Three women, three lots of busted hearts and broken minds. The power of three, three furies. One after the other we belt out our bitterness, snarl our what sass we can muster (neonfaerie has loads), tell those boots to walk and tell papa not to preach. We become unafraid to say 'You Suck' and to let the whole place know we're 'Torn', tiny fragments of heartache next to the spare mike stand, under the lights of a small, worn stage. 'Criminal' is in fact, a confession, sung by yet another beautifully bad, bad lady. Girls just can't help themselves, but hey, it's not just a compulsion, a rapid confession, sung bar-by-bar with a swing of the hip and toss of black dreadlocks.