Her child-like voice has been compared to everyone from Kate Bush to Lisa Simpson. I fancy it as a quirky cross between Latka Gravis’ wife Simka on “Taxi” (played by Carol Kane) and Melanie (who sang “Brand New Key”). Even more unique than her voice, however, is her instrument of choice, a full-sized harp just like the kind you’ve heard in orchestras or will hear at the pearly gates (if you’ve been good). On her new five-song, 55-minute EP, Ys (pronounced “ees”), Newsom coos, howls, shrieks and cheeps in all her baroque glory, backed by her gentle, bouncing harp and a whole slew of strings, woodwinds and brass. It’s weird, wonderful and mysterious, like the soundtrack to your last puffy-clouded dream.

You’ve got to love the ambition of a band like Anathallo. The 7-piece outfit did choreographed interpretive dance moves, foot stomps, snaps, hand claps, played a variety of percussion instruments (including marching-band bass drum), flugelhorn, trombone, two tinkling xylophone things, as well as the usual bass/keyboards/drums, constantly shifting from instrument to instrument like an indie Blue Man Group, each member also singing pretty harmony vocals. It was lovely, like listening to a Sufjan Stevens Christmas album. Unfortunately, the lead vocalist doesn’t have Stevens’ vocal chops, and the songs, though appropriately lilting, lacked in substance. And you can’t help but ask yourself: Do they just sound like Sufjan Stevens or are they trying to rip him off? The resemblance is too keen to be a coincidence, though I’m sure no malice was intended. And while Stevens drew a near-capacity crowd when he and his band played here last year, only 50 showed up at Sokol Underground last night. But it was a devoted 50. Two girls standing next to me annoyingly sang along to every weird lyric Dashboard Confessional-style. I had to move.

Tonight’s hot ticket is tractor-punk band FortyTwenty and The Filter Kings, which features Lee Meyerpeter of Bad Luck Charm, at The Saddle Creek Bar, 1410 N. Saddle Creek Rd. The Saddle Creek has a number of good shows lined up for November, all listed at their new website (at www.saddlecreekbar.com), which features a handy gig calendar. Tomorrow night at the SCB Adam Weaver and The Ghosts play with Jon Hardy and the Public and Spring Gun. Next Tuesday is Starlight Desperation with Virgasound and The Blush. And then Coyote Bones, Eagle*Seagull and Jake Bellows are lined up for Nov. 11, while Ladyfinger plays there Nov. 18 and Drakes Hotel Nov. 24. Not bad, not bad. As I’ve said before here, I like SCB. It’s close to my house, you can usually find a place to park nearby, the PA is first class, the beer is cheap, and there’s plenty of places to sit or stand and watch the bands. I’m even told that food is served there, too, though I’ve never seen a menu. Yes, I’d like this place to join O’Leaver’s and The 49’r and Mick’s as important mid-town music venues. But for that to happen, SCB will have to continue to book decent shows every weekend, and make it even harder for people like me to choose between all those venues. Tonight’s Filter Kings/FortyTwenty show is $7, so is that Starlight Desperation show next Tuesday. The rest are just $5. All shows start at 9 p.m.

A quick rundown of the rest of the weekend. Tomorrow night, Hyannis plays at O’Leaver’s for their first “bar gig” ever. Could be an achievement or a train wreck. Playing with Hyannis is Tomato a Day and Nicholas Hugg. $5, 9:30 p.m. And then, Sunday, the weekend’s biggest show, Sean Na Na at O’Leaver’s. I’m hearing that the bar is closing sometime after the dinner hour, when it’ll be cleared out for a sound check, then reopened around 8 or 8:30. The show is slated to start at 9:30 and last I heard there was no opening band. Will Sean Na Na draw as well as Har Mar Superstar did the last time he played at O’Leaver’s? The jury is still out on that one, but I think it probably will even if only Tillmann’s friends show up (He has lots of them around here). So, if you’re interested, you better get there early.

–Got comments? Post ’em here.—

Column 99: Local Heroes
These four Omaha releases are keepers.

If the folks at The Reader are telling the truth, this will be the last time that this column will be dedicated to album reviews, as plans call for reintroducing a page of CD reviews sometime in the very near future (Hooray!). What better send-off then to review four just-released local albums, all of which deserve your hard-earned rubles.

