As her band's main songwriter, Merchant channels her depression into elegant, haunting little pop songs. Their Elektra album, The Wishing Chair (their major-label debut, after two homemade records) is full of such tunes; with Merchant's soprano gliding around guitars, mandolins and accordions.
10,000 Maniacs came together four years ago, mainly because there was nothing else to do in their hometown of Jamestown, New York. "lt's a remote microcosm, where the year's biggest event is the American Legion pig roast," says Merchant. "We had a hard time convincing people to listen. We'd play awful dives around town, where there'd always be domestic squabbles, biker gangs and people hitting each other with lead pipes in the parking lot. Sometimes my mother would drag me home in the middle of a gig."
Originally a solo folksinger, Merchant still has her reservations about rock and roll. "Rock music is really about arrogance, there's too much of an attitude attached to it. I'm not going to start writing rock songs about my love affairs--they're private, I wouldn't share them. And it's arrogant to think that anyone would want to hear about them."
On a good night, the band builds tension until Merchant is dancing around the stage, bumping into amplifiers. They create an ominous kid of joy, but as Merchant says, happiness is temporary. "I often feel very sad after a show. Tonight I feel like I poured everything into this room, and now the room is empty."