Heart’s spell is enduring. I’ve been under it since I was 10, the tomboy middle sister of three who played the drums, practiced karate, and took music recommendations from my dad. I don’t recall the first time I heard hits like “Barracuda” or “Crazy on You,” but they were always there for me to angrily lip-sync in the mirror when I felt disenfranchised by adults. I worshipped them the way that I saw boys my age worship Led Zeppelin and AC/DC—two bands I never liked. I didn’t prefer Heart because I identified with their femaleness, I preferred Heart because their songs were better.

In Heart’s music, you feel what they feel; they don’t have to say it explicitly. Ann’s lyrics are poetic, Nancy’s guitar solos are nuanced; both are masters of subtlety and power. The way the Wilson sisters comm

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