I’ve been listening to Lori McKenna’s The Kitchen Tapes pretty much all morning. I love this album. It’s the kind of album that sends me right to deep reflection. Music that’s good for the soul…at least in my book.

If you’ve never listened to Lori McKenna, I can’t think of a better place to start than The Kitchen Tapes…with a couple of cautions. First, there’s a chance that if you listen to The Kitchen Tapes first, her other albums won’t measure up in the same way. That’s because The Kitchen Tapes are just that–McKenna, her guitar, and a little recorder in her kitchen in Stoughton, MA. Here’s part of her description from the liner notes:

Do you believe in accidents? Well, to me this album is just that. It happened over the course of a few days while sitting in my kitchen with a bunch of new songs swirling in my head. I got out my minidisc recorder, a cheap little microphone, and my notebook, filled with a writing binge I went on just after finishing my last album, and then I started to play…This is me in my kitchen, at my table with the phone ringing, the TV buzzing, and my kids running around. These recordings are far from perfect, but they were never meant to be. I’d like to think that their imperfections are their beauty.

And they are just that…beautiful in their lack of polish and perfection. McKenna’s confessions, revelations, and admissions are that much more painfully beautiful on The Kitchen Tapes.

Don’t get me wrong…her other music has the same qualities, but the polish of production on Paper Wings and Halo, Pieces of Me, or Bittertown (which includes some of the songs from The Kitchen Tapes) softens the edges a bit. Matter of fact, earlier this week I was listening to Bittertown and had to decide if I wanted to descend into the reflective place to which The Kitchen Tapes always call me.

The second caution is that if you are not a fan of folk/roots/alt country you may not have much of a tolerance for McKenna. In my mind her writing is in the best traditions of these genres–that is, the music is embedded in the contours of the everyday and its stories. And…I should throw this in as well…if any mention of religion or faith causes you to yell “conservative garbage!” at the top of your lungs (like you may have done upon a first listen to Sinead O’Connor’s Theology), save yourself the risk of high blood pressure and don’t bother listening. Personally I love her honesty and her indebtedness to her history and community.

So, I give you my pitch for a soundtrack for this gray and rainy April day.