The more esoteric art-pop of Jane Inc. records past has given itself over to a beat-forward, dancefloor shimmer because it had to; Bezic’s only way through this was across the surface of a dancefloor and a stage. This is a concept album the same way death is a concept until it’s hurtling toward you at 65 MPH, or in the way love is a concept until one day it takes the exact shape of someone else’s hands.
