LYDIA LOVELESS

“If these songs are all true life testimonials, it’s a wonder Loveless isn’t in a mental institution or, worse, jail – maybe it’s the gift of song that is saving her soul…”-Chip Midnight Donewaiting.com Blessed with a commanding, blast-it-to-the-back-of-the-room voice, the 21 year-old Lydia Loveless was raised on a family farm in Coshocton, Ohio—a small weird town with nothing to do but make music. With a dad who owned a country music bar, Loveless often woke up with a house full of touring musicians scattered on couches and floors. When she got older, in the time-honored traditions of teenage rebellion, she turned her back on these roots, moved to the city (Columbus OH) and immersed herself in the punk scene, soaking up the musical and attitudinal influences of everyone from Charles Bukowski to Richard Hell to Hank III. Indestructible Machine, Loveless' Bloodshot debut, combines heady doses of punk rock energy and candor with the country classicism she was raised on and just can't shake; it's an gutsy and unvarnished mash up. The rattletrap electricity in foggy mountain throwdowns like Bad Way To Go and Do Right may channel ground zero-era Old 97s, but the underlying bruised vulnerability comes across like Neko Case's tuff little sister. Can't Change Me, with its choppy, tense guitar tonality recalling Television's Richard Lloyd, stridently and stubbornly tells the world to stuff it, while More Like Them's muscular power pop hits on the classic rock and roll motif of the outsider; both could be anthems for blank generations along the rural routes everywhere. But she's also got the vocal nuances to pull off country soul well beyond her years on How Many Women, which could have been pulled right out of the strong-woman-wronged canon of Loretta Lynn, and Crazy, full of boozy heartache and the lilt of Appalachia. Loveless's true-to-life testimonials hit and hit hard. Be it whiskey, men, god or alienation, Lydia takes them all on; they may kick, but she kicks back and, even though she stands 5' tall, when the barstools start flying, we want her on our side.