A bitterly cold and wet Tuesday night in November; what better time to venture alone to immerse myself in some beautiful, emotion-filled live music… ? My first time at Earth in Dalston, I feel grateful to be able to see three such esteemed artists in this deceptively intimate space.
After queuing in the rain for a while, I arrive in time to catch most of GIHE fave Katie Malco’s opening set. Reflecting on her recent US tour with Soak and her failings at booking appropriate / warm / safe accommodation, as well as all her gear going up in flames in a rehearsal space earlier this year, it seems she’s had a bit of a bad run of it lately, but this is no way takes away from her engaging charisma and charm as she delivers her captivating indie-folk ballads. Playing alone without a band, she still manages to create a rich scuzzy splendour and immersive gentle emotion with the sparkling heartfelt grace of songs like ‘Brooklyn’ and ‘Babette’ – the latter of which she normally sings alongside Soak, who is due on stage shortly.
Touching on themes of self-discovery, queer identity and the housing crisis, Irish artist Soak delivers a set of new songs; each glistening with a stirring raw emotion. As their distinctive vocals float alongside lilting melodies, each offering tugs at the heartstrings with an achingly beautiful sense of nostalgia. Grateful I finally got to witness their delicately impassioned sounds live, I’m also left intrigued to hear more about the time that they were backstage on tour with Katie Malco and someone was “playing a saw like a violin and singing ‘Wonderwall’”…
I’m not sure how I really expected to feel seeing Julien Baker live for the first time. An artist who I’ve listened to – and sought comfort in – probably almost every day for the last few years, my expectations and emotions were running pretty high. Amongst a crowd of predominantly young people accompanied by their parents, I wonder if it’s normal for a woman of my age to feel this much resonance with the music of someone like Baker, but as soon as she takes to the stage (beginning the set with my most favourite song), all worries cease and I’m instantly reassured. When music moves you this much, what does age matter? I’m a 38 year old queer woman and I need this beautiful aural catharsis in my life. As the swirling crescendo of piano and guitar soars throughout ‘Appointments’ alongside the melancholy raw emotion of Baker’s vocals, I feel my heart gently shatter and tears start to dampen my cheeks. But I also feel an unexpected sense of calm; a comfort in the relatability of the feeling and meaning behind the song – an unspoken sense of unity with the other damp cheeks I see glistening around me. And that is the beauty of music this honest and powerful; however old or young you may be, you can find comfort in what it has to say.
Continuing to completely captivate the crowd with songs spanning her career, including the quiet desperation of 2019’s ‘Red Door’ and shimmering splendour of 2021’s ‘Relative Fiction’, Baker succeeds in immersing us fully. Although her anxiety is evident between songs – “Sometimes I get really nervous and can’t see my fretboard” -, when she’s delivering each heartfelt offering, her focus seems entirely intact, the raw emotive power of her vocals never faltering. And despite describing the experience as “like a stress dream”, I feel far from stressed at being able to bear witness to such exquisite musicality and refreshingly honest lyricism. In fact, I think there’s a subtle empowering strength to exposing one’s vulnerability through the stark emotion that emanates from each and every song.
From crowd favourites like 2017’s ‘Shadowboxing’ to the glitchy whirring soundscapes of 2019’s ‘Tokyo’, each resonant lyric ripples with an effervescent grace. From the heartbreaking personal introspection of ‘Sprained Ankle’ to the fizzing lilting energy of ‘Bloodshot’, each sparkling melody gently takes hold, leaving 14 and 38-year-olds alike equally spellbound.
Whether playing with or without her excellent full band, Baker succeeds in creating a soaring majestic splendour; a swirling raw emotion that envelopes her audience, offering a comforting catharsis. Having to leave the venue a few minutes early to catch a train, I realise it feels almost like leaving a therapy session; feelings have been shared, tears have been shed – I feel understood, I feel lighter. So, thank you Julien Baker for opening up to us, for creating music that is so honest and relatable; so soothing and empowering. So damn beautiful.
Words: Mari Lane / @mari_getinherears
Photos: Abi Chilton / @abi.chilton
Get In Her Ears 