“Is this an album you’re reviewing?” Lesley asked. She was all curled up under the covers of my bed while I sat at my desk, typing. It should have been the perfect set up to listen to Libby Lavella’s album. Two sensitive ladies, hanging out inside, late in the afternoon on a cold, snowy Saturday. We should have been really into slow, female fronted, sentimental indie pop. Lesley poked her head out from the covers. “You know what it reminds me of? It reminds me of when I was dating that guy Chris Ikonomopoulos and he sometimes got hired by the government to write background music for training videos. The instructions were always write something that sounds kind of boring.” Enough said.