From a purely selfish perspective, when you stumble upon an artist who is a major talent, you experience a rush, and a conflict. You want to share this find with the world; however, a part of you wants to keep the artist’s existence a secret. Referring back to the word “selfish” in the opening sentence, you know what happens when an artist blows up and gains mainstream popularity. The artist’s vision often gets co-opted and early fans are left hanging onto a moment that cannot be repeated.

At the same time, you want the artist who has earned your respect to succeed, because, unlike so many, that person is truly deserving of such praise. The angel and devil rest on your respective shoulders and, if you’re a fan of music, you inevitably side with the better angels and trumpet your “find” (who you really didn’t find, but who you were more-than-likely pointed to by a passionate representative in the artist’s camp.)

When this writer was pointed in the direction of the music of Anna Rose late in 2009, those feelings of joy and selfishness welled up, because it was clear from one spin of her self-titled debut EP, that she was, indeed, a major talent. With a pure voice that needs no mechanical augmentation, an ability to play a mean guitar, and a desire to hone her craft in smoky clubs and not take advantage of potential benefits that could be gained if she told people who her father is, Rose proved herself that rare breed: The total musical package who was willing to work hard and prove herself and who, when the subject of her talents were discussed with her, deflected attention from herself and focused it on those who worked with her to improve her craft.

Try as she might, her attempts to muddy the praise-filled waters prove moot when you listen to her first full-length effort, Nomad, on which she proves the positive notices she has received is well-deserved, and, more importantly, on which she proves that she has the ability to write songs, to play songs, to sing songs, and to move a listener with her country-tinged rock songs, on which she leads her band and let them play with a seemingly ego-free confidence in her abilities that often not seen in artists who have been in the business for decades.

The disc succeeds because Rose does lean on flowery lyrics to convey a thought. Instead, her writing is succinct and straight-forward, its strength coming from its bluntness. Consider “Picture,” in which she sings, “Picture your life/Picture it now/Is it what you imagined?/Is it all you thought it would be?” Those four opening lines hook you immediately and you’re along for the ride instantly.

Great music is often grounded in reality. Hip-hop music was a street movement; it evolved in the concrete jungles of a part of New York City where the sunlight served to expose the bleakness of the surroundings, and heated an already boiling populace. Hip-hop was a safety valve. While the analogy might seem odd – since Rose’s music is country-tinged rock and roll – her focus on the grittier aspects of artistry, the cold realities of the work needed to achieve success organically is refreshingly real. “Wilshire Blvd.” is one such example of Rose’s focus on the real. She asks for “a sign, that I’m still alive?/’Cus I’m barely holding on/I can barely sing along.”

While it’s clear when one listens to the disc that she is doing much more than hanging on, Rose’s focus on the real, on the now, on the struggles, only serves to strengthen her message.

“You Got It For Free” is a song of love and loss, of realism and bleakness, yet one with a catchy chorus to which you can sing along. It’s a strong choice for a closing track, because it serves as a reality check, and delves into the unglamorous truths of the life of a travelling musician. It leaves the listener with the impression that the singer is not overwhelmed by a feeling of self-importance. In fact, she is a stone-cold realist, and her honesty is bracing.

Those who are often disappointed by female singer-songwriters will have no choice but to add Rose’s Nomad to what has become a short list of discs from female artists that will warrant a prominent place in their music library. It is a powerful opening salvo from a singer-songwriter with a blistering future. Considering that she had the opportunities to allow privilege to spoil her during her youth, and, seemingly, she has not allowed it to do so,  one suspects that she will be able to handle success well and maintain the ability to write gritty, believable songs that move the listener and leave them wanting for more. This listener certainly does.

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