4.5 + We were in peak-covid when this album dropped. I'd double-mask for the grocery store and immediately sanitize every bag and container with Clorox wipes when I came home. I'd even mask up to go jogging outside. There were strange drunken Zoom calls scheduled late into the night with people randomly strewn within the farthest reaches of my social orbit. It was a weird and unsettling time. My media diet also changed. I was reading less, watching fewer new shows on television. Old standbys like the Sopranos were a comfort. Then, this album dropped and Pitchfork gave it the exceedingly rare "10" rating. It felt like a beacon during a gray and foggy time. I remember really liking it when I first gave it a spin, and upon return, I like it even more. The first four tracks alone are a riot of emotion, tenderness, vulnerability, humor, with splatters of strange percussion. The middle mellows and curdles emotionally with "Rack of His" and "Ladies." Apple's self-exploration teeters between laceration and affirmation, leaning more towards the latter. The fact that she created this brilliant mess mostly at home, quarantining before quarantining was our collective reality, makes this album feel especially poignant.