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.