Song du Jour: "Porch Light Song"

Brianna Lane, "Porch Light Song."

Had a handslap-on-the-forehead moment with this songwriter last night; one of those "how could I not know about you?" things that's happening more and more these days, what with all the accomplished songwriters/hacks/first-timers/vets/geniuses coming up and out of their basements, up from the underground and catacombs and music labs and then back down into the basements (where all cool things start, including make-out and jam sessions) of places like Java Jack's and the Artist's Quarter, where Happy Apple drum shaman Dave King said last night, "2007 is the year of healing."

I'm glad someone finally said it out loud. Brother's talking about hope. Me, too. Specifically, I'm here to talk about Brianna Lane, a North Carolina-by-way-of-Minneapolis artist, survivor of the Academy Of Holy Angels, and a star in the making. Note I didn't say "women's music star," because it seems to me that great music doesn't come with a velvet rope of any kind; it invites every ear abd heart with open arms and says: this is how it feels to me.

"Porch Light Song" is one of those, about the age-old stalker ritual of driving by a lover's house. Those kinds of songs usually leave me with more than a pang of restlessness, but because it was delivered so gently and with such warm wisdom -- the hard-won knowledge that no matter how much love is in your world, you and the world can never get enough -- it gave me great peace to know that someone else feels the way I do sometimes.

Which is one of the magical things about great songs, of which Ms. Lane (as the New York Times will someday refer to her) has at least a dozen. She's poised, ambitious, a great writer, a soul singer of the first order, and a lithe, accomplished guitarist (plus she's got great knees that stick out of her ripped jeans, making her look like Dave Pirner and Michelle Shocked's bastardette niece).

Near the end of her hootenanny performance, someone in the crowd asked Lane if she thought songs about broken hearts can be "faked." She didn't say much, so I will.

Some can. Maybe. I guess. Depending on your definition of "fake." But not this one; there's not a fake bone in its birth mama's body.