I first saw KT Tunstall play in 2005 at Shepherd’s Bush Empire with two friends and my boyfriend at the time. It was a memorable experience, not only because we were the youngest people in the audience, but because we snuck in some McDonalds chips for our dinner and accidently knocked the remainders over the edge of the balcony, and they landed on someone's head. Luckily, the angry security guard believed us when we sat there, shaking our heads guiltily at the crumpled chip box being waved in front of us.
The first time I listened this album, I was still at home, driving around town with my best friend the day before he left for college. I would soon fly across the ocean. We were in my dusty car, driving down a wide, empty highway that traced though miles and miles of cornfields. It was over one hundred degrees outside and my shoulders were bare, soaking in the sun that pierced through my car window; my sunglasses were on. This mellow, sublime album was the perfect anthem for cruising on a hot Alabama afternoon, with just enough tinge of sadness to make the inevitable goodbyes that were fast approaching even more poignant.