Glovemaker

Glovemaker slaps and soars. The album is an ecstatic overture to love and loneliness, to dreams and promises, to everything Los Angeles dangles. Buckle up. Loren knows how to craft space, how to move us through darkened bars, strobing arenas, beige carpeted bungalows and yellow lit highways. This is a songwriter’s album. Loren’s lyrics are all his, and you feel it with every bright, Maraschino-cherry-like word that falls from his lips. Like a lover, You scream and I shatter, I hit like a hammer, Loren sings. And we get to feel what Loren feels. We live in his brain, riding his genre bending emotions, on a wave of modern pop. And the songs lift, they are anthems of belief, “Hollywood Blvd,” “I’m a Slut,” “Euphemism,” “Gay Angels,” are all odes to triumphing over the corroding powers of fear and doubt. And on this ride, Loren’s voice is the guard rail, ever eager to stretch and transform, belting, talk-singing, multiplying, keeping us safe.

How do you like LA? Loren asks. I hope you love it.