To start, there's the formal constraint of naming your record after one of Gertrude Stein's least accessible works. But then again, when were Broadcast interested in legibility? Tender Buttons, the band's third and arguably final record, delights in opacity and in the kinds of kindness Stein writes about in her book of poems. "Out of kindness comes redness," she writes, "And out of rudeness comes rapid same question." In other words: prose that, while not exactly easy to parse, unlocks something in you. A whole register of feelings and resonances. Tender Buttons is exactly like this. It's not about anything. If you were to say Trish Keenan's writing here was automatic, dadaist, you would basically be right. If you were to say it is a dream transmission, some kind of Jungian exercise in exorcism, you would be right. There's no narrative in Tender Buttons. But somehow, at the same time, there is. It's a story you've made for yourself, just by listening to it. It's a story of love. It's a story about sex. It's about whatever you want it to be.