Bright Eyes, Noise Floor (Rarities: 1998-2005) (Saddle Creek Records) — This compilation of junk drawer b-sides, limited-pressing EPs, unreleased tracks and other obscura is worth it (to me, anyway) if only for rereleasing “Drunk Kid Catholic” — a song that reminds me of my favorite live BE moment from spring of 2001 when Conor and crew opened for Low at Knickerbocker’s. Originally released as a UK single, I’ve only found this track as an illegal download. Now I’m legit. Add to that the inclusion of his Britt Daniel collaboration “Spent on Rainy Days” from the split EP Home, which, before it was reissued by Post Parlo, was going for a pretty penny on e-Bay, along with just about every other out-of-print Bright Eyes rarity. Thematically, all this old stuff (though, thankfully, nothing released before ’99) dwells heavily on drinking and women and the pain that comes with both. In the end, the rocking tracks out-gun the teary acoustic numbers (but isn’t that always the way?). So yeah, it’s a no-brainer for Bright Eyes fans, but taken as a whole, the collection stands up with the best of his stuff. Now when is Saddle Creek going to rerelease that Water cassette?

Simon Joyner and The Fallen Men, Skeleton Blues (Jagjaguwar) — Forget all that talk about his wonky voice and his brilliant lyrics, first and foremost, this is a band album. Standing alongside The Fallen Men, Joyner has finally released his inner-rock star, emerging cautious and slightly broken in a cloak originally tailored for the likes of Dylan. In fact, in a lot of ways this one reminds me of Dylan’s last couple of albums, cluttered and dense with musicians allowed to do their thing while their master tells tales of dark nights and loneliness. Easily the most tuneful collection Joyner’s ever released, the best moments come when the band’s allowed to stretch out, like on opening track “Open Window Blues” with its rolling bass that recalls The Doors, and the gorgeous string-laden “The Only Living Boy in Omaha,” wherein Joyner sings “Jimmy says there’s no God in the sky holding him for ransom,” in a way that instantly recalls Lou Reed. It’s not all roses. Just to remind us where he came from, Joyner ditches the band for the 10-minute closer “My Side of the Blues,” which is a struggle no matter how you slice it. Should have kept the band in the room, Simon. Maybe you should from now on.

Hyannis, Hyannis (self released) — It seems appropriate to follow Oberst and Joyner with a band that surely was influenced by both, though they may not know it. No question that these youngsters are a product of the Omaha indie scene circa now. Acoustic songs like “Ronnie” and “People Just Love” have that same acoustic hippy lilt that we’ve come to know from Neva Dinova, whereas “Timeline” and “Colorado” are pure modern-day Bright Eyes (without the lyrical depth). But maybe more than the usual club of Omaha indie scenesters, Hyannis recalls an aesthetic more in common with early Pink Floyd and Haight-Ashbury psychedelic rock that precludes their existence by, oh I don’t know, a couple decades. With 13 tracks and over 40 minutes, it may be a tad bit too ambitions for a debut (which is a nice way of saying that it gets kind of boring toward the end). Are they the next generation of Omaha indie? Time will tell.

Shelter Belt, Under the World Awhile (self released) — Maybe the biggest surprise so far in a year desperately in need of some surprises, Under the World… is a giant leap forward for a band that could easily have been written off after 2004’s overly long cheese factory called Rain Home. This time, frontman/vocalist Jesse Otto loses any and all comparison to Kenny Loggins, purposely throttling back his vocals so as to not get in the way of songs that reflect a sound that’s more modern than anything they’ve tried before. You could argue that tracks like the hand-clap-powered “Dry” and Timberlake-esque “So Sweet (I Have to Dance to Keep You Crying)” too obviously target radio except for the fact that these guys know they’ll never make it to nationwide FM without a miracle (though FM could do (and almost always does) much, much worse).

I have been known to get shit for liking Guster. In fact, I’ve gotten shit about it from certain members of the local music scene literally for years. But the fact is, I’ve always liked the band and respected what they do and how they do it. Guster easily could have been absorbed into the hippie jam-band circuit and spent the next 20 years mailing it in for a bunch of stoners who travel around to gigs in shitty VW vans looking for an excuse to get loaded every night. Instead, Guster has consistently tried to further their sound, working with producers like Roger Moutenot (known for his work with Yo La Tengo, among others). They’ve also always tried their best to entertain their fans, and achieved it every time, including last night, even with one of their core members almost down for the count.

