In "Wind", Megan Bonnell sings to us in words we can't quite place, in languages only she knows and if we're attentive enough to catch her phrases, we feel like we've been let in on a secret. There's a kind of beauty in the muffle- the unpronounced words, but give us a few more listens and we'll be humming the tune, making up our own words. Her voice is delicate enough for us to indulge in her melodies, her playful fingers tapping on the keyboard and the rustling leaves. It's a certain silk in her vocals- but not safe enough to rope her in with the rest of the pretty girls in floral dresses and sweet falsettos, no. (See: Regina Spektor) If we must give it a name, I'd say she's a kin to Thunder Power, a few octaves higher. She's got a native sound, the one with whistles and howls. Her breathy voice is almost ancestral, she calls on blues, country and jazz like she was there when it first started, like her and Joan Baez had been there in the park, singing and shouting the whole damn time.