angel olsen (live at salon iksv) : a heavy presence

On May 3rd, I went to see the ethereal 50s-reminiscent indie queen of our generation, Angel Olsen. Dreamlike and luminescent as ever, Olsen's voice parallels the nostalgia of an eerie 50s radio broadcast, grainy, as if it'd been gracefully filtered through the sieve that is the legacy of an amalgamation of legendary artists, from Lauryn Hill to Brian Eno and David Bowie.

Standing in the humble crowd of 100 or so, the minute Olsen struck that first guitar string, the minute the first note gently emanated from the hefty amps behind her, the energy in the atmosphere metamorphosed rapidly. Striking a chord in everyone's hearts within a beat, Olsen emanates a indescribable quality in the air; she carries a heavy presence with her voice, her gaze; the mere thrill of her just standing there is enough to quieten the room. As always with Angel Olsen, I'm met with insuppressible waterworks and an unnerving trembling of my hands; my heart - open, my ears - open, I'm wholeheartedly entranced. 

Following Unfucktheworld, wherein Olsen gracefully reiterates: I am the only one now, I am the only one now, I am the only one now, she proceeds to counter that sentiment entirely in If It's Alive, It Will, entirely oxymoronic to the aforementioned: 

      I used to think I was the only one

      I used to think I was the only one

      I used to think I was the only one

      But I've learned quite a few things since then

      I've learned that no one ever really is the only one

Undiscerned by the majority of the crowd, Olsen pauses for a minute, chuckling at the paradoxical juxtaposition of Unfucktheworld consecutive to If It's Alive, It Will in terms of lyricism. Acknowledging the ups and downs pertaining to personal growth in her oeuvre presents a beautiful milestone - to have produced so much substance within her work that it showcases the turbulent journey of what it means to drench the art she externalises with emotional truths. It's the small things as such which remain most deeply ingrained in the memory - and surely, it takes quite a lot of poetic license to hold such a seemingly insignificant moment caught in time so near and dear to the heart. 
Meeting her after the gig was an experienced characterised by a muddle of surrealism, anxiety and heartfelt love; nothing I could ever vocally articulate would wholly encapsulate the imprint of her art - the emotional residue clogged up in me - although it was worth an attempt. 

a rushed little painting i'd made for angel

having burn your fire for no witness signed

There's nothing quite like experiencing the presence of Angel Olsen live - her angelic voice reverberates through my life as a tear-jerking hymn, a reminder of all things beautiful, all things which rip through the walls I've spent painstaking years building around my heart.