I have, despite my best efforts, a completist’s mentality. This undoubtedly stems from my extended time in thrall to comic books, a field of fandom in which thorough, dedicated acquisition of product is the fully exploited norm. I’ve still got longboxes that testify to my dedication to owning, say, the entire run of John Byrne’s Fantastic Four. That same inclination seeped into my other media consumption. I follow movie directors to places I wouldn’t otherwise go and routinely stick with television series well after their creativity has faded because, hey, I watched every other episode so I should see it to the end.

With music, I have a similar doggedness. Once an artist wins me over, their future releases are bought as a matter of course, at least until the spell is somehow broken. (I remember listening with dismay to yet another lousy new Paul Westerberg solo album some years back when the person also makes choices regarding the household CD collection astutely asked “Don’t you already have a bunch of albums that sound exactly like this?” thereby freeing me from post-Replacements servitude.) I did this despite the general meager allotment for music purchases allowed for by my collegiate and immediately post-collegiate bankbook. So I was always oddly grateful when an artist I connected to wasn’t especially prolific. This is my roundabout way of praising an thanking Suzanne Vega.

Vega transformed her sound in 1992 after connecting with producer Mitchell Froom for the album 99.9F^o. It went from earnest, pleasant, slicked up new folk to something far more interesting. The basic structure of her songwriting remained the same, with thoughtful narratives and careful, spare use of some dreamlike images. There was also a fresh, edgy undercurrent to the music, with bendy electronic abrasions propelling the bear. It’s not like you were going to suddenly start confusing her with Ministry, but the added friction to her elegant sheen enlivened and enriched the music.

I was hooked, but the next album was four years away (and the album after that took so long that I had fully moved on), arriving with perfect timing as I needed these little beacons of skilled songcraft while immersed in the dismal grunge knock-offs pervading the playlist of the commercial radio station where I worked. Nine Objects of Desire was different from its predecessor, smoother and, in some ways, richer. I was still a progression, an artist pushing herself to create unique material instead of cynically trying to recapture the approachable pop-folk of “Luka” or “Tom’s Diner,” her two most famous songs. The extra time between albums manifested itself in a clear sense that Vega was trying to get the music write, not just dash out a release to keep product on the shelves. I wasn’t just appreciative that I had to shell out money for her music less often, but that the music was clearly worth the expense.

Suzanne Vega, “Stockings” (song removed by request)

(Disclaimer: While this song is available for purchase through electronic means, the album is resides on is out of print, and the song didn’t make the cut for Vega’s requisite “best of” release. So you can’t walk into a record store and purchase this, unless they’ve got a well-stocked used section. It is with that understanding that the song is posted here and shared. If anyone with due authority to do so asks me to remove it, that’s exactly what will happen.)