Sarah Cronin, Drug Rug
We first heard Sarah Cronin as a scratchy, wax-cylinder voice from beyond on Drug Rug’s homonymous debut. It’s a weird, sprightly performance somewhere between Shirley Temple and a demonic Loretta Lynn — like Maria McKee in a garage band. The more shows they played around town, the more we witnessed one of Boston’s most bad-ass stage presences coming into her own: Cronin rocking a hollow-bodied guitar as big as she is and roaring her big voice into thrilling tatters. Not in a beat-your-ass kind of way, but with a supreme chill that could fool you into thinking she’s making it all up as she goes. She’s just as comfortable singing lullaby back-ups and ripping into raunchy guitar solos as she is howling from the scorched lowlands of her lungs, and that’s why we (and you) love her to tiny pieces. And there’s plenty more to come: their follow up, Paint the Fence Invisible (Black & Greene), drops this week.