Fiona Apple can’t seem to do anything without causing a fuss. But the songs are worth it.

CMJ Festival preview

Lincoln Center’s latest attempt to rebrand the classics threatens to gum up the Mostly Mozart Festival.

The lost Beach Boy's favorite things—Phil Spector, Arthur Koestler, and Celine Dion's legs.

Liz Phair doesn’t need your stinking “indie cred.” She’s not nostalgic for her bad-girl years. And she’s back with her best album yet.

Emmylou Harris is building her legacy. And when she returns to town this week, she’ll revisit her past as a New Yorker—when she sang for her supper and waitressed on Wall Street.

For blues-tinged chanteuse Lucinda Williams, even a two-week love affair can yield a new song. Or five.

Remember Michelle Shocked? (You know: the punk-bluegrass artist with the big mouth.) She’s back—sane, sober, and rueful after years in the wilderness.

Rufus Wainwright breaks out of his emotional straitjacket and finds a whole new range of expression.

Joanna Newsom sings her folk-inflected compositions in a ragged, yet ethereal voice to solo harp accompaniment, and has emerged as an unlikely cult figure in the indie-rock world.