Actually, I wasn’t really in the mood to go to Guster last night. I was still kind of whipped from Monday night’s Twilight Singers show (I don’t know how the One Percent guys do it every night). But three or four songs into their set and I was happy I made the cold drive down to Sokol Auditorium. Guster’s injured player was singer/guitarist Adam Gardner, who (as co-frontman Ryan Miller announced from the stage) has been suffering from pneumonia. Miller said the band had talked about canceling the entire week of shows, but Adam insisted on playing Omaha. The effects of his illness were obvious. Gardner was off pitch most of the evening and could barely carry his few vocal lines. This put Miller further into the spotlight, and he handled the duties with panache, singing better than I remember him ever singing.

The first half of the set was weighed down with songs from the new album. I’d like to tell you that they carried as well as the usual chestnuts, but they didn’t, and it wasn’t just a case of the crowd not being familiar with the material. Ganging Up on the Sun is probably the weakest Guster album in terms of straight-out, unforgettable hooks. No single song has that great-out-of-the-box quality of the best tracks from the last two records (There is no “Fa Fa” or “Barrel of a Gun” or “Amsterdam” or “Careful” in the bunch).

It was interesting to see where new guy Joe Pisapia fell into the line-up. He’s billed as the “multi-instrumentalist,” when in fact he spent most of the evening on bass, and to be honest with you, I prefer Guster without that added low end. The few times Pisapia strapped on an electric guitar were impressive – the band rearranged a number of songs to make room for him to spread out on solos, and he shredded every one of them. The other nitpick is how much time percussionist Brian Rosenworcel spent behind a full drum kit vs. his usual bongo set up. Most of the new songs appear to be written for the drum kit. I can’t say that I blame him for shifting to sticks knowing how he bludgeons his hands every night, but for me, that bongo sound is part of what defines Guster, and I hate to see it go. Combine the added bass with the drum set, and Guster’s usual buoyant sound becomes weighed down in low-end, especially in a hall like Sokol that’s somewhat boomy to begin with.

That’s a lot of complaining, when in fact, last night’s set was a lot of fun. Miller is a true entertainer. His combination of wit and a new short haircut makes him come off as a cross between Timothy Busfield and Andy Dick. When it came to the end of the evening, he asked the crowd if they wanted the band to leave the stage for the obligatory “good night, Omaha” pause or to simply stay on stage and go right into the encore, which everyone knew was coming anyway. The crowd of around 700 opted for them to stay, so at the end of the set he said, “Good night, Omaha!” followed moments later with “Thanks for sticking around for the encore.”

* * *

I don’t own a cell phone so I don’t have a clue how the billing works. Sean Tillmann owns a cell phone. And apparently his “plan” charges him mucho dinero for calls to and from Canada, which explains my rather short feature on Sean Na Na. In retrospect, I don’t know what more we could have talked about anyway. I’d heard he’d was burned out with doing the Har Mar Superstar schtick, but that apparently ain’t the case. He also has a new album in the wings, but no real date has been set for release, at least no date he was willing to tell me. I can tell you that this show will be madhouse packed. Everyone in Omaha loves Sean Tillmann, but few love him more than the guys that run O’Leaver’s, who are running this show Nov. 5. Want in? Get there early. You’ve been warned.

–Got comments? Post ’em here.—

It’s impossible to not be entertained by Greg Dulli and his band, the Twilight Singers. He is the consummate entertainer. Like the last time he was here back in ’03, Dulli came on stage dressed all in black, along with the rest of his band. He looked like a cocky middle-aged John Belushi, guitar over his shoulder, cigarette in hand (In fact, the entire band smoked throughout the set, making Sokol Underground smell like the old days that were only a few weeks ago). But despite having the same swagger, Dulli seemed a little off last night. Maybe it’s the fact that Omaha is one of only two cities that didn’t sell out on this tour (drawing only around 200 last night — what happened, people?). Or maybe Dulli is just getting older. If he was on fire three years ago, last night he was only smoldering. His voice had that same Afghan Whigs snarl, but lacked that little bit of oomph needed to hit the high notes.

