Oh My Love-Trumpet Soul: Laura Nyro's New York Tendaberry

AND A GREAT tenderness came forth from the unforgiving streets of the East Side. It's easy to dislike Laura Nyro. Your first requirement is to have no sense of her artistry, her sheer accomplishment in expressing the finest nuances of tone and word within the integrity of her ambitious vision. Second requirement is to harbour no tolerance for utopian idealism, hers or anyone else's. Third requirement is that you simply can't stand that crazy pagan-catholic witch shrieking at you. (Or you can skip these standard prerequisites and make up something flippantly hurtful of your own.)