I’m writing this post way in advance, shortly after Tift Merritt’s new album (See You On the Moon) was released. I’ve been listening to it on repeat and rediscovering exactly why and how much I love this woman. She is a brilliant writer and performer and one of the most sensitive and intelligent artists I follow.
Merritt is a real Renaissance woman. In addition to writing all of her music and lyrics and playing guitar, piano, harmonica, tambourine, you name it, she has displayed her photography in a museum exhibit and hosts a public radio interview show where she interviews favorite actors, writers and musicians about their inspirations.
She’s a sponge for new knowledge and new experiences and that curiosity and introspection shines through on her albums and in her live performances. I can’t say enough about how special she is. If you’ve never listened to her, do yourself a favor and pick up one of her albums.
A picture of Houston in a creased-up mess,
Just to remind me that it all went wrong,
Just to beat me up, just to turn me on.
Stray paper, stray paper, stray paper,
Burning in my hands.
Cigarettes in the glove box with the classified ads,
Ashes and silver worn in to your hands,
“I got to see you” on a bar napkin,
Gas station quarters, I got to see you again.
Stray paper, stray paper, stray paper,
Burning in my hands.
Somewhere there’s a letter that I never sent,
It used to read pretty, now it’s empty as
That night in the headlights with the blankets pressed.
Was it something to you baby, or was it always just
Stray paper, stray paper, stray paper,
Burning in my hands.
Stray paper, stray paper, stray paper,
Burning in my hands,
Burning in my hands,
Burning in my hands.
Oh, just admit that you long to be the guitar strap between her ample bosom! I will certainly be happy to listen to more Merritt to better understand why you find her (music) so special, but I must admit that I haven’t really heard any song of hers that has wowed me, including this one.