Call me when Kat DeLuna reinvents herself as a speakeasy flapper. Or better yet, tell me when Kat goes fingerpopping herself on Pitchfork's best of lists for future collaborators.
When Kat DeLuna lets Animal Collective run a train on her, and then invites an entire night's lineup of
Subterranean artists **** into her mouth, we'll talk. Till then, hush up! BESOSKTHXXXXX.