LORI INFELD.

**THERE IS LITTLE TO NO MUSIC ON THIS PAGE. LORI INFELD. BRAVELY ACKNOWLEDGES HER DISGRACE TO THE MIDNIGHT SPAGHETTI MYSPACE. PLEASE BARE WITH HER OR SHOW UP AT SPAGHETTIFEST 5 EARLY ON FRIDAY THE 28TH, IF YOU WANT HER TO SURPRISE YOU WITH WHAT SHE SOUNDS LIKE. SHE'S MILDLY OKAY AT SINGING, AND SHE JUST COMPLETED HER SHRED LIKE ED VED BOOK. GOTTA SEE IT TO BELIEVE IT!**

ACOUSTIC CAFE · FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 28th, 2007 · 2:45PM
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LORI INFELD. is $jerk.99, and she doesn't mind letting you know about the embarrassingly awkward life she has so far led. Her songs are nothing more than emotionally bittersweet letters unsent to recipients, which you will never confirm without some hefty detective work and linguistic decoding prowess. She prides herself on being able to capture the essence of the minute by turning a single phrase with brief unmitigated eloquence- all the things you wanted to say, but absolutely couldn't. Although people (and most men) often hate her music, because they would rather listen to unaffected, uninteresting, Top 40 crapOla, that doesn't deal with with anything ever, she makes no less than artful attempts to rise above. Other critics, however, admire her openness, like her quirks and neat-o glasses, and enjoy her interesting ways of getting right to the spot where your elbows feel funny and your solar plexus flares up- 'cause, yeah. We've all been there. "Uhhhh uhhhhhhh uhhhhhh excuse me? Do you have toilet paper over there!?? Ma'am...uhhhh. Excuse me?? WELL, shhhit."

Inquiries for anyone who really wants to believe it (and your dirty, dirty fanmail):
[email protected]

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