Mia Zapata of the Gits was the greatest rock singer of her time. This is not hyperbole; if you ever saw her, you know it’s true. She was likely the greatest singer in punk rock history, the woman who married the 78 and the ’78. Tragedy did not make this true. Mia Zapata made this true, and the ferocious, spring-loaded shrapnel frame built around her by Andy Kessler, Matt Dresdner, and Steve Moriarty made it true.

Mia Zapata (1965 – 1993), the vocalist and front person for The Gits (1986 – 1993), was not the type of voice one usually associates with a punk rock band. She had the sizzle, sass, shriek, grace, rasp, and fury of a classic blues shouter (what if Janis Joplin had fronted Fugazi, we ask?). There was a purity and accuracy to her voice. She could simultaneously point it at the stars and scoop cigarette butts off of the venue floor. It sounded like a voice on fire, desperate and angry, pleading and commanding, all at the same time (what if Amy Winehouse had fronted Fugazi, we ask?). And her onstage persona was utterly devoid of bullshit: Mia Zapata was a rag doll, a stick figure, a sock puppet, alternately bent with sadness and arched with rage. Sometimes, she looked like she was in pain, clawing at an ulcer; other times, like a holy woman on a soapbox, testifying the joy of truth; and still other times, like someone draped in a bedtime t-shirt reading from the margins of her notebooks. The voice and the presence were extraordinary, and there was nothing like it anywhere in punk – it was like finding the missing link between Nina Simone and Johnny Rotten (what if Joss Stone had fronted Fugazi, we ask?).