Images/GIFs courtesy of Kaley Honeycutt
“I love you!” That poor, entitled squeak of a voice comes careening over the crowd, scratching across our collective eardrum like nails on a chalkboard, and a collective groan bubbles up into our throats, endangering the hushed, almost reverent silence in the aftermath of Angel Olsen and her stunning five-piece band ripping through “Shut Up Kiss Me” – no surprises here, it was a smash. But unfortunately, these awkward, sigh-baiting pronouncements of “love” aren’t all that surprising either. Undying gratitude for the work that our favorite artists put out in the world aside, watching any performer navigate how to deal with a crazed, amorous stranger in front of an audience of HUNDREDS has never been my cup of tea. And yet, like a crack of thunder, her swift reply of “That’s a strong word” (anchored by the slightest chuckle) double whammy’d the audience, sending us scrambling for cover from such a tremendous comeback and another drink to help stare down our own definitions of love. For the greater part of her show, and her new album, Angel Olsen delivered a powerhouse sermon, laying bare its promises and pitfalls of love with absolutely commanding musical force. If any doubt existed that Olsen could deliver a performance to match the acclaim of her latest collection of star-crossed soul-stirrers, Tuesday’s rousing show at the Sinclair sent it running clear across the river.
Faced with the tricky proposition of warming up the crowd for a crooner of such titanic stature, opener Alex Cameron leapt at the opportunity, eagerly engaging the crowd with a combination of frumpy elegance and wry banter. Completely unfazed by the time crunch of an opening slot, Cameron, joined onstage by marvelously mononymous saxophonist Roy, spent perhaps half of his set time attached to the microphone, unspooling stories to the audience in his casual, languid drawl. A lengthy, humble description of Angel Olsen’s music as “a giant, white cube, rising out of the sea, hurtling towards you at thousands of miles an hour with a spinning drill at its front” takes the cake for a personal favorite, but a plea for the audience to buy his record so that he could free his prized Cadillac Coupe De Ville from an impound lot in California seemed to resonate strongly with the Sinclair crowd.
Long-limbed and imposing in a sparkling gold blazer and matching sweatpants, his shabbily seductive lounge singer act made for a welcome contrast to the clear (if a bit teary) eyed earnest delights to come; when he wasn’t piling on the storytelling, Cameron strutted about the stage, grooving to his sleek synthetic beats with visible joy. His steps were, admittedly, simple: no whiplash hip shaking or liquid gyrations here, folks, just honest, wholesome shoulder shaking and knee drops. But that restrained abandon proved infectious, and similar cheeseball moves popped up across the room. His synthetic anthems are perfect accompaniment, lo-fi Springsteen anthems with a bump that, particularly on set closer “Take Care of Business”, put a shimmy in your step and wide-eyed prom night dreams back into your heart. However, the set would have been lacking without accompaniment by Roy, whose total silence lent the affair a hilarious Penn and Teller absurdity, with Roy rising only to fill the microphone with neon magic from his saxophone, otherwise sitting happily perched on a stool beside his wordy compatriot. For an opening set featuring perhaps only 20 minutes of music, Alex Cameron made his mark, largely through the force of his onstage personality, even if bringing Angel Olsen onstage to tell the audience that they should follow her lead and listen to the album while working out at the Y might count as cheating. But only a bit.
Before the final applause could dissolve into house music, the Sinclair crowd surged forward to the front of the stage, battling the early arrivals for every inch of space standing between them and the rapidly approaching main event. The turnover was frighteningly quick, and before anyone could brace for impact, an ambient swirl gurgled out from the speakers, columns of blue light flashed to life, and Angel Olsen and her troop marched onstage. Finding their respective places among the forest of gear swelling the stage, the band seemed eager to make its presence felt, and pounced into opener “Never Be Mine” full speed ahead. The amassed crowd, perhaps lulled into false sense of security by misguided pigeonholing of Olsen’s music as “folk”, seemed blown back and away by the pressure of this newer, louder sound (earplugs, y’all), or, even more likely, the unflinching virtuosity of the band in bringing these songs to life. Never slouching for a second, the band instead doubled down on every groove, fill, and riff with an awe-inspiring level of focus. Intentional or not, the attitude on stage was purely professional, with the bolo-tied fleet of musicians never once being caught up “rocking out”; when the music’s this good, a subtle head-bop or shoulder shake will do.
And yet, nothing else on stage held a candle to the true star of the evening: THAT VOICE. From the soaring shout of “HI FIVE” on the track of the same name to the feathery whisper of MY WOMAN highlight “Those Were the Days”, Olsen’s ability to vocally purée your mind never ceases to dazzle, and her confidence in deploying that formidable weapon seemed at an all time high. No point in the set spelled this out more clearly than when she casually asked the sound tech to take her reverb almost all the way down, which is a good rule of thumb to follow when your vibrato registers on the Richter scale.
MY WOMAN adds a welcome amount of musical variety to Angel Olsen’s live set. Single “Shut Up Kiss Me”, with a ghostly harmonized solo and thumping drums, gave us the early set rocker we needed, an accuse to whip around before settling in for longer, groovier tunes. And if you didn’t realize it on the album (guilty as charged), her band absolutely DUG IN on the slower tracks. Major props to the rhythm section of bassist Emily Elhaj and drummer Josh Jaeger for transforming “Heart Shaped Face” and the aforementioned “Those Were the Days” into the grind-worthy slow jams(/jamz?) they were always waiting to be. “Woman”, a psych-ed out jam of a track, gave the band one last hurrah to spread out with their chops, closing out the night and sending us off buzzed and chattering with excitement. “Love” is a strong word, but when Angel Olsen sends you racing home to cocoon up in your headphones, trying relive her show song by song, weak ones might not cut it.
