The Sharon Van Etten story is deceptively familiar. Nice girl from suburban New Jersey leaves home for Murfreesboro, Tenn. She attends a couple of semesters at Middle Tennessee State before dropping out and falling for a bad-seed rock star, who jealously discourages her from writing songs. After five progressively ugly years, Van Etten leaves Tennessee in the middle of the night with whatever she can carry. In the last scene of this prologue -- before Van Etten becomes the darling of indie rock -- it's Thanksgiving Day and her mom answers the door, holding the dishes she's about to put on the table, to find her black-sheep middle child, who hasn't spoken to her in ages, standing on the doorstep. We all like a good fall-and-redemption tale, especially when it's true. But it is absolutely beguiling as a Sharon Van Etten song. The difficult past is always present in Van Etten's music, a mesmerizing catalog that somehow combines the venom of P J Harvey with a choir loft full of Emmylou Harrises singing harmony. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]