Katy Pinke’s songs are self-examinations—cerebral and unsparing, but reaching toward a more promising future. The Manhattan-based singer-songwriter, painter, and theater-maker’s nimble soprano evokes the precision, humor, and melancholy of forbearers like The Roches and Connie Converse. Sentences pour across verses, disrupting the symmetry of the expected verse-chorus song form, recalling her espoused hero Bill Callahan. […]
