Regina Spektor, Begin to Hope (Sire, 2006)
I don't claim to know what's good for you.  I am not, I repeat, NOT a doctor.  But there's a little something I think you should add to your diet, somewhere between the stale gas station burritos and PBR tallboys.  It â€" or she, as the case may be â€" is Regina Spektor. 
Before I heard her I expected to hate her.  All right, I wanted to hate her.  I only knew the photos - those big blue eyes and pouty lips, her itty-bitty self in front of a gigantic piano.  So Spektor plays the piano and sings.  Yawn.  Does she think she's Fiona Apple or something?  <br>I wanted to hate her, but I couldn't, because the fact is she has talent.  Not only does she have amazing pipes and mad piano skills, but she has pretty little ankles tantalizingly on display in the CD booklet. 
While I listened to Begin to Hope, Spektor's latest record, I dreamed of grabbing her by her classically trained hand and dragging her far away from the torture device that is the drum machine.  I'd plunk her down in front of a bass player and a sweaty punk rock drummer and let her belt her sassy, insane lyrics over that noise.  Thankfully the synthetic drumming pollutes only a couple of tracks, and either way, Spektor is a powerhouse.  Despite its unimaginative name, overall Begin to Hope is a dazzling display of Spektor's strange and striking brand of anti-folk music.   
Why should you trust my opinion?  Well, I saw you buying peach-colored pills off some big guy at the last Who Cares show, and I figure I'm at least as trustworthy as he is.  Like I said, I'm no doctor, but I'm pretty sure that dude was no pharmacist. â€" Jennifer Boutilier