She sings her life like Deitrich and Marianne Faithfull. She slums her way into a song just as Nico and Piaf would have done. Isabel Monteiro's manner, her art and her powerful, smokey voice establish her position as a diva-superstar in waiting. She has all the attributes: tragedy, earthiness, the will to battle against crummy odds and a filthy sense of humour.
Raised in São Paulo, Brazil, she was married at 17. Her husband died in a car crash soon after. With just a hint of irony, her mother used to call her "the happy widow". Aged 19, she decided to quit college and go backpacking. Compared to her homeland, Europe looked small and tightly packed on the map, and Isabel figured she could see it all in next to no time. Soon, though, she was caught in a crappy job in London and couldn't even afford the train fare to Brighton.
Still, we got the tremendous benefit of Drugstore out of the deal. She and Californian drummer Mike Chylinski met in a no-hope band, and decided to do their own personal thing. Ridiculously, they were looking for a singer, as Monteiro's gig back then was bass playing. Then she sang a bit, decided she liked it and pulled in guitarist Daron Robinson, who used to book bands for The Mean Fiddler in the capital and who had been transfixed by an early Drugstore tape.
Presently they got signed to Go! Discs and recorded a self-titled album that was gloomy and introverted. They toured America and Europe with Radiohead and became mates. The latter's Jonny Greenwood even worked their stage lights for them, for the fun of it. Later, they played some dates with Jeff Buckley, who used to wander onstage during their set, wrapped in a bathrobe. He'd play the drums for a while and then walk off again. Weird.
What seemed like a steady rise was celebrated with a second album, White Magic For Lovers, recorded at the El Cortijo studios in southern Spain, just after Björk had finished Homogenic there. The songs were ace and cellist Ian Burdge was fitting in happily.
Then Go! Discs got involved in a corporate situation with Polygram, who eventually took control. The Drugstore people were marginalised, and had to pawn off their gear while the record was shopped around. The best news is that the LP is now out on the Roadrunner label. It was, of course, preceded by a single called 'El President', which featured the vocal support of Radiohead's Thom Yorke. It was possibly the only pop record, bar The Clash's 'Washington Bullets' which name-checked the deposed Chilean leader Allende, victim of a bloody coup.
"I was always aware of what happened in Chile," she explains, in a voice that's somewhere between Eartha Kitt and Mae West. "A couple of years ago, there was a documentary with Isabel Allende - his niece, and it just brought it all back: them taking over the palace. It stayed in my mind
"One day, I walked up to the guitar and the song was there. It was such a sad chapter. And of course, there was Victor Jara, the local Bob Dylan. They chopped his hands off so he wouldn't play guitar again. You can say it's the establishment - but it's made up of people, like you and I."
That's the very song that charged the crowd up when Drugstore recently played an astonishing set in Belfast's Skibunny club, hosted by Tunic. Amid the cheering, the kids were crying out "Where's Thom?" until Isabel countered with the line "Where's Thom? He's deep in my heart." Aahh.
You want more doom? Check out the closing song from the new album, 'The Funeral'. It's a near relative of Jacques Brel's 'My Death', as the singer imagines her own send-off. She wants masses of roses, sad faces, a good wake and old lovers remembering what a terrific shag she was.
"There are two dramatic things that happen in your life," she figures. "You're born and then you die. Unless you embrace some religious belief, you can't accept the idea that you're really gonna go. It's like being asked to leave this really fantastic show. And it's too much."
So has Isabel made plans for her own wake?
"I have written specific instructions and they're in my flat, so that if I ever choke on my own vomit, my friends will know what to do. In terms of the music, I want them to play Schubert's 'Sonata For Arpeggione'. It's very, painfully sad. But beautiful, though."
Death, elegance, hard liquor and pharmaceutical joy: this low-rent popmart has plenty in store for us. n