Amazon.comAt her best, Ms. Youngs packs the smart, feminist, and foul-mouthed wallop of Girly Sound-era Liz Phair. Add to that a vocal delivery that's beautiful but intentionally ragged, often brought right to its breaking point; her vocals are part Jolie Holland, part Nellie McKay. And it's all backed by orchestral indie pop that recalls Beirut on some tunes and Regina Spektor on others. Not all the songs live up to the work of those currently more famous people. But enough of this album does to make this one heck of an enjoyable debut. The record smoothly incorporates country, electronic, and orchestral elements, but the focus rarely strays from her gorgeous voice and trenchant words. Self-released to little acclaim in 2005, the album's been reissued on Nettwerk thanks to the use of a particularly catchy and profanely-titled number in the second season of the Showtime show Weeds. Thank God for television, and for smartypants singer-songwriters! --Mike McGonigal Product DescriptionI can't stay off of people's laps. It would appear that Jenny Owen Youngs is a full-contact sport. When I'm meeting someone for the first time and my gut instinct tells me that we're going to be important to each other for years to come, I like to take 'making a connection' to a slightly more literal plane, and connect myself... to a lap. It's unconventional and maybe a little invasive, but people tend to remember you upon a second meeting once you've shared that kind of intimacy. This mentality, which holds little regard for personal boundaries and getting-to-know-you etiquette, is the mortar of Youngs' debut full-length. Batten the Hatches is a collection of eleven un-love songs that want nothing more than to crawl inside your head and set up camp. Under the clever guise of sweet, unadorned arrangements and dangerously addictive melodies, they waltz in and do just that. Each track takes aim: at the disembodied voice of an ex-lover (Voice On Tape); at whiskey bottles emptied to salve wounds (Drinking Song); at one particularly curse-worthy heartbreaker (Fuck Was I); at the modern crumbling structure of family and home (Bricks). With thoughtful lyrics and a flick of the wrist, Jenny turns poetry and pain into unassuming pop anthems. On Hatches, there's also no shortage of cussing or drinking - and no apologies made for either. Why so unladylike? Love is a mess, Jenny shrugs, and I've made plenty of messes. It levels everyone to the same sloppy playing ground. Certain emotional states cannot be effectively recreated for a listener without the employment of a good, solid 'fuck!' - or twenty. If I can't come across as genuine, no one's going to bother coming back for a second listen. Jenny Owen Youngs is a lot of things, but disingenuous is not one of them. Not-so-simply put, she's a feisty, hypersensitive, disease-free singer-songwriter and reformed Girl Scout who politely requests that you make room on your lap for her songs. Raised in the eastern deciduous forests of northwest New Jersey, our heroine spent her youth engaged in such rural activities as rock-skipping, bear-chasing, and waterfall-diving. She also logged countless hours spinning her mother's copy of Revolver and learning every last word to Jesus Christ Superstar. Jenny seriously dated both the flute and the tuba before exchanging enthusiastic vows with the guitar at the tender age of thirteen. She adores sharks - a residual fascination left over from teenage ambitions toward a career in marine biology. Jenny is also a Space Camp survivor. Ask her about it sometime.