Bandcamp Artists of the Week: Jodi Shaw

When I first hit play on Jodi Shaw's bandcamp page I was expecting to love the fucking shit out of it. Everything pouring out at me from the album cover told me I was going to fucking love this. There was an eerie pastel-ish sort of denial-laced quiet that emanated from the page. Sort of how everyone knows Uncle Butchy knocked up his daughter, but he was off his meds, so we don't talk about it.

Now that you're uncomfortable, I'll continue.

Better yet, I'll give you a sentence that I think should sum up my love/lust with Jodi immediately so if you're too creeped out already, you might give this sassy lass a listen or six.

Jodi Shaw is the 2012 equivalent of a young Natalie Merchant, but without her having one of those annoying vocal twitches that all the girls think is somehow endearing, and she's fucking breathtaking in a Winnie Cooper with a libido kind of way. Jodi has fucking skills, and from what it sounds like, she's sitting relaxed behind a piano and pouring her voice out into shotglass after shotglass of delicious despair, and I can do nothing but get completely tossed off by how effortless this all sounds.

All throughout In Waterland, the album that ripped off my denim jorts (denorts?) and tossed them clear cross the frenchroom (I'm from Chicago, Fuck you), Jodi sings the songs you'd hear in your own mind as being perfect for a walk alone through a state fair where everyone is running from the fact that they're miserable by throwing softballs at milk bottles and getting excited about winning the plush toys some kid lost a finger making. It's introspective, jaded, simply fucking delicious, and I have no idea why I'm so entranced by her voice, but I am. So Fuck you again bro bro.

Jodi Shaw's voice sounds how I wished every girl I ever crushed on (but never crushed/smashed/fucked) would sound as they sang me to sleep. Matter of fact, her voice sounds creepily close to the voice of a chick that sat with me in a college dorm bathroom while I threw up from a bad mushroom trip. Said chick sang words I don't remember, in melodies I can't recall, but it made a fucking world of difference, and I ended up showing her a tyrannosaurus rex shape in my vomit just before I flushed.

Jodi Shaw is the chick who sings to you while you're sure you're dying, and as I imagine in my imaginative imagination she sounds nearly the same between her speaking voice and her singing voice, she's fucking dynamically hypnotizing.

While the song The Witch might be my favorite (because she says the word "tits" bro), her entire new album is fucking apples bro. You can just pluck the shit off the fucking tree and eat bro.

APPLE REFERENCE: THREE HIPPIE POINTS.

Regardless of how annoying I am, Jodi is a fucking beast. And while I sometimes wish she'd fucking stand up, get angry and scream sangz at me, the fact that she's collected throughout the whole fucking album is proof she's hiding it from me. Which makes her even fucking hotter than she already is.

Her voice is that restrained eroticism middle eastern men can sense when a woman walks by showing a litle ankle. Mmhmm.

Maybe one day I'll get a peek at one of her ankles. AND THEN I'LL ABUSE MYSELF GOOD AND PROPER BRO BRO.