Though I love how Green’s chill arrangements highlight Blink’s ear for melody and evoke the stoned, slouched-on-a-couch vibe that clouded so many of my listens, it’s her frozen-in-amber approach that speaks to me the most. Because, as the years go by and these songs calcify in the mind, the dirtiness disappears into the textures, the songs transcending themselves to become their own kind of artifact. There’s a sepia quality to Green’s covers, as if they’ve been filtered through translucent gobs of memory. This feels appropriate since the music we loved as kids always sounds different as we age. Part of getting older, at least for the culturally curious, is discovering strange new notes and surprising, often subjective poignancies within the art you grew up alongside. Poignancy, though, isn’t Green’s endgame. Sure, she excavates the melancholic rage at the heart of “Dick Lips”—a horrible name for one of the LP’s best songs—and the sneering frustration of “Waggy” but she still revels in the rest of the LP’s bad behavior, even at her nonchalant pace. It would be irreverent, after all, if she didn’t.

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The project feels, in many ways, like a bold declaration of fandom. By stripping away the noise of Dude Ranch, Green embraces it for the artifact it is, warts and all. Some might find it childish, but, for others, this is growing up.