (which is breathtaking, have I mentioned that yet?) “Don’t Run Away, Emilie” and “Come to Terms” both have the kind of delicate hooks that bounce around pleasantly in your mind for days afterward. The latter notes that “people always change, ain’t always changin for the better/ and just because the two of us will both grow old in time, don’t mean we should grow old together.” These literary turns of phrase, while pleasant on paper, are made anew by Scott’s fiercely passionate delivery. In this case, and throughout the album, one gets the sense that these songs could never have worked in anyone else’s hands.

TORRES is an album that is pulsating with life. All the emotion that went into its making bursts through in the final product, complete with the exhales and floor creaks that a different artist might have felt the need to o - Pretty Much Amazing

Torres is a Nashville-based 22-year-old singer-songwriter named Mackenzie Scott, and on "Honey," she plugs in a Gibson guitar, opens her mouth, and stops time. The song, from her upcoming self-titled record, starts moonlit and slow, building gradually and promising a pulse-quickening Big Payoff that never quite arrives. All of the song's tightly compressed fireworks occur, instead, within Scott's huge, trembling, raw, voice, and the abject emotional intensity with which she wields it. "Honey, while you were ashing in your coffee/I was thinking of telling you've what you done to me," she murmurs.

Then, her voice scrapes into a low guttural moan, she kicks up a dirt-cloud beneath her with a single distorted guitar strum, and the song blooms. She knows she's captured something hair-raising, too, and is cradling the inspiration carefully: "What ghost crawled inside my guitar?/Don't move, just stay right where you are," she sings. With its slow-burn intensity and coiled energy, "Honey" feels like an arena-rock moment happening on an empty stage.

Torres: "Honey" (via SoundCloud)
[from Torres; out 01/22/13] - Pitchfork

Torres is a Nashville-based 22-year-old singer-songwriter named Mackenzie Scott, and on "Honey," she plugs in a Gibson guitar, opens her mouth, and stops time. The song, from her upcoming self-titled record, starts moonlit and slow, building gradually and promising a pulse-quickening Big Payoff that never quite arrives. All of the song's tightly compressed fireworks occur, instead, within Scott's huge, trembling, raw, voice, and the abject emotional intensity with which she wields it. "Honey, while you were ashing in your coffee/I was thinking of telling you've what you done to me," she murmurs.

Then, her voice scrapes into a low guttural moan, she kicks up a dirt-cloud beneath her with a single distorted guitar strum, and the song blooms. She knows she's captured something hair-raising, too, and is cradling the inspiration carefully: "What ghost crawled inside my guitar?/Don't move, just stay right where you are," she sings. With its slow-burn intensity and coiled energy, "Honey" feels like an arena-rock moment happening on an empty stage.

Torres: "Honey" (via SoundCloud)
[from Torres; out 01/22/13] - Pitchfork