Much is made of the lack of information about the Cults. Someone somewhere dug up a few tidbits; they are from Brooklyn (or possibly San Diego), are dating and both are film students. In the few publicity shots I have seen, they look like a pair of afghan hounds or supermodel street urchins, mostly just limbs and hair with strategically obscured faces. Weather this information embargo is unintentional or clever marketing, it presents a rather fetching blank canvas for the Cults. They are whatever you want them to be. “Go Outside” chimes in on orchestra bells over a muffled din of a TV, almost like a small gap in a time continuum through which you can glimpse at a long lost memory, quivering just there, almost at reach, but then retreating to a muted fog of the past. Even her vocals go in and out of focus, creating a daydream semblance of a dog day afternoon. A beautiful melody that becomes a great escape.