One of the best things about seeing a self-made musician like Ani DiFranco live in concert is that there aren't any hits to shy away from. When DiFranco sings "I build each one of my songs out of glass so you can see me inside them, I suppose -- or you could just leave me in the background, I guess, and watch your own reflection superimpose," it's not painful to watch like it was when Nirvana spent every night dreading the lines "here we are now, entertain us" or when the Counting Crows felt the ironic sting of "when I look at the television, I want to see me staring right back at me." Though MTV may have made many a star out of musicians who might otherwise still be playing in their garages, it all too often makes a mockery of the very artistry it claims to support.

So when the petite DiFranco bounded out onto the stage at Zellerbach Hall in Berkeley Monday night, there were no lies between her and the crowd, no uncomfortable moments, no apologies for her success. Until recently, much of her recognition developed by word-of- mouth; I first heard about her from friends on the Internet who lived near her native Buffalo. Lately the major media -- including MTV and Rolling Stone -- have taken interest in the folk musician's brash, almost punk-like expressiveness, trying to explain her as some anomaly in the petri dish of modern alterna-rock. But most of the audience in attendance that night appeared to be there for no other reason than their undying devotion to Ani DiFranco.

It's easy to understand why. DiFranco has proved herself as a strong, talented and prolific musician, producing 7 albums since the founding of her record company, Righteous Babe, six years ago. She and drummer/vocalist Andy Stochansky have been slowly building a dedicated following since her debut in small New York clubs, a following based on her incredible talent and versatility as a singer, songwriter and guitarist, as well as Stochansky's understated, powerful accompaniment.

But the reasons go deeper. Although I'd heard glowing reviews of her previous shows, it was nothing like experiencing Ani DiFranco first-hand. At first she seems dwarfed by her enormous six-string, but once she begins to perform, you wonder how it's possible that such huge, glorious noises could come out of such a small body. Live, the hard side of her music is even harder, but the soft side is more delicate, more resonant, more intimate. Lyrically, her songs mean more when she performs them in the emotion of the moment, and older work takes on different translations through the passage of time. But some messages stay true: there wasn't a woman in the room who didn't applaud gratefully when DiFranco sang the lines from one of her older songs, "I'm no heroine... I'm too easily rolled, too easily wrecked... I hope just one woman hears me and I can help her through her day."

Don't get me wrong. Even though DiFranco sings at times about "the feminine experience," the men in the crowd loved her at least as much as the women did. The man standing next to me at the show was dancing and singing along as if his life depended on it. While DiFranco broaches tender topics like abortion and womanhood, she also deals with more universal topics -- love, pain, political mistrust, sexuality. Her romantic songs are carefully worded to apply to either gender and, in some cases, both genders. And although she's a beautiful woman, DiFranco's attraction is clearly her honesty and ability, not her looks.

The first half of DiFranco's set focused mainly on her older material after opening with "Worthy," the first track from her newest album "Not a Pretty Girl." She previewed a new ballad called "Untouchable Face" whose lyrics hinted at a much different title: "Fuck you and your untouchable face, fuck you for ever existing in the first place." As audience members called out the titles of songs they wanted to hear, DiFranco commented, "You know, song titles shouted at random sound like some kind of surreal conversation. Sometimes they make more sense than real conversations do." She paused and explained, "Most people think ["Untouchable Face"] is called 'The Fuck You Song,' or simply, 'Fuck You,' which gets really interesting when people want me to play it."

DiFranco has crafted an art form out of telling stories to the crowd while re-tuning her guitar between songs. She discussed New York street tragedies, her own transformations as a songwriter, what her cat's been up to since she's been on the road, the old ladies in Maine who walked out of her concert because they didn't like Stochansky's drumming. The between-song interplay between DiFranco and Stochansky is often amusing, like watching a demented comedy routine between a brother and sister who equally love and hate each other.

The second half of the set featured work from DiFranco's latest release, sweeping through the poetic "Tiptoe," crashing into "Cradle and All," and returning later to "Shy" and the title track, "Not a Pretty Girl." Her live performance is at least as clean as her recorded work, if not more so. Live, her face and body lend a new energy to songs which are great on CD but are, well, recorded. Another spoken-word piece became more haunting with the addition of hummed harmonies from DiFranco and Stochansky, who also played bongos. And a sped-up version of "Diner" included a medley of on-the-spot covers of songs from "Let's Talk About Sex" to "What's Love Got to Do With It?" to a play on "One Hand in My Pocket" that consisted of the line "I'm drunk but I'm horny..." The crowd relished it all.

So when the set was finished, the encores were played and DiFranco stumbled exhaustedly from the stage, the audience walked peacefully from Zellerbach, grinning at one another, moving out into the clear, warm night to have a smoke and recount their favorite moments. I don't think I've seen so many people so happy, and it was all for the same reason. Ani.

This article was originally published in Addicted to Noise.