I spend a lot of time in front of a computer, and as a result, I’m always looking for something to listen to so I don’t have to accidentally confront the gaping, airless, silent Abyss.  Classic extrovert coping technique.  Anyway.

So, this morning I came across this:

I had never heard of Karen Dalton, and her story was not a happy one, and also her music is not happy music.  But, um…it does not involve Auto-tune.  Listening to her is like listening to an extraterrestrial: her voice is beautiful, but it’s also almost grotesque in it’s authenic-sounding-ness.

Of course, authenticity is slippery: everybody’s got an ego, everybody’s got a self-image they fuss over.  Everybody’s got stories they tell themselves about themselves.  But go ahead and look at this lady:


She was like, “Oh, you want to take a picture of me for an album cover? Well, I just happen to be playing the guitar next to these weeds right now, so knock yourself out.  You want me to take this cigarette out of my mouth? Up yours.”

I don’t know if that’s authenticity, but I’m into it, whatever it is.


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