Mike Boehm's review of Marti Jones' performance at the Coach House leaves me aghast ("Something Missing From Marti Jones' Delivery," July 26).
When I plunk down $10 for a ticket, I hope to hear a capable, perhaps even exciting performer doing interesting songs. I don't know what Boehm expected, but I do not feel unrewarded if the artist doesn't crawl into my lap and spill her innermost secrets to me.
Marti Jones at arm's-length beats 99% of her competition close up. As a deeply satisfied member of Tuesday night's audience, I felt that she engaged us in the best possible way, as a terrific singer of exceptional songs.
Boehm's reading of her remarks to the audience and of her current album cover force the conclusion that he needs to brush up on the concept of irony.