It was a Memorial Day night and San Francisco's Maritime Hall -- a historic landmark with dysfunctional plumbing facilities and too many stairs -- was filling with women. Young college women, high school girls with what appeared to be their moms, lesbian couples cuddling in the darkened balcony, and several men (some of whom looked a little nervous). Ani DiFranco was the order of the evening, and women had appeared in droves to see their superhero, their not-a- pretty-girl, their heroine, play her heart out.

And so she did. In a performance that opened with the upbeat and self-deprecating "Worthy" -- and a bout of "guitar-jackus interruptus" -- DiFranco was her usual friendly, inspiring self. Her latest album, "Dilate," was released last Tuesday, but the Buffalo musician mixed new work with songs from her seven previous albums. Her eager audience sang along to nearly every word.

The topic of discussion for the evening was DiFranco's recent media exposure, and she waxed lyrical on several misconceptions reporters had about her. "I have all these melodramatic tortured little ditties I've been writing lately," she mused during the opening strains of "Superhero." Apparently "Dilate" has been critiqued as a move away from the more political songwriting in DiFranco's past. "No, man," she explains about her focus on love and heartbreak. "I just got distracted."

The topic reappeared after "Letter to a John," when she explained that another journalist complained about the song's linkage of sex work with childhood sexual abuse in lines like, "I was eleven years old, he was as old as my dad... Just give me something for my trouble, 'cause this time it's not a free ride." Her response was simply, "But it's a true story. This is my life. This is just my life." The crowd cheered appreciatively, as they did at key lines throughout the performance.

During "Untouchable Face" they tittered at the chorus' "Fuck you and your untouchable face/And fuck you for existing in the first place." DiFranco paused between verses to censure them lightly. "I know it's titillating to say a naughty word, but we've done it, okay?" When a thousand voices matched hers during her trademark song "Both Hands," she commented, "I love to hear people yodeling with me -- that you would stoop so low as to keep me company in my little folk song world." During the final chorus, she played her guitar and let the audience sing alone.

Drummer Andy Stochansky and a new bassist -- introduced as "Sarah Lee" -- joined DiFranco onstage. Stochansky has worked with her for several albums and tours now, but the bass player is a new, and welcome, addition. Her clean, melodic style complemented DiFranco's guitars and allowed for reworkings of classics like "Diner" and "Anticipate," while her high, soft voice was gorgeous alongside Stochansky's as a backdrop to DiFranco's lucid, from-the-gut wail and whisper.

"Diner" was a real treat, with a faster tempo and vocal layering that added new dimensions to the song. The middle section found DiFranco ad libbing lines from Salt N' Pepa, Aerosmith and Bjork while the outro became a rhythmic symphony as Stochansky mouthed a faux drumbeat and DiFranco "sampled" from the last line, "till my coffee gets cold." For a brief moment, the audience was quiet. They were in awe.

DiFranco makes her mark as a woman of certain power, although she doesn't choose to wield it as such. Rather than resorting to all-out guitar acrobatics, she discussed meeting Bob Weir and berating him for designing a guitar whose tuning knobs constantly bump up against her breasts. And when someone tossed her a bouquet of flowers, she exclaimed, "I feel like a ballerina" and later handed them out before reciting "Not So Soft," a poem about society's cutting, concrete edge. She may not think she's a heroine, but to a group of fans hungry for hope, DiFranco is a miracle.

This article was originally published in Addicted to Noise.