During a concert marking the release of Palms Were a Bad Choice, the new, four-song effort from Counterfeit Madison's Sharon Udoh, two friends and fellow performers spoke of trying to dissuade the singer/pianist from releasing the intimate recording as a cassette.

During a concert marking the release of Palms Were a Bad Choice, the new, four-song effort from Counterfeit Madison's Sharon Udoh, two friends and fellow performers spoke of trying to dissuade the singer/pianist from releasing the intimate recording as a cassette.

Val Glenn, whose hypnotic strumming displayed an eerie sense of calm occasionally at odds with her emotionally turbulent words, said she cautioned Udoh that nobody would buy the album on cassette, a point later echoed by Joe Camerlengo, who said he told the singer she'd end up sitting on a box full of the tapes if she didn't sell them all the first night.

Udoh, for her part, appeared unfazed by the playful criticism. "I just wanted to listen to it in my car, and my car doesn't play CDs," she said in the midst of her headlining turn at Till Dynamic Fare on a recent Thursday. Still, the decision was further indicative of the follow-my-muse mindset that has long served the musician well, and continues to on Palms - regardless of the chosen listening format (the album is also available digitally via the Counterfeit Madison BandCamp site).

Udoh, accompanying herself on keyboard, filled songs like "Void" and "Leaving" with battered confessions, singing of falling short ("All my failures weigh me down," she sighed on the latter) and building up emotional walls so high they could withstand marauding armies. She then spent the remainder of the performance tearing them down, dedicating a song to her gathered friends ("Warm and Old," because "that's how you make me feel") and easing into gorgeous numbers that suggested a greater thaw countering the freezing temperatures that lingered outside the doorway.

A smattering of noteworthy locals kicked off the evening, including Old Hundred's Blake Skidmore, whose songs frequently centered on death, Zac Little of Saintseneca, who workshopped a handful of tunes breaking life down into its most elemental form ("We're all processes," he sang on one number), Glenn, who projected serenity even as turbulence lingered beneath, and Camerlengo, whose childlike enthusiasm and self-deprecating stage presence ("All my groups are super groups, because all my friends are more talented than me") couldn't obscure the deeper truths that surfaced in his songs.

"Even if we're not we're alright," he yowled on one tune, which spoke to the bonds that connect us even in challenging times.