Of all the truths Tarriona “Tank” Ball reaches for on Green Balloon, few feel as applicably truthy as the moment when she says, “I need more space than thoughts can give me.” A kitchen-sink blend of hip-hop, R&B, spoken word, jazz and funk, Green Balloon is one of those albums that almost struggles to contain itself, an internal monologue that spills wildly, joyfully onto the stage. Ball—an elastic-voiced poet whose father gave her her nickname because tanks don’t do anything except make noise and blow stuff up—flexes (“Dope Girl Magic”), introspects (“Ants”), smokes weed and feels bad about it (“I Don’t Get High”) and, over a bed of Disney strings, contemplates the possibility of the right guy (“Mr. Lion”). And if it sounds like it’s all Ball’s show, it isn’t—but rarely do you hear a band as linked with the personality of their singer as the Bangas, who render her daydreams and frustrations with the full range of colour that she feels them.