It’s in the details, but it’s in the way they come together, too. The tentative, crystalline chimes of the guitar, punctuated by the barest of clanging percussion, is perfect. So too is Dusty’s throaty entrance, “You’ve been crying, your face is a mess,/ come in baby, you can dry the tears on my dress – “ and then the spine-tingling shiver of “She’s hurt you again, I can tell”, and here’s where the strings and the piano come in, subtly but unmistakeably. And then everything surges, and continues to surge, and the brassy horns blare and redouble their call, and it’s as if she’s singing for her life, and the refrain arrives, and it sounds like a celebration and, I guess, by now it is.
