Kara Jackson is plain-spoken, sensitive, and secure. There’s no hypochondriacal scepticism; no thrashes of disbelief. It’s a rhetorical question: why have the capacity for love when death exists? We hear that Kara and her friend, who died from cancer aged 17, were planning to start a band and hijack her folks’ minivan. It’s sad. If death is part of the deal, is uncurbed love worth it? Jackson’s deep presence through the unevenly built tracklist mirrors the process of living through both. Bob Dylan shadows ‘pawnshop’’s ‘Lay, Lady, Lay’-like lackadaisical guitars and the ‘it ain’t me’ sentiment on ‘free’. As poets carrying guitars, they approach love and loss with one step.
A favourite: ‘Lily’