Julien Baker: Sad Songs for the Soul

Who would enjoy Julien Baker's music?

A question I find difficult to answer, for all the right reasons. A wonderfully despair-ridden lyrical selection would draw in the lonelier side of the better of us. Blended with an atmospheric, yet isolated instrumental backing on the majority of her tracks, at first a listener could be led to believe that Baker's key focus is dwelling on the heartache of life and thus craves the affectionate attention of the forever damaged listener.

But on the contrary, her music cries a ring of hope, self acceptance, and growth, almost reminiscing the pain and confusion as a form of self meditation; a journey of moving forward and becoming a better human for it. Not to say that Baker necessarily believes this journey is over, but the bags are packed, nonetheless.

No truer is this than on the track "Funeral Pyre" from her first studio album, Sprained Ankle. An anthem for all who have battled with dependency from both parties, for ever complicating reasons. Again, listeners are blanketed in soulful bites of a telecaster before being summoned to attention by the powerful voice of a (then) 20-year-old musician with a range of history from which to draw such raw emotion that parallel experiences are not required for a sympathetic and honest reaction for the audience. The vulnerability we are shown throughout this album in unmatched by many in the genre, which is not to imply fault or laziness from these artists, but simply a statement on the velocity in which Baker rips open her exterior and allows the the listener to touch the dark (and light) within. A first album release to display such bravery, without hesitant worry of needing to establish a pseudo-character before exposing the sadness behind it, is what I believe propelled her to the forefront of the indie scope at the time of its release.

Her second album, Turn Out the Lights, follows suit in its sincerity, implementing some slightly more complicated compositions and musical backing. Ultimately, the album is a refreshing way to digest similar themes, although occasionally leaving the audience begging for more experimentation and pushed boundaries; but for a second album, Baker is still able to fall upon her sheer openness and honesty to carry us through.

If I were to suggest the best form to digest her pieces, it would obviously be through her emotional live performances. However, I am only too harshly aware that this is not possible for everyone, and so although the albums themselves are brilliantly produced and a joy to listen to, I would strongly recommend that first time listeners observe the first of two NPR Tiny Desk Concerts she has been a part of. The intricate beauty of each words inflection is only heightened by the small setting and intimate nature these sessions evoke. Seeing the words pour from her mouth, accompanied by tears on occasion, truly embeds their purpose into the mind, and admittedly, this is where I first discovered her music myself. Every performance I have seen from Baker displays these qualities, but through perhaps a personal bias, I must suggest the original NPR concert above all others.

Ultimately, listening to Baker's work tends to set in motion one of those nights where you begin to fall in love with everything around you, whilst also prompting you to ask if you really should, and so if I were to be asked who would enjoy Julien Baker's music, I would suggest anyone who has ever turned inward and asked, "Should I be sad right now, and is that okay?" only for Julien to affirm an embracing "yes."