Glovemaker

If the Chateau Marmont could sing. This would be it. Loren Kramar’svoice vibrates with the shameless hum of a room after a celebrity exits.Ecstatic aspiration. Doubt. Proximity. Desire. The album Glovemaker isabout the skins we craft to be seen by the world, and Loren reminds usthat we are all in drag. All exposed. No matter what gloves we slip on.
I’m a slut for all my dreams, Loren Kramar sings with Patti Smithbrashness, I’m a whore for them, I’ve got more of them. Loren’s lyricsmove like tinsel, shimmering bravely, then just as quickly, curling, fragileunder the spotlight. Loren has always been obsessed with fame. Notwith famous people, but with the electricity that perverts attention – thecrushing desire to be truly seen. And all of Loren, and this obsession, isin this album. He grew up in the Valley, forced to hide his Barbies fromhis father, so the closet was a gorgeous Spanish ranch house on agilded cul-de-sac crawling with celebrities. Naturally this gay boy wantedto be a child star so his mother secretly shuttled him to tap and jazzand figure skating lessons. I’ve got hands and feet to put in theconcrete, Loren croons, in “Hollywood Blvd,” a song which clangs withbrawny bravado. But “Gay Angels” reminds us that Loren’s infatuationwith stardom is inextricably linked with his queerness and his owndesire to live outside of fear. To be famous is to be out. To be known.To be himself.
“Glovemaker has become a kind of code for art making itself. A gloveas a covering or mask that follows the contours of the life beneath it.As a song and a symbol, this is an album about studying and tracing alife - and then sharing what’s there,” Loren says. And his desire to sharetruth feels urgent. To listen to Loren is to understand there is no choice;the songs must tear through the air right now. This very second. I seemyself tearing and splitting and becoming a trampoline, he belts in “NoMan,” breaking our hearts right alongside his. Part poet, part theatricaldiva, Loren loops together the tragedy of breathing on this planet,because like Eartha Kitt or Cat Stevens, Loren is at his core – anincredible story teller. This whole album is a shrine, a mantle atop ablazing fire of life, spread with the memorabilia of Loren; all of the painand lust dazzling on unabashed view.
This is a songwriter’s album. Loren’s lyrics are all his, and you feel itwith every bright, Maraschino-cherry-like word that falls from his lips.Like a lover, You scream and I shatter, I hit like a hammer, Loren sings.And we get to feel what Loren feels. We live in his brain, riding hisgenre bending emotions, on a wave of modern pop. And the songs lift,they are anthems of belief, “Hollywood Blvd,” “I’m a Slut,” “Euphemism,”“Gay Angels,” are all odes to triumphing over the corroding powers offear and doubt. And on this ride, Loren’s voice is the guard rail, evereager to stretch and transform, belting, talk-singing, multiplying, keepingus safe.
Glovemaker slaps and soars. The album is an ecstatic overture to loveand loneliness, to dreams and promises, to everything Los Angelesdangles. Buckle up. Loren knows how to craft space, how to move usthrough darkened bars, strobing arenas, beige carpeted bungalows andyellow lit highways. How do you like LA? Loren asks. I hope you love it.