A descriptor like "the female Robert Smith" doesn't exactly inspire libidinal confidence in the average male. (Nor does "the goth Liza Minelli," now that we think of it.) But Siouxsie Sioux makes a strong case for the sexiness of gloom. Even when she's moaning about dissociative identity disorder, she makes it sound like a creepy come-on: "She tries not to shatter, kaleidoscope-style/ personality changes behind her red smile. . . " Well, maybe you need to share our affinity for freaky women, but if you do. . . (Lessee here. . . "the singing, dancing Theda Bara"?) — P.S.
promotion
34) Regina Spektor
Regina Spektor contains multitudes. Emerging first from Communist Russia and then from the same lower Manhattan underground that birthed the Moldy Peaches, Spektor saw firsthand both terrifying political oppression and cutesy affectation. While her aesthetic is undoubtedly informed more by the latter than the former, Spektor's childhood must've blessed her with both the musical virtuosity that sets her apart from her anti-folk peers and the self-aware dorkiness that is, um, the most charming thing ever. You can't help but imagine your future with her. You both have pretty good jobs and an apartment nice enough to have a spare room where she can keep her piano. There is the occasional household mishap. Maybe the cat knocks a cup of tea off the counter. — J.B.
33) Kate Jackson
Art school elitism is such a turn-on. Looking like Anna Karina as a Vice magazine scene-queen, and sounding as snotty as Suede, Kate Jackson sings songs thick with references to her superior tastes. Even in your wildest fantasies, Ms. Jackson is out of your league. — I.C.
32) Kazu Makino
The meeting of delicate, eerie poetess Kazu Makino and twin brothers Simone and Amedeo Pace (in a chic Manhattan restaurant, naturally) resulted in Blonde Redhead, maybe the most elegant band of all time. A calamatous riding accident left Makino with little hope of singing again. But she finally recovered, the band wrote "Misery is a Butterfly," and when we saw them in Brooklyn, she held us captive with her reedy voice, white cotton dress, and her mild intoxication. — Marian Lorraine
31) Chan Marshall
Once upon a time in Hollywood, we snuck backstage at MTV's Shortlist Awards in search of a quiet place to smoke. Leaning against the garden wall, alone, was a willowy brunette. She took a sparkly strand of her tank dress and tied it around our head like a bandana. She lit our cigarette and asked our name. She had a low voice and a tough-and-skittish alley kitten vibe. She smiled a lot and encouraged us to follow our dreams. We fell in love. And only found out months later it was Chan Marshall. — M.L.
