I like Macy Gray. I’ve got her third CD, The Trouble With Being Myself, playing right now. Somehow, it reminds me of The Beatles’ Rubber Soul … didn’t they call it the first extended single, pop music’s first concept album, or something like that? Regardless of my own or anyone else’s critique of any individual song or CD, listening to her is always the musical answer to the question, “So, Macy, long time, no see. What’s up?” Sometimes she’s happy and sometimes she’s horny; now lovesick, now cheerfully recounting multiple homicides. There’s no artifice, no excuses, no defense—it’s just feeling first, then music. I like having her around as an influence on my psyche. I want to be like Macy Gray when I grow up.