Buttercup puts together playlists in a timeless college radio style: A recent show spanned decades of the highest grade stuff, from ’60s music-snob stalwarts Amon Düül, early-’80s punkettes the Slits, and Velvet Underground chanteuse Nico to past-tense local heroes Henry’s Dress, current freak-folkies Art of Flying and Wooden Wand and the Vanishing Voice, punk classics by the Adverts and the Wipers, a Sixths ballad, guilty pleasures by OMD and the Zombies, and a show-spanning Nikki Sudden tribute. But it’s not just her stellar crate-digging tendencies that make Buttercup stand out — it’s her voice. She’s no square-jawed Marshall Stax or velvet-voiced Kitty, but rather she sounds something like your teenage sister would if you loaned her your handheld tape recorder and let her loose in a room alone. She’s got this verbal tic, see — an ever-present end-of-sentence grunt that will either irritate the crap out of you or delight you to no end. Because Buttercup’s awkward vocal presence does nothing to deter her from talking about the excellent music she plays — and is obvious evidence of her excitement about it — she’s that rarest of birds, a female music nerd who doesn’t try to cut it with a girlish coo or hipster sneer.
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