Be Wary of Lisa Hannigan!

Hello, my fellow nerds in nerddom. Your evil man with the evil plan, Sir Simon Milligan, coming at you with a bit of a nerdy bone to pick. As the music critic for this nerdly compendium of nerdosity, I feel it is not only my duty to bring you the latest in tunes that further the nerd mission, but also to warn against that which is not nerdy in the world of aural emanation. It is this duty that compels me to warn against a sprightly sprite from the Emerald Isle, one Ms. Lisa Hannigan.

Formerly of Irish neo-folk troubadour Damian Rice’s band, this wispy flower has released two albums to wide critical acclaim: 2008’s Sea Sew and Passenger, released just this year. An Irish brogue lilting a strong, expressive alto, Lisa Hannigan has also shown herself adept at many instruments, drawing from her genre’s spiritual past in bluegrass (banjo), Irish folk (mandolin, dulcimer), and rock and roll (electric guitar). Lisa Hannigan may, in the minds of lesser mortals, evoke images of Sinead O’Connor, Patty Griffin, or, oddly, Bjork. But those with my learned ear will know that Lisa Hannigan, though drawing from a deep well, is creating something hitherto unknown.

And you must ignore her at all costs. We, as nerds, reject out of hand the raw, unquantifiable force of emotion. We subscribe only to cold calculation, rationality, and line graphs. Lisa Hannigan’s broad range, vocal control, and touching lyrics serve only to fog the senses and cloud the mind, distracting from every nerd’s true calling: reducing everything to numbers, and knowing those numbers better than you.

In the interest of knowing one’s enemy, Dame Milligan and I recently saw Lisa Hannigan perform at the Double Door in Chicago. Picture a petite, shy woman, tastefully dressed and standing unassumingly, and then filling the tiny venue with such delicate sound that one worries to breathe, lest they shatter it like spun sugar. Picture a nervous, nearly breathless pixie, standing stock still until the music hits, then reacting to every single note, every single beat, as if in ecstasy so close to pain that the line between them blurs to nonexistence. Picture a woman so delighted to be granted a chance to share her craft and herself with others that she thanks us warmly and sweetly, and never stops smiling, even during the sad bits. Utterly meaningless!

I warn all you self-interested nerds out there, fighting the good fight, to stay clear of Lisa Hannigan. Don’t buy her new album, Passenger, don’t see her live, and for Evil’s sake, do not watch this video of her performing at a pub in Dingle, Ireland. This is for your own good.

Exclusive to Lisa Hannigan: If you insist on returning to Chicago to spread your brand of infectious pro-emotion propaganda, allow Dame Milligan and I to cook you dinner. I can be reached at this website. That is, vile demon!