A few weekends ago, I had the distinct pleasure of introducing my friends’ parents to Chappell Roan.
It started when I had a few bars of “Good Luck, Babe” stuck in my head and couldn’t stop humming it. The next thing I knew, we were all learning the “HOT TO GO” dance. And by the end of the weekend, we were sitting on their deck in upstate New York, listening to lyrics about a “sexually explicit kind of love affair” like it was the most normal dinner music in the world.
