She seldom fails to deliver---whether it be her award winning book, Just Kids, or her great site, or her latest musical offering Banga. Oh sure, she is a bit of an anachronism in these days of polished pop and spit-ball hip-hop--lyrics of substance evoking Constantine and Russian writers, music inspired by books and pilgrim journeys, movies and faces. She's so hip, she travels on Johnny Depp's boat, and so cool she uses his raggedy guitar/drum demo for the opening of the albums title track--she sings, she moans, she groans, she invokes, enchants, incants--she's Patti-fucking Smith and her new collection of songs is worthy of a master's thesis and more radio play than it will receive. Of course she is an acquired taste--another one of those singers-who-can't sing-singers--in the company of Dylan, Reed, Cave et.al., all of whom prize lyrical content and musical integrity before perfection in terms of technical execution.
I must admit, that the first listen took me by surprise, I had to stop and listen--just listen--not much music does that for me today(although, the musical offerings of the past couple of weeks have all been stellar and induced similar responses and feelings).
Watch out though, coz' next week Bobby Womack is back in music-town and it's going to be good. On a musical note, I am doing a live 'theology of rock' event with the inimitable Mr. Tripp Fuller, AKA, Mr. Homebrewed himself on July 5th. More info here.