I am smitten by Vvktoria Pratt Keating, and I hope to smite you as well (not necessarily expose you to her music, just smite you upon the head). I'm in excellent company, too -- as Ian Anderson of Jethro Tull, who is reported to be finicky in a uniquely English way and immune to fits of whim, had the good taste and polished judgment to recently tow Keating along as warm-up act on a five month, 42 show U.S. and U.K. tour.

Now back in her new home of Sedona, Vyktoria is gearing up for an upcoming tour of the east coast, while simultaneously promoting the release of her newest CD, Something About Driving, a compilation of live recordings from her concerts with Ian and the boys. On the disc, Anderson lends his disembodied voice to the intro of his protegé, and later provides flute accompaniment on the tune "Do We Entrain." Tull keyboardist Andrew Giddings appears on two tracks and Doane Perry provides percussion.

Anyone who has picked up Vyktoria's last recording, This Guardiain At Noon, will appreciate the new dimension that her distinguished guests add to her compositions (those who haven't heard Guardian will simply have to go out immediately and purchase it). Richly mysterious synthesizer riffs float around her fastidiously fingerpicked soliloquies, and snatches of piano tumble in for punctuation. In a live setting, the songs are stripped down to essentials and stand mightily, proving the meticulousness of their crafting.

The fruit of 14 vears of toil as a solo artist, Something About Driving is a documentation of how very far Vyktoria Pratt Keating has come as a songwriter, performer and human being. The power, poise and maturity that she's achieved in long years of touring, promoting and honing her craft pay off in spades as she takes the stage to rile up the audience for her idols, Jethro Tull. The enthusiasm of Tull's fans is lavished generously at her feet at the start of every song, where a short intro detailing road horrors or a song's history are met with rippling resonance and gleeful exhortations.

Local music lovers should catch this daughter of a mountain yogi's act before she is lost forever to the upper reaches of the touring food chain. My inner Oujia Board tells me that she won't be haunting the likes of Joe's Place for much longer.

The fortunate few who have made it to her Flagstaff appearances would agree that her brand of Mulderdelic swan-o-phonic ghost operatics doesn't show up in these parts very often, and when it does, it often runs far away after being pelted with cake.

I wouldn't blame Vyk for opting for a life of appearing with Peter Gabriel and Dave Matthews Band. I wouldn't hold it against her for giving up the saloon life for one of Grammy nominations and Lillith fairs. Lighter elements have a tendency to rise.

While she's in the neighborhood, though, we mountain folk have an opportunity to bask in the backwash of her talent.

Possessed of a soprano that swoops with the grace and strength of a swallow, she spins melodies that lift and dive like strange porpoises alight on moon-splashed waves. Shot through with irony and wonder, her work is replete with sweet raptures and celestial intimations. Vyktoria is a mystical poetess in the best tradition of the occupation, weaving lyrical tapestries that shimmer with rare hues. Wielding a six-string like a mouse's wand, she tempts the ear like a sylvan sorceress, casting streaming, brilliant, half-dreamt visages through the air until they settle like night-moths before the listener's newly awakened senses. She reopens the wound of Being.