In the end, she was only herself

This might seem a strange comparison in regard to Loreena McKennitt, the eclectic-Celtic priestess who sold out the Academy of Music Thursday. But from her vocals (cuttingly clarion, even when whispering) to her choice of instruments (piano, harp) to her subject matter and her looks, McKennitt could be sister to both Joanna Newsom and Tori Amos.

Her adoring audience - some in Renaissance Faire gear - may not see that connection. Those who know her from PBS tend to think of McKennitt's ruminations on travel and ancient histories backed by dramatic melodies filled with Mediterranean, Middle Eastern and Celtic instrumentation as sui generis.

But if you listened to the sober halt of "The Mummers Dance" (not dem guys in gold lamé) or the rousing pump of "Marco Polo," there were eerie resemblances to the above-mentioned artists. Both songs evinced McKennitt's vulnerably emotive, literate lyrics.

Behind her piano mewing and moaning about gamboling ghosts and mad guys with muskets during "The Highwayman" there was Tori to be found. When McKennitt hit the harp for the Arthurian legend-made-modern (as contemporary as McKennitt gets) of "The Lady of Shalott," you heard a bit of Newsom.

But for all her myth-based poetry, McKennitt's evocative lyrics are plainspoken and made all the more blunt by her high, piercing vocals.

Messages were clear. In her tinglingly spacey "Caravanserai": There's no place like home. In the spare, calm "Never-ending Road": Your dreams fit in her palm. (Try gleaning similar clarity from Newsom.)

Besides, when McKennitt puts on her accordion for "Santiago" and its "na-na-nee" refrain, she's reminiscent of no one. Not only because there's nothing sexier than a woman strapped into a squeeze box. Or that the night's chill was dispelled by a Gypsy-punk rumble that Gogol Bordello would envy. Because even when McKennitt wasn't singing, you knew exactly what she meant.