Just when I’m about to give up on alternative country, especially that done by women, Lydia Loveless knocked at my door and handed me her latest CD with a broad smile, a gracious nod, righteous indignation for auto-tuners, and a song entitled “Chris Isaak” … one of my all time dreamy faves.From there she takes these country based songs to a new level with a bleary elegance of belligerence that makes for a compelling harmonic listen, sounding for all the world like she’s driving down a country road with a single headlight, a broken heart, and one barefoot on the gas. Her songs sound dangerous, both physically and emotionally, but you’re gonna have to listen close to hear her weave stories of drinking herself to sleep while dreaming of the talents of an old lover between the sheets, or how she delights in drawing similarities between herself and Paul Verlaine, a French poet who had a notorious and violent relationship with a teenager, and how she’s a home wrecker with a penchant for making the wrong decisions at the wrong time with the wrong people. Still … all and all, she does it with an unexpected style and grace, embracing her self-destructive nature, while barreling on into the night with a pocket full of songs, and a radio station that continues to feed her appetite for irresponsibility. It’s been a long time, perhaps since Chris Isaak, that anyone has sung so lyrically and openly about their lack of well being, and sets it to such a listenable backbeat, one that doesn’t so much reach out and draw you in, more that it continually entices you to dive deeper into your own emotional state, sure that’s there’s no heaven and no hell, because with all she’s done, there’s no hope of redemption, and no guiding hand to conjure her back onto the right lane of the highway. Somewhere Else is bold, emotionally charged and deeply romantic in true outlaw fashion. Her musical tempos vary little, it’s her vocals that do the work and create the atmosphere, and I for one am riding shotgun, egging her on, with my own urgent sense of self-destruction, longing for better moments, because I’ve never strung together but a handful of perfect days.Review by Jenell Kesler