Angel Olsen's set at Kansas
City's Riot Room in Westport was one of blissful contradictions. Before the
show even began, Olsen asked for "a little more vocals," as if her
spring-loaded cannon of a voice needs extra amplification. In between tales of
lost time and vacant lovers, she warmly asked for a beer with an
"appreciate ya" attached to the end. Fuzzed-out brawlers and barely
strummed wailers managed to coexist in the same intimate space. Similar to her
terrific second LP Burn
Your Fire For No Witness, Olsen's set was both bristly and tender.
It was the tenderness that
captivated the crowd first. Soft splashes of tambourine accompanied opener "Free",
which found Olsen keep her fingers tightly crossed for "pure love."
While "Hi-Five"'s
rural trod picked up a few paces, Olsen continued to ruminate on making a lasting
connection. "All I ever need is someone out there to believe," she
lonesomely sang as the tightly packed crowd nodded along. Whatever dark alley
she wandered down, the audience was eager to follow. And few roads were as
pitch-black or rocky early on as "Drunk And With
Dreams." Olsen nearly shred her voice to promise "I'll be the
one, I'll be the one," each facial shiver making the promise seem more
real.
For someone so frequently
guarded in song, Olsen's on-stage presence was remarkably candid. She gave tips
on fiscal beer drinking: the higher the alcohol content the less you have to
drink and offered Duchess Sour is "how I feel about myself some time."
As the night continued, that openness spilled over into the band's songs. Rather
than whisper what song should come next, Olsen half-yelled "you wanna do "Forgiven/Forgotten"?"
to her guitarist. Even with the cat out of the bag, the Burn Your Fire For
No Witness-highlight still bulldozed the enthusiastic crowd and wracked
Olsen's voice as she screamed "I don't know anything, but I love
you."
Such transparency is what allows
for a song like "Miranda"
to exist. Whether or not it's an autobiographical tale is irrelevant,
constructing a song around a partner's knowledge their other half is with
another is devastating enough. Throughout the course of the entire night, the
2012 track came closest to pure country. When Olsen asks "what lover is
waiting up for you tonight," the question keeps up the embattled tradition
of Patsy Cline and Loretta Lynn. Further clawing, she slowly realizes every
nice thing that was said may have been a white lie.
Songs such as foot-stamper "High And Wild"
and "Sweet Dreams" helped to
temporarily ease these sobering realizations. The latter stole into a world of
reverie, a world where warped, flanging guitar was more mushroom-fed than
whiskey gulping. In "Tiniest
Seed", brushed drums painted Olsen's tortured references to time in a
warmer light.
But some things can only be
avoided for so long and by the time her band left her alone on the dark stage,
it was becoming clear which half of the contradiction had won out. Save for one
lone wolf, everyone in the audience looked dead ahead as Olsen delivered an
astounding version of "Unf***theworld". When she warbles "I
wanted nothing but for this to be the end," it’s one of the most arresting
musical moments of the year. An old manner insists "begging is
undignified," though Olsen imbues the indignity with tremendous courage.
In that instance, the breathless crowd wasn't intently focused on Olsen because
she was the last one standing. Like Olsen, they were praying for peace of mind.
There's a piece of conventional
folk wisdom which posits "smaller scorpions are more dangerous than the
larger ones," and while the legend has no logical grounding, it's continued
to linger around in our collective conscious. So much so that sagely Indiana Jones doled
out the advice. It's akin to colossal elephants cowering in fear
when confronted by a mouse. They leave “craters” in the ground, but scurry
away upon seeing a tiny white fuzzball. Though these anecdotes seem
disparate, they're part of the larger notion that big things come in small
packages.
Indie-folk singer Angel Olsen's Burn
Your Fire for No Witness is the latest example of this phenomenon. Even at
its most bristly, there's an unmistakable tenderness to Olsen's sophomore LP.
Behind massive walls of fuzz in "Forgiven/Forgotten"
she warbles "I don't know anything, but I love you." Subtract the
jangle and driving percussion, you're left with a romantic equation. Second
single "Hi-Five"
performs a similar concealment; spiky guitars raise hell, barrelhouse piano
trots around, and Olsen dips into the muddy waters of honkytonk. However, it's
the "Tear
in My Beer" Hank Williams variety, where libations won't submerge
a broken heart. Shaky, Olsen demands "all I need is someone out there who
believes" and by her tone it'll never happen. "High and Wild"s
facile chug paves over the maudlin end-road of "your spirit's
disappeared."
Not all of the record goes to such great lengths to hide the high-stakes.
"Stars" immediately crystallizes into a faux-Spoon
groove to request a larger voice. Not to expose any human rights violations,
simply to exhort "we exist." In an instant, you know "White
Fire"s death-blues carries tremendous weight. "Everything is tragic,
it all just falls apart" Olsen whispers from a desolate plain. Calm
summers can't hope to right the sinking ship she's boarded. To Olsen, trying to
find love in such dire straits amounts to "burning your fire for no
witness," a desperate act done in solitude.
Necessity being the mother of
invention, sometimes desperation can be a Godsend. Olsen finds paradise
hiding in between strokes of brushed drums in "Iota." A cynic would
note speculation rules and they'd be right, if not for Olsen citing time. As
much as it ravages, time is an opportunity creator. Elegiac organ in closer
“Windows” stretches time to its extremes. A withered Olsen demands “what's so
wrong with the light?” Hiding in the shadows is no longer working as a
life-choice and she’ll leap out of a window to escape them. The song's final
push, aided by rousing drum fills, relates to the moment in a relationship when
one person realizes it's over. Instead of prolonging the suffering, they cut
ties forever because there are some things time can't heal.
Often this decay can be spotted
from a mile away. You'll constantly think "this can only work for so
long" and soon your fears are confirmed. Burn Your Fire for No Witness occupies
this depressingly predictive realm. In the album's first chorus, Olsen's
admitting "I lost my dream,” wanting an end to come swiftly. Given enough
time a fire will always die out. No amount of knowledge (folksy or otherwise)
can stop that.
Last year, singer/songwriter
Angel Olsen arrived via Half Way Home, a collection of mostly hushed
folk tune more spirit than flesh-and-blood. A number like "Acrobat" found
Olsen placing her smoldering warble atop a plaintive fingerpicked melody;
creating a musical ghost story.
If the press release for her
forthcoming album Burn Your Fire For No Witness is any indication,
Olsen's second LP (out through new home Jagjaguwar)
doesn't so much smolder as it "stokes the fire and aggravates the flames
inside of Angel releasing an energy and voice not heard before." First
single "Forgiven/Forgotten" has more than enough of that crackling
quality to validate the claim. Fuzzed out electric guitars erupt from the
speakers and obstinate drums boom, providing a prime slice of garage rock. As smoky
as ever, Olsen's voice continues to linger. Now though her voice is more
distant, hidden behind walls of reverb. "I don't know anything, but I love
you" she resolutely declares near the song's end. Even with the added
musculature, her songs are still fragile.
Burn Your Fire For No Witness, produced John Congleton (The Walkmen,
Modest Mouse, Okkervil River), is out February 18 through Jagjaguwar.
