Courtney Barnett does not think twice. No intros, no outros, choruses barely fitting in the margins, owning an acutely in media res poetic timbre. Just her and a sloppy guitar, turning erudite rants into songs. Liz Phair might be the first comparison that comes to mind, but Barnett’s best analogues are much closer to Ghostface Killah, another language addict who’s at his best and funniest when he plays the observer. Unconscious, maybe, but “Scotty Wotty copped it to me, big microphone hippy, hit Poughkeepsie crispy chicken verbs throw up a stone richie” isn't much different than “I must confess I’ve made a mess of what should be a small success but I digress at least I’ve tried my very best I guess.”
Courtney Barnett does lyrical gymnastics while keeping both feet on the ground
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