While ordering a coffee this week, I heard a song on the cafe speakers that felt sneakily familiar. In truth, I’ve been hearing it all over: that playful guitar riff followed by a lilting croon of “and there is nothing to see here except sweetness.” Recognizing it as the album I’d just been looping in my own headphones all week, I smiled. It is with a special kind of melancholy that the song “Blood” by Mary in the Junkyard pierces the ear and fi…