Last time around, she played seated, jeans worn thin in one knee, ripped open in the other, acoustic guitar slung across them both. The light in her eyes burned brightly. Amplified or not, her quivering voice could shake plaster loose. The short, thin fireball swayed in her chair, delivering a 1,000-yard stare for one song after another, looking briefly at her guitar, smiling only between numbers. As she said before the set: "These are bitchy, whiny songs. And some of them have the F word in them." Having issued both a new solo disc and a Muses album this year, she has plenty more to choose from.
Subscribe now to get the latest news delivered right to your inbox.