Blond flirts with indulgence but just about manages to stay grounded. It’s an account of slight thoughts, vague ideas, and delicate musings.
22, A Million feels like a nondescript blur. It doesn’t deal in structure, but in loose clusters of peculiar sounds and imperceptible words. It’s a pretentious mess.
“This is like a classy Disney tune” – André and Fred listen to Lorde
A constant stream of static with blunt edges, and the glitches are rarely more than a few moments apart, but it doesn’t come off as overbearing.
The album is so delicate that it feels too fragile for its own good. It’s like a frozen wildflower - beautiful, but could shatter at any moment.