Neon Junkyard

The title conjures a specific aesthetic — urban decay rendered fluorescent, the beauty in broken infrastructure — and the song delivers exactly that visual dissonance. The guitars are abrasive and glamorous simultaneously, coated in a synthetic glow that sits awkwardly over the raw, lo-fi rhythm section. Cox's vocal performance here has a theatrical quality, almost campy in its commitment, leaning into artifice as honesty. The Monomania record was partly a response to being overshadowed by Lockett Pundt's more melodic contributions, and this track has that quality of someone reasserting a more fractured, difficult self. The production aesthetic references glam rock — T. Rex filtered through noise — but the emotional content is stranger, more ambivalent, not celebratory but not quite critical either. It's the sound of finding a junked neon sign beautiful precisely because it's broken. Reach for it when you want something that refuses to be clean, that finds its energy in the space between gorgeous and ruined.