If you’ve been keeping an eye on the goings-on here over the course of the last six weeks or so, you may have noticed that The Indie Handbook is in the midst of a transitional period. Where things are headed, I cannot say because I’m not entirely sure myself. Wednesday’s news that Paste would be ceasing publication of their print magazine further complicates things, raising the inevitable question of relevance once again. I won’t go into my answer here (read the new “About” page if you’re interested) but I do want to address one of the artists who led me to it.

Lisbee Stainton was first featured here about a year ago. Then again, her most recent album, Girl On an Unmade Bed, was released months ago and has been reviewed by publications far more important and, dare I say—relevant—than this one. Why, then, should I bother with it? Haven’t I missed the window? Well—no, actually; The Waste Land is 75 years old, but that doesn’t stop me reading it every month or so. And, while I’m not suggesting that Girl On an Unmade Bed is going to define the next quarter century of music, I do quite like it.

The album begins with a pair of waltzes—a new version of Lisbee’s classic “Red” and the title track—which, together, amount to about six minutes of harmonic seduction (oh, those chord changes!…), before picking things up a bit with “Is Whispering”. The second verse of “Underground” is easily one of the best moments of the album: The man said we’d be free to fight them on the beaches in the night / The shells fall on our shore, rubble, trouble, boil and bubble / Take my hand, oh take my hand and we’ll run to the underground / and hide here ’til the ‘all clear’ sounds.

Other highlights include the coming of age number “Just Like Me” and “Practice Room”, a song that seems to me proof that the lives of music students on either side of the Atlantic are not all that different. Take this, for example: There’s a prima dona in the room behind me / singing opera so that Rome can hear. I can’t say I didn’t become intimately familiar with that sound in my four years of fruitless “practicing”. And then there’s “Harriet”, due for release later this month as the next single from the album. I used to think it would be cool if someone were to write a song about me. Harriet did too, apparently—so cool, in fact, that she asked for one, quite frequently it seems. Harriet! Why did I say I would do this for Harriet / Just because she wants me to? / I’ll write a song all about you / Just to get you out my room. (I am beginning have second thoughts about having my own song.)

Perhaps the death of Paste Magazine is a harbinger of the death of indie music (the beardy-flanneled music genre, that is, not the DIY ethic) as people will undoubtedly be shouting from the mountaintops in the coming days, but singer-songwriters are in the midst of a solid run (about 800 years) and show no sign of letting up. Just like the best of those pioneering minnesingers and trouvères*, Lisbee is currently wandering Europe and the UK on her massive (and first ever) headline tour. And though her name will never be as fun to say as that of Walther von der Vogelweide, she is infinitely more charming and there are eight strings on her guitar. Add to that this brilliant album (which can be streamed, along with her first album Firefly, on her website) and it’s pretty clear to see why there’s no denying that Lisbee Stainton is going places.

How’s that for relevance?

*Technically, the traveling ones were called jongleurs, but I needed the minnesinger reference.

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