ARTICLES

She walked onto the stage swathed in sheer black, with matching black drapes hanging from the rafters, drifting through the smoke and light like a raven: cunning, cocksure, alluring. Immediately the deep thundering of bass toms filled the room, as if Glasvegas were playing a rave in Detroit. The sound of electric organ floated through the air and an acoustic guitar brought an earthiness that grounded the otherwise largely electronic aesthetic. Then Lykke Li opened her mouth and it sounded as if Fiona Apple met Joan of Arc on the stake.

John Hiatt is a well-known and accomplished songwriter. He’s written songs for just about everyone under the sun, and a number of them have been hits – at least on the country charts.

God damn I like Lyle Lovett. He’s a real craftful songwriter. His songs are funny, bitter, poignant, satirical – sometimes all at once. They are a celebration and satirization of the decadent and depraved segments of our society through joyous absurdity. He’ll cut a record with some of the funniest songs you’ve ever heard, and right next to ‘em will be stuff to make you bawl your eyes out. And live, he’s even better.