He opened with “Teenage Wristband” off the first Twilight Singers full-length, Blackberry Belle, a collection which Dulli drew heavily from last night, and with good reason. While his new one, Powder Burns, has its moments, Dulli could make a living just playing the tracks off Blackberry, which has aged into a modern-day classic. After four or five songs, I began to wonder if Mark Lanegan was still on the tour. Then out of nowhere he appeared, entering from back stage looking like a cross between a straight-haired, goateed Will Ferrell and Frankenstein, striking a pose with one hand on the microphone, the other firmly grasping the mic stand, eyes clamped closed, barely moving. They tore right into their cover of Massive Attack’s “Live With Me” and I couldn’t take my eyes off Lanegan, who looked like some sort of ghost-zombie-statue, chewing a piece of gum between numbers. After three songs, he exited the stage and didn’t reemerge until the encore, when he came back for two more.

Lanegan may have been a highlight, but really, this was Dulli’s show, and as the set wore on, he only got better. Unlike the last time, Dulli kept the stage patter to a minimum, telling the crowd to forget it was Monday night. “It’s Saturday night at Sokol Underground,” he said, lifting a cup of something in a toast (where was that bottle of Maker’s Mark he had three years ago?). Like any good showman, he figured out a way to work a Husker reference into his between-song patter. As he went around the stage introducing the band, he introduced himself with, “I’m Lawrence Phillips… and I’m gonna rape you!” Laughter ensued (by me and Dulli, anyway). Another memorable comment came when he introduced “Martin Eden,” one of the more frightening drug songs you’ll ever hear. “The last time I was here three years ago, I introduced this song talking about Elliott Smith,” he said. “After that show, I bought some cocaine from a girl named Kristen. Kristen’s not here anymore. Let’s sing this one for her.”

The set lasted over an hour, and much to chagrin of a few fans, didn’t include any Afghan Whigs songs. After the last song of the encore, Dulli lifted up his cup of whatever to salute the crowd, and said in a cautionary tone while looking at his drink, “Be careful.” He then stepped off stage and walked directly out of Sokol with a girl on his arm, presumably headed to Council Bluffs… I hung out until well past 1 but never saw Lanegan leave. The show may not have been as good as ’03, but it was still one of the better shows of ’06.

Sokol is ground-zero tonight for shows both upstairs and underground. The auditorium is reserved for Guster, which starts at 8 p.m. with a rare opening set by Trippin Balls, a surprise act that you may recognize if you can get past their costumes. I promised new Guster guy Joe Pisapia that I wouldn’t say anymore. You’ll have to find out who they are for yourselves. Tickets are still available for $20.50.

Meanwhile downstairs, it’s the return of Now It’s Overhead. On their records, NIO is a floating, dreamy, mid-tempo stroll through the trees. All that changes when they step out of the studio and onto the stage. With their atmospheric music stripped down and raw, Andy LeMaster and Co. turn into a rock band, roaring and angry and utterly convincing. Opening band Summerbirds in the Cellar combines dance rhythms with Cure-style drone guitars and intricate, repeated riffs that pull songs out with extended, jammy endings that you don’t want to stop. Also on the ticket is Coyote Bones. $8, 9 p.m.

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Oct. 30 — The Twilight Singers featuring Greg Dulli and Mark Lanegan w/ The Stars of Track and Field & Jeff Klein, Sokol Underground, 9 p.m. $15. — The perfect rock instrument, Greg Dulli’s voice can make you cower or cry or stand up straight right alongside him, testifying to love both good and bad, a dark love that Dulli has seen and wants you to see with him. For this tour, the former Afghan Whigs frontman is teamed with Mark Lanegan, the growling, gut-punching genius behind Screaming Trees. Together, they’ve released a five-song EP called A Stitch in Time with former Whigs Joseph Arthur and Rick McCollum that includes a brazen, nasty cover of Massive Attack’s “Live With Me.” The last time Dulli was in town (Nov. 6, 2003), his nearly two-hour set wound up being on everyone’s best-of list. Expect nothing less.

When I showed up last night at O’Leaver’s, Black Squirrels had just already begun their set of fun, laid-back, folky acoustic songs, the kind that would sound perfect played on a ukulele. Pleasant and unobtrusive, it’s stuff that your mom would love. I’m surprised these guys haven’t played at Mick’s yet. The crowd was clearly there to see them, cheering for an encore, which the trio gratefully provided. Ten minutes after they were done, half the crowd of family and friends left. Looks like the poor Pomonas got Omaha’d.

