“Devil in the Desert” is like a cowboy joke with no punchline — by the third verse, you’re already shifting in your seat. It starts with promises: love, success, those damn likes, the clink of coins, a round of applause. And then it all goes up in smoke. Not even flames — just gone. Like it was never there to begin with. And there you are, shaking sand out of your boots, wondering when exactly the wheels came off.
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TULLE knows what she’s talking about. This new single? It’s a trap with a gold ribbon. Unlike the polished, made-for-TV version of country some artists crank out — the kind who probably couldn’t tell a real horse from a festival mascot — TULLE’s sound breathes. It’s got a face. No filler. And frankly, it cuts sharper than anything Beyoncé tried to pull off in the genre — no offense.
You don’t listen to Devil in the Desert once. First time — it’s background noise. Second — it hits harder. Third — it’s sunset, the cracks on the wall, and a sinking feeling that something’s not right. Because this song carries a lie. The kind you don’t spot right away. And when you do — it’s too late.
Indie Boulevard Magazine 