Girls, they permeate Hefner’s songs like cheap perfume. Girls with cigarettes, lounging in unmade beds. Girls who drink whiskey. Girls who never, ever love the way that they are loved. Like Arab Strap, Hefner reside in the realm of the disastrous relationship, exhuming the sweaty, thoughtless bodies of past lovers, recounting tales of fumbled courtships with a draughtsman’s eye for detail. NME
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