My girlfriend works at Starbucks. I went up to visit her yesterday while she was at work, and while I was waiting for her to return to our little table with a container of expired fruit, I perused the Starbucks music section, which is usually full of historical pop albums rebranded to remind people that they should buy overpriced coffee and peculiarly named, grown-ups-at-a-party, shout-a-lot type of games. It's also a great place to have the latest and hippest piano-based R&B/jazz fusion/singer-songerwriter/reimagined blues compilation foisted upon you.
This one album I saw was by a band comprised of five woman, who look like Jewel or Joan Osbourne as envisioned by the GAP's ad agency. They look like the kind of women who regularly annoy people with acoustic guitars. Their band's name was Antigone Rising. I can only guess that their sound is the musical equivalent of a menstrual cramp.
I mean, seriously. Antigone Rising? This is what happens when you never make it out of the junior-college theater department.