Then to my surprise, while the Pomonas were setting up, I glanced up at the TV and saw that Tilly and the Wall were going to be on Letterman. I had no idea that they were scheduled for last night’s show. A small group gathered around the TV while the O’Leaver’s soundman wired up a microphone to broadcast the program’s sound over the bar’s PA. The Letterman stage featured the three Tilly girls all standing on plywood platforms like Barbie dolls, as if all three were going to tap dance instead of just Jamie. It’s hard to say how good or bad it sounded. They played “Bad Education” from the new album, which was probably the wrong choice (but which of their songs would have been the right choice?). Actually, it did sound bad, but everyone sounds bad on Letterman. Jamie, Kianna and Neely looked flashy and theatrical. The guy next to me asked if they were Prince’s latest project. “Who are they supposed to be? Vanity 6?” They did sort of come off as a label creation, like a quirky, indie version of The Dixie Chicks. Nick White was hidden on stage, and it wasn’t until about halfway through that the cameras panned away from all the tight close-ups of the tap shoes and hips to reveal Derek Pressnall off to stage right playing guitar and singing. No idea who the bass player was, apparently someone new to the band. If you missed it, I’m sure someone will put it on YouTube eventually. Getting on Letterman is quite an accomplishment, and you gotta believe it’ll result in moving at least an additional 5,000 units.

After all that, on came The Pomonas, playing their usual brand of Lawrence-sounding indie rock (I know, I know, what the hell does “Lawrence-sounding” mean… there’s something about KC/Lawrence indie bands of this vein that reminds me of all those mid-’90s bands from down there that I used to dig). It was a fun, sloppy set enjoyed by the few who remained.

Tonight’s big show is Jolie Holland and Dave Dondero at Mick’s. Someone told me last night that ticket sales have been brisk, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it eventually sold out. $15, 9 p.m.

–Got comments? Post ’em here.—

It’s a busy, busy Friday night with ton of shows going on. Here’s the rundown:

Tonight at Shea Riley’s, Members of the Press are celebrating their CD release show, made doubly special as it will be one of the final MOTP performances before frontman Randy Cotton moves to the Portland area. He says he fell in love with the PNW (that’s Pacific Northwest for you Midwestern types) after visiting his girlfriend there on a monthly basis. “I have been out here before on tour, but I never got to spend much time in Portland, until recently. I feel like there is a lot of opportunity for me in the area, so I’m gonna check it out for a while,” Cotton said. “As soon as I get settled in, my brother Barry (other bassist in MOTP) is going to spend some time out here. If he likes it, he will most likely move here, too.” As part of this special night, there will be a short set by Cotton and Mike Saklar’s old band, Ravine. And on top of that, Saklar’s new band, No Blood Orphan will play a set. And if that weren’t enough, there will be a set by Killdozer tribute band Shoeshine Boys. The $10 cover will get you a copy of MOTP’s new CD. Cotton is encouraging costuming. Do what you feel is right. 9:30, $10, Shea’s, 320 So. 72nd St.

Also tonight, it’s time to welcome back the The Pomonas at O’Leaver’s. The Lawrence indie dudes will likely be unveiling some new material from an upcoming album. Also on the O’Leaver’s dance card are The Black Squirrels and irresistible Omaha folkie Bill Latham a.k.a. Bill Donuts. $5, 9:30 p.m. No mention of costumes this time. Good.

Also tonight, two Benson-area folk-rock shows, starting with new band Hyannis at The Foundry in Benson (60th Ave and Maple, to be precise). 8 p.m. and FREE. Also in Benson, singer-songwriters Kyle Harvey and The Scott Severin Band are at The Barley Street Tavern, just 1/2 block south of 62nd and Maple. That one’s at 9 p.m. and also is FREE.

–Got comments? Post ’em here.—

This really is a Lazy-i exclusive, and when I use the word “exclusive,” I mean unlike most of the interviews seen here, this one won’t appear in The Reader. It doesn’t mean that no one else in the Omaha community printed an interview with Guster. In fact, the reason this won’t appear in The Reader is because the interview was “called” by another writer weeks and weeks before I asked for the story. Instead of walking away, I still wanted to see what the men from Guster have been up to since the last time I interviewed them (here). And as a tip o’ the hat to the power of online webzines, the band’s publicist and the band agreed to do an interview with good ol’ Lazy-i. So here it is. Enjoy it, and also go to the One Percent Productions website and buy a pair of tickets to the Halloween night Guster concert at Sokol Underground. I know that a majority of Lazy-I Omaha readers will likely be downstairs at the Underground that same night, where Now It’s Overhead will be playing with Summerbirds in the Cellar & Coyote Bones. I don’t blame them. But if you’re a Guster fan and never been to a Guster concert, you’d be well-served to make your way upstairs that night (NIO was just here a few months ago, anyway). And, gosh, when was the last time you got to rub elbows with a more westerly-leaning Omaha crowd?

