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Artist
Ask Heather Waters what inspired the songs on her new record, propeller, and she’ll offer a genial wisecrack: “Love & murder, baby.” But it’s no joke that she is fascinated by the magic – and the minefields - of the human heart. At a time when pop music is ruled by dance divas who phone in their vocal performances, Waters is a bracing anomaly: an artist whose singing is a visceral, deeply soulful experience — for her as well as audiences. Waters can belt and growl with abandon, but she truly proves her mettle with sorrowful, melodically spacious ballads that give her burning alto room to set off the trip wires of the heart. In another era, she might have been heralded as a torch singer with the phrasing of Billie Holiday or Peggy Lee and explosive passion akin to Edith Piaf. The conviction of Waters’ performances overcomes even jaded scenesters; when she opens her mouth to sing, people turn to listen as reflexively as they step into the sun for warmth. Once she adjusts her vintage microphone, she seemingly transports herself to some other place in time as she sings the blazes out of heartbreak ballads, a cappella gospel chestnuts and bluesy confessionals burning with candid need and longing. With her eyes closed and hands hovering around her mic, the effect is one of a prayerful supplicant in communion with her muse. Offstage, all that musical transcendence gets blasted by Waters’ irreverent humor. The woman can be gleefully, wickedly funny... just ask her to share some of