I left the motherless, fatherless
Their souls dangling inside out from their mouths
But it's never enough
I want you
The best part of the Neko concert on Monday night was the moment when Neko decided to set the scene for the her cover of Harry Nilsson's "Don't Forget Me."
"Pretend its the morning time and you're drinking beer and smoking hash for breakfast," she said. "There are hanging ferns everywhere in those brass hanging planters. You're in a big wooden hot tub from the 70's and it smells like cedar."
Awesome, Neko. You get it.
Roomie and I bounced up to Times Square after work on Monday and stood front row, jumping around and singing our little hearts out like sixteen year olds. Neko falls easily into our taste in music... folky, lyrical, indie girl singers. We love Jenny Lewis/Rilo Kiley, Feist, Regina Spektor, Stars, Jewel (yes, Jewel.), Jem, Bird and the Bee, Martha Wainwright, Imogen Heap... people like that.
But there is something different about Neko... something Katie and I could only pinpoint as 'womanly'. 'She is such a... woman!' we kept saying as we walked from Times Square to Bryant Park at midnight-thirty. And she is. She stood center stage with crazy red hair, feet firmly planted, throat open to the sky, singing about tornadoes and magpies and killer whales.
She is Mother Earth, with vines and cornucopias and fruit stemming from her words, from her vigor. She makes us want to be stronger, makes us want to be more radiant women. We like people like that.
If you don't already, start reading Katie's blog. Then picture Katie and I, two other crazy redheads, singing to Neko Case at the top of our lungs as we brush our teeth each morning. Because as Katie says... 'She gets us.'