–Got comments? Post ’em here.—

Column 98 — The Temple of Simon
What does genius sound like?

It was 10:30 on Sunday night. The Tigers had just got their last out, balancing the series at one game apiece. And the last thing I wanted to do was drive all the way downtown and pay $5 to stand in a smoke-filled club for two hours to be jostled and bumped and told to get out of the way. I had to work the next day, ferchrissake. And I was bone tired. And dammit, it was cold outside.

But this was a Simon Joyner show, and you always have to think twice before deciding to go or not to go to see Simon. The occasion was the “CD release party” for his new album at The Goofy Foot Lodge, and I couldn’t miss it. Simon really is a genius in our midst, but here’s the deal:

In last week’s issue of The Reader, there’s a terrific feature written by Jesse Stanek about Simon and his new album. If you haven’t read it, it’s still online at The Reader website. Find it. Jesse did an impeccable job capturing what went into the new record. But there’s one point that Jesse kinda sorta failed to mention whilst calling the new record “poignant” and “nothing short of spectacular.” And it’s an important point. See, you can tell people how much of a genius Simon is, how brilliant and brave and true every word of his lyrics are, you can place every brick you can find and carefully build your temple to Simon Joyner, but at the end of the day, when you take one of his records and play it for your ma or pa or Joe Lunchbucket who lives out in West Omaha Wonderbreadland, the reaction will always be pretty much the same: “Who in the hell is this guy, and where’d he learn to sing?”

To forget to mention that Simon’s voice is an acquired taste is like forgetting to mention that little detail about steak tartar. When the plate arrives, there’s going to be some explaining to do. If you’re honest, you can’t not explain that Simon’s voice can be — and often is — painfully off-kilter. You can either get by that little fact, or you never will.

Case in point, whilst standing next to a local musician at one of Joyner’s last O’leaver’s shows — a musician who has always admired Joyner’s music — we listened as Simon climbed one of his quivering-Dylan-drunken-man-stumbling arpeggios, wondering if he’d make it to the top, and the musician turned to me and smiled and said, “I don’t get it. The guy cannot sing.” I told him — firmly but gently and half-joking — “You’re not listening. You can’t hear the genius with that smile on your face. Simon’s trying to tell you something, about his life, about your life, and you’re going to miss it if you keep concentrating on the fact that he’s completely out of tune.”

Simon disciple Conor Oberst has a similar style. You can play his early works for just about anyone out-of-the-know and you’ll get the same “braying sheep” comments about his voice. I realize it’s sacrilege to say that in this day when Conor has been thrust on stage with Stipe and Springsteen and Emmylou, but folks, his early genius was heard in the voice of a bleating, fuzzy farm animal. Joe Sixpack who works down at the Kum and Go doesn’t get it. And never will.

But here’s the rub: I provide the above confession whilst rubbing the red marks on my knees after kneeling at the temple of Simon Joyner most of my music-loving life. I’m one of those devotees, those followers, and have been since back in the day when Simon was a local teenage heart-throb that caused the little girls to rush the stage, their hearts a-swoon (I’ve seen it, at The Howard St. Tavern circa 1994).

I have listened to almost everything Joyner has recorded, starting with his cassette-only release, Umbilical Chords, to his masterpiece The Cowardly Traveller Pays His Toll to the droll, tiring Heaven’s Gate to the twangy rapture of The Lousy Dance, and now, to his second high-water mark, the just-released ensemble record with his band, the Fallen Men called Skeleton Blues. And in all of it, I’ve always found something that was impossible to forget. But I had to get past his voice first. It wasn’t easy, but I did it. And you can, too. You’ve done it before, for Dylan and Petty and even Conor. You’ve seen beyond the awkward croon and found the genius that touched your lives. Joyner’s music can do that, too. But you can’t hear it if you don’t listen.