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Preview: Courtney Barnett

The Australian singer-songwriter comes to One Eyed Jacks June 7



Sometimes Courtney Barnett sits and thinks, and sometimes she just sits. On her debut album, sometimes you think she's longing ("At the end of the day it's a pain that I keep seeing your name ..."), and sometimes you'd be wrong ("... but I'm sure it's a bore being you"). Replace Lena Dunham's insufferable self-centering with a Siddhartha-like search for where the sidewalk ends, set it to revved-up rocks-offing and dreamy slide-guitar slow dancing, deliver it in stoned deadpan Melbournese that refuses to color within the lines or obey any arbitrary measure or two-left-feet meter ("Breakfast on the run again, he's well aware / He's dropping soy linseed Vegemite crumbs everywhere"), and you're just about there. Cut those askew character observations with the most acerbic sweetness imaginable and a mere whisper of sadness ("Depreston," suburban house hunting-turned-history mining), and the rest is revealed: Barnett's a savant, but she's no idiot. To those who would peg her as a shrugging slacker, there's a fireproof Millennial burn — "We don't have to be around all these coffee shops / Now we've got that percolator / Never made a latte greater" — punctuated by a throwaway punch line: "I'm savin' $23 a week." Chastity Belt and Darren Hanlon open. Tickets $14.

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