In another, for “Fruit Salad,” her favorite song off the project, she wears a fat suit and lifts weights engineered out of grapefruits. In one scene, the clip for the partly-metaphorical mourning anthem “Pet Cemetery,” Tierra is surrounded by animal figurines and hand puppets as the camera pans around her. The album painted her world as a Technicolor diorama, a fantasyland that imbues random-seeming objects with deep meaning. In the late spring, Tierra had emerged as one of 2018’s most lauded new artists, a lightning-in-a-bottle kind of superstar, when she released Whack World, a 15-minute, 15-song debut that was part visual album, part conceptual art project. Crushing the trail was a career-oriented routine she designed with Kenete Simms, one of her managers and her closest creative partner, to help her get in shape for shows, until the drill was put on pause earlier this year when things got too busy, too quickly. “The real way to do it is to, like, run all the way from the parking lot, the trail, and then all the way back,” she says. If you’re dressed like Tierra, who’s wearing track pants and running shoes, with a black bandana over her head, it’s an easy enough course, and one the 23-year-old used to run daily. “I’m chillin’ now, I’m usually waaaay crazier than this.” Or when she shrieked watching Randy realize that she’d orchestrated to lock him out of the car. She seems to delight in our unpreparedness, an impish grin spreading across her face, kinda like it did back at the parking lot when she offered me a vitamin that turned out to be a cinnamon xylitol gum. Except that no one warned me or Randy, Tierra’s publicist, so we’re panting behind her, pathetically trying to keep up. The sun cuts through the trees magically, and rocks of all sizes shimmer as if sprinkled with glitter.
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