I don't often talk about music in this column. After all, I write about music just about every single day. SUIT is my respite. Still, I feel compelled to say something in a musical vein this week.

A year ago this week, I wandered around the Festival for the Eno right here in Durham. This is your usual arts and crafts and county fair food concession affair, with just a couple of exceptions. First, there's constant music playing on four stages. And since the thing is run by aging hippie/semi-radical environmentalists, there are recycling stations every two feet and a heavy emphasis on vegetarian food in the stalls (creamy tofutti waffle cone, anyone?). Oh, yeah, and since "the Eno" is a river, there's quite a bit of swimming, too.

As you might expect, I paid most attention to the music. And while waiting for Ralph Stanley and the Clinch Mountain Boys (one of the all-time bluegrass greats) to come on the stage, I watched this diminutive country singer named Tift Merritt.

She's little, but she holds her guitar like Bruce Springsteen and stands in front of the microphone like a linebacker. Well, last year she did. Now she's got more of a closed stance. I guess the marketing folks have been working with her on that.

Anyway, she sings with such vulnerability and strength that once she opens her mouth it's pretty hard to do anything but pay rapt attention. I've turned on a few friends to her live shows since, and everyone has come away entranced.

So last weekend I went to this year's Eno fest. Once again, Tift was playing (once you hear her, she's simply "Tift." That's just how it is). Two sets. A more subdued, acoustic one at a smaller stage in the shade, and a raucous, ripping affair out on the main Meadow Stage.

At the first set, she debuted mostly new songs, including "Bramble Rose," the likely title track of her soon-to-be-recorded debut album, and a song that should be the first single, "Put on Your Diamond Shoes." At the 2000 Eno fest, she seemed a bit overwhelmed by the attention. The acclaim for her 1999 EP with Two Dollar Pistols (the only stuff of hers you can buy in stores right now) was still rolling in, and she'd just been named winner of the Chris Austin songwriting contest at the 2000 Merlefest (think 40,000 people wandering around the hills of western North Carolina listening to bluegrass and country music) in April. She wasn't quite ready for the spotlight.

A year later, many of her new songs had rite-of-passage themes. She and her band the Carbines even did a version of the old gospel tune "When I Cross Over." She's fully aware that unless somebody does something truly stupid in the studio (like try and turn her into Shania Twain) that she'll be everywhere in 2002. That her record just might revitalize a country music scene that seems to have sunk under the weight of its own overproduced excess the past few years.

A year ago, I kept telling people about her, saying that I'd never seen anyone with her potential at this point in her career. It was kinda like hearing Emmylou Harris before she started singing with Gram Parsons--and if there's a singer Tift most reminds me of, it's Harris. I kept wondering what label would sign her. Her songs were ready, even if she wasn't. Quite.

A couple of deals fell through, but fortuitously she fell into Lost Highway Records, a new "alternative" imprint for Mercury Nashville. The label that put together the soundtrack for O Brother, Where Art Thou. If that's not enough of a recommendation, among the folks on this label are Lucinda Williams, Ryan Adams (the guy behind Whiskeytown), Kim Richey and Robert Earl Keen. Singers and songwriters who can tell a story and write great music. Tift fits right in.

For the last three weeks, every newspaper and 'zine in the area has been trumpeting Tift's 2001 Eno shows as a chance to catch "the next big thing." She's hanging around town, writing new material and working out with the band, so she's seen and heard all of this press attention. The pressure to perform after all of the gushing (not unlike mine here, except moreso) had to be huge. Last year, I don't know if she could have done it. Well, she probably could, but still. This year she came out, talked with the audiences like each member was an old friend and had a good time. When mistakes occurred (some songs were so new she hadn't had time to memorize the lyrics), she and the band laughed them off easily. That's what you have to do. Music isn't a perfect endeavor. Often, the best music is imperfect.

By the end of the second set, this one on the big stage, Tift and the Carbines were gassed. The 90/90 heat and humidity spent me, and I was sitting in the shade drinking lots of water. I can only imagine what playing two 45-minute sets would do. But once again, she'd woven her spell. Most of the audience members were already true believers. We'd seen her in just about every club in the area (there are literally dozens), and when she mentioned a couple upcoming shows, I could see many folks making mental notes. It's not often you can catch a true rising star in an intimate setting.

The album comes out sometime in early 2002. Yesterday Tift said January or February. Some of the stories said March. I know how record labels work. Until the date is on paper (and that means the album has been recorded and pressed, advance copies prepared to send to the critics and in this case, a video shot for the first single--I'd like to put in one more vote for "Put on Your Diamond Shoes"), it doesn't exist. But be looking. If Emmylou Harris or the Jayhawks or Whiskeytown or Uncle Tupelo (including the bastard children Son Volt and Wilco) or Patty Griffin or folks like that turn your head, then Tift Merritt will make you smile. And cry. And, quite simply, give you a jones that will never quite be satisfied.

The best music is like that. Always, always leave 'em wanting more.

Jon Worley hasn't gushed this much about an artist since writing a review for the new Firewater album.