Been listening a lot recently to Joanna Newsom’s album, The Milk-Eyed Mender. I saw her live a few years ago in Leeds, in a funny little pub (where, co-incidentally, there was a member of the cast of Emmerdale amongst the audience) and she was captivating.

She plays all but two of the songs on the harp, which has to be one of the best instruments ever, and has a distinctive singing style (remember, I grew up listening to Björk, so my definition of “distinctive” is probably a little … distinctive itself).

Plus she writes excellent lyrics. To me they read like poetry.

The Book of Right-on

I killed my dinner with karate –
kick ‘em in the face, taste the body;
shallow work is the work that I do.

Inflammatory Writ

Oh, where is your inflammatory writ?
Your text that would incite a light, “Be lit”?
Our music deserving devotion unswerving –
Cry “Do I deserve her?” with unflagging fervour,
(Well, no you do not, if you cannot get over it)

“En Gallop”

This place is damp and ghostly
I am already gone.
And the halls were lined
with the disembodied and dustly wings,
which fell from flesh gasplessly.

Gasplessly — genius!

Lina Hansson, who makes lovely websites, has made a spectacular one about Joanna: milky moon. It’s delightful.