Reviewed by:
Bread Type: Everything Bagel That’s Been Through Something
A lot happening here. Texturally confusing.
Somehow comforting. Somehow accusatory.
Pairs well with longing and late-night journaling apps.
Bread Type: Cold Sourdough Left in a Passenger Seat
Sharp. Dense. Slightly unforgiving.
Bitter but classic. Tastes like distance.
You didn’t choose this slice. You found it under your pillow.
Bread Type: Hawaiian Roll That Thinks It’s Punk
Soft, sweet, borderline rebellious.
Goes down easy but makes you question your taste in partners and snacks.
Surprisingly loud for how small it is.
Bread Type: Artisan Ciabatta Wearing Lip Gloss
Crunchy on the outside. Messy on the inside.
Confident. Performed pain.
You’ll pretend you don’t like it while eating the whole loaf.
Bread Type: Crouton in a Shot Glass
Tiny. Violent. Full of narrative spite.
Hard to chew but satisfying if you’re angry and dehydrated.
Recommended serving size: one scathing listen.
This album is a bread basket of emotional self-reinvention.
Some loaves are better toasted. Some should be served with a warning label.
Either way, you’re going to eat the whole thing alone, in your kitchen, and text someone you shouldn’t.
