Now that I’ve met you
would you object to
never seeing each other again
— aimee mann
Yet another searcher landed here yesterday after googling “melancholic female singer.” Only to find a cat singing with a cold.
I am the provider of great disappointment.
In the old days, before you could buy music effortlessly on your computer by hitting a button, we used to go on a weekly quest to our local music stores for what we lovingly called the “screechy female singer of the week.” This was during the period around Lilith Fest where alternative folk singers suddenly found themselves to be a desirable commodity. Actually I’ve been doing it since around 1974, when I had a passionate love affair with Joni Mitchell (without her knowledge.)
I love Ani DiFranco and Liz Phair and Aimee Mann and Shawn Colvin and PJ Harvey and Mary Chapin Carpenter and Poe and Fiona Apple and Patty Larkin and Christine Kane and Jill Sobule and Lori McKenna and Suzanne Vega and Victoria Williams and anyone brave enough to open themselves up and dump their guts out in a song. Many of the pivotal moments of my youth had Joni and Nanci Griffith as a soundtrack.
I mourn that we live in an age where our best opportunity to hear songs is in 30-second bursts woven into TV commercials. Whatever happened to music? Another victim of the Internet, I suppose.
So now some poor soul is reduced to searching the cosmos for “melancholic female singer.”
If your search brings you here, poor soul, go buy Joni’s Blue album. It’s all you’ll ever need.
Good luck …