Rosanne Cash's Composed owes more to the tradition of literary memoir than celebrity tell-all, which is another way of saying it's not enormously revealing. Raised in her father's Olympian shadow, Cash has always kept herself to herself, offering bits and pieces of her soul rather than heaving her heart into her mouth. Not surprisingly, she's like that on the phone as well: open on the subject of her work, but rarely digressing into anything else. I think my interview with her, on the subject of Composed and last year's excellent album The List, may read drier than it actually was, but I'm satisfied with it, even if she's someone I'd like to have a more open-ended conversation with some day. I'd love to see more of the free-associative side that comes out via her Twitter feed, which is unusual among celebrity (you should pardon the term) accounts in that it has the feel of genuinely exposing its author's personality rather than some manufactured facsimile thereof. Perhaps she's just a better writer than most tweeters, but given what she describes as the fairly involved process of writing her own lyrics, my sense is it's also an escape valve, a chance to fire off stray thoughts without having to worry about how they'll sound 30 years hence.