I highly recommend pulling out a lyric sheet for this one. Courtney Barnett is a writer of long and elaborate sentences, and her Aussie accent makes it hard to keep up with all of the words. But perusing a cheat sheet, you’ll find an unusual level of wit and perception. Here is someone who I would like to read a novel or a memoir by, not that Barnett has aspired to either of those things as far as I know. (And although many poets who you would expect to write good prose actually wrote unreadable prose.) But truly, I’m invested in her career, and I hope she doesn’t get spooked by all the deafening early acclaim. I really hope she doesn’t decide to just keep it low key in Australia and plant a garden and play coffee shops and live off the residuals for the rest of her life. Of course I’m itching for the next album. I’m guessing it’s going to be the classic ‘oh shit, being famous is terrifying and dehumanizing, what have I gotten myself into?’ second album angst, and while that may be a cliche, I really anticipate hearing what Barnett has to say about all the airport terminals and dressing rooms and hotel lobbies she’s had to experience.