This story was originally published in the August 1997 issue of SPIN.
With stardom just a compromise away, Ani DiFranco chides her fans, goofs on the media, and wishes major labels would get the bleep off her answering machine. Jonathan Van Meter uncovers the essential brattiness of folk’s great white hope.
Tonight in Knoxville, Ani DiFranco is onstage at the Tennessee Theater doing one of the two things she does best: talking. She is talking to her audience, her fans, and, oh, what fanatics they are. Pierced, tattooed, obsessed, sexually ambiguous, passionate, young, noisy, bossy, possessive, and demanding. DiFranco’s hair is dyed magenta, her T-shirt is orange, her skintight latex
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