This unique and elusively intriguing singer's tongue lovingly encircles words like the tail of a pet cat curling round its favourite chair leg. If this accent sounds familiar think the late James Stewart, actor, who also hailed from Pennsylvania. As I have noted elsewhere her voice may be likened to a gemstone scribing a rare and fragile sound on the smoked and mirrored glass of the awestruck air in my ear - if this alchemical feat were possible. She delivers her very personal and one assumes autobiographical material with genuine passion at times with the raw intensity of a woman scorned and then changing to the plaintive voice of a little girl lost and there is alchemy aplenty here. A great diva singing the works of a great composer has the power to wring out our hearts but Dawn Kinnard can do this with words she has written and music she has composed herself. This is a magic talent just revealing itself and below the surface still swirling with perhaps too many of the painful vicissitudes of life there is the promise of a rich harvest. All is not angst here either, as the optimism of `The Devil's Flame', `Pennsylvania' and `Fortune Teller' is more than enough to leaven the mix. Try drifting with `Fortune Teller' along the seafront at Blackpool, Southend or any seaside town and let the ballroom Wurlitzer swirl you away on a tide of dreams with an ice cream or a plate of cockles in your hand and in your pocket a stick of rock wrapped in cellophane with Dawn Kinnard written all the way through it, to be taken home and kept and cherished and never eaten.