"Danielle Miraglia is a treasure! She captivated her audience from the first few notes she played until the end of her second encore. She is charming, talented, a total professional, and completely down to earth. I can't wait to bring her back next year! She is always welcome on our stage."
-   Barron Chandler, Director, Narberth Summer Concert Series

"Danielle Miraglia is a dynamic and captivating musician; her rich soulful voice and blues guitar mastery resonate in a performance both rare and unforgettable."
Paul Patchel, State Street Blues Festival, Media, PA

"With hints of Bonnie Raitt and Rory Block, Danielle Miraglia is carving out a new place all her own in the music world. Simply put, she is stunning…with a voice that just comes out of nowhere. She animates a stage and commands the rapt attention of all within earshot. This is one artist to watch, she is going to be huge.”
-   Jamey Reilly, The PSALM Salon
 
Acoustic Live New York - July, 2012 - by Richard Cucaro

A blistering version of “Stagger Lee” occurs seven tracks deep into Danielle Miraglia’s most recent album, Box of Troubles. The notes come fast and hard. The thumb pick on the bass strings is like a jackhammer, insistent in its driving urgency. The tempo is faster than I’ve ever heard it before, but it seems right. Her voice is strong and expressive with a whiskey-stained authority, peppered occasionally with a raspy growl, as she sings: Police officer, how can it be / You can arrest everybody but cruel old Stagger Lee? That bad man, cruel Stagger Lee … Her slide guitar sets up an ominous drone....

The second track is another searing blues number, but more contemporary. “Loud Talker” is a different kind of wake-up call to anyone not familiar with Danielle’s gifts. The central character is a clinical case study, a composite of a certain type of temptress found in and around the bar scene: I’m no street walker / Just cause I’m rubbing up against this pole / My tight dress is for me alone / But, don’t you want to take me home? Full of contradictions, this genus alcoholica presents a perfect opportunity for Danielle’s astute observational and storytelling skills: Look at me, don’t look at me / Look at me, don’t look at me / Hold me… Hold me … Don’t let me be lonely / I’m so lonely … Get off of me… Her husky alto, riding over the sound of her steady foot stomp, the lap steel, fiddle and lead guitar, packs an unforgettable wallop. The male of the species got off easy this time, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t been watching.

An interview with this refreshingly affable, down-to-earth performer reveals how she became the player and writer she is today....
 
Full Story Here!

 
Jul-cvr

The Hippo - New Hampshire's Weekly:  Only the "g" is Silent - Michael Witthaus - April 2014

Blues veteran James Montgomery returns to Milly’s Tavern on April 25 and, continuing a tradition begun when the occasional series launched in 2012, the harmonica player and singer has invited a female guitar player to open the show, and sit in with his band at night’s end.
Danielle Miraglia should complement Montgomery nicely. Steeped in Delta blues, with a thumb-and-finger picking style owing plenty to her role model Mississippi John Hurt and a bit to the Piedmont school of guitar playing. She’s a musical dynamo who sings with gutsy passion, blows a mean harp and writes songs both tender and timely. Only the “g” in her name is silent.

A few inches north of five feet tall, Miraglia also proves the adage that great things come in small packages. She performs on a tall stool while toe-tapping rhythm on a custom-built percussion board she calls “Stompee.”
“I paid full price for red Frye boots, and I justify the expense by saying they’re a musical instrument,” Miraglia said after a recent set at Sunapee Coffee House. “I used to sit on a chair and I needed to be higher, so I came up with this thing shaped like a U … a friend of mine who can build anything made it for me.”
Miraglia found her blues muse as a teenager listening to Janis Joplin on a Walkman as she strolled along Revere Beach. Before then, she fancied herself a rocker. 
“When I decided I wanted to play guitar, I loved heavy metal,” she said. “Guns ‘n Roses; then Hendrix and Zeppelin.”
Knocking around the mid-’90s Cambridge/Somerville open mike scene, she found the blues.  
“I started hearing that sound and found that fingerpicking was more comfortable to me,” she said. “When I got a Gibson J-45, it changed everything. It taught me how to play; I never wanted to put it down.” 

Her affection is evident; the six-string acoustic is scuffed from use, looking three times its age and imbued with soul. To hone her skills, Miraglia took lessons from local guitarist Jeff Bartley — “great fingerpicker with wonderful tone” — and studied archival footage of Hurt’s playing. She watched Happy Traum and John Sebastian instructional videos interpreting the blues master’s style. 
Throughout, “I tried to find my own feel, not belabor every tiny note that happens,” she said. “Because that’s not my nature. By not copying it exactly, I found my own way.” 

After graduating from Emerson College, she continued to play out in Boston area bars, honing her onstage patter and writing songs. In 2001, getting laid off from a day job became a sign to play music full time. Miraglia released her first CD that year.

Vocally, Miraglia echoes her idol Janis and white blues great Bonnie Bramlett and evinces stunning sensitivity as a songwriter. She held the coffeehouse crowd rapt on “You Don’t Know Nothin’.” From her 2005 album Nothing Romantic, the song about easy judgment closely reflects the current political divide. “Loud Talker” is a charmer, a sexy shuffle about a bar scene that’s drunken or bipolar — take your pick. “Hold me, don’t let me be lonely … get off of me,” she sings.
She tells charming stories, about her father’s lifelong frustration with Red Sox preceding “So Close” and getting sucked into her new mother in law’s enthusiasm for big weddings to introduce the love song “You Make Everything Better.”  

Her Coffee House set closed with “Choir,” a sing-along perfect for the Sunapee church basement setting, and an apt reflection of the 1960s spirit and modern doubt at the heart of Miraglia’s music. 

“When Dylan sang his words into the wind, it rumbled like a universal hymn … no one was listening but the choir.”   
 
As seen in the April 24, 2014 issue of the Hippo.

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