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Largely overlooked for nine albums' worth of beautiful, sometimes agitated folk, Singer-Songwriter Brenda Kahn has entranced audiences since 1990 with just her guitar and voice. Conveying both the exhaustive determination of countless miles in steel toe boots, as well as the oily beauty of the rainy gasoline-soaked streets they've tread upon, Kahn sings stories of love, confusion, and victorious community with strong dedication. Like Roger Manning or Bob Dylan, Kahn narrates urban tragedy dryly and with a wry sense of dark humor. In "Spoon" she sings of a friend's spiral into dark drug love to the tune of strangely upbeat, three-chord Punk progressions. Yet in "Christopher Says," she sings of love with such urgency and awkward charm it's as if she hasn't time to waste on two-bit sophistication or love-me-not doublespeak. The blatant honesty and unswerving passion of Kahn's collective works resonate like tragic news and love professed, and for those yet unfamiliar with her material, she will shine like a proverbial diamond in the rough.
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