Longing, composing, rambling.

Angel Olsen makes sweet, old-timey-country-inspired music for people with a burning in their hearts. Her sound falls somewhere between Johnny Cash and Mazzy Star, with a 60's era sensibility in the chord progressions but a current aesthetic in the execution. The aching is palpable in Angel's nervous vibrato, and her biting delivery of lines like "Are you lonely, too?/High-five, so am I" cuts right to the core. There's not much to the instrumental, and that feels just right here—her voice is the thing, those lyrics are the thing. And the song "Iota" will take your heart out of your body and stomp on it.

A short history on St. Vincent for the uninitiated: school at Berklee College of Music (like every other genius), then Polyphonic Spree, then Sufjan Stevens' backing band, then solo career. What's amazing and wonderful is how she can take complex musical motifs and present them in a super-well-edited way—every instrument feels crucial to the mix, and nothing feels extraneous. And on this, her fourth album, her songs are just so danceable. Lyrically, she kills is yet again, with lines like "I took you off your leash/But I can't, no I can't make you heel..../We both have our rabid hearts/Feral from the very start." Come for the dancing; stay for the lyrics. And maybe also the dancing.

It's funny to think about where Beck started out and where he is today. He's always been solid musically, but his tongue-in-cheek lyrics, while hilarious and entertaining, seemed to keep him a safe distance from actually emotionally committing to anything. That has certainly changed over the years, and his new "Morning Phase" has charm in its poetic earnestness. With his sweeping string parts and lush arrangements, it's easy to start thinking of him as more of a composer than a songwriter. "Songwriter" just doesn't seem to cover it. This is a beautiful, cinematic record—far removed from the world of "Loser" and "Debra"—and will likely go down as one of his finest.

I'll come out and say this first: it takes a little bit to get used to the rambling lyrical style of Mark Kozelek, lead singer and songwriter for Sun Kil Moon. But if you're initially apprehensive, keep listening—this album is full of beautifully-told stories of tiny, unseemly slices of humanity. Kozelek's haunting baritone voice travels through each scene, interacting with the characters in a way that's so personal it's almost uncomfortable. And ultimately, his rambling voice is what makes it, because these aren't stories with convenient conclusions or easy answers.

An aside: The Joshua Tree.

If you think extroverts have an easier time socially, you obviously never met me in 8th grade. The only thing worse than being the nerd in the room is being the nerd who constantly draws attention to herself.

Much of my 8th grade experience felt like it was ripped from the pages of Judy Blume, only instead of "seven minutes in heaven," it was one year in hell. To help myself through it, I had a journal wherein I'd written a detailed plan for myself—a plan to make friends, including reminders to "be nice!" and "smile a lot!" and "don't talk so much!" That last one was pretty much never followed. And thus, the toothpaste was out of the tube: I'd outed myself as not only a nerd, but a loud one. 

If introverts can't come out of their shells, then I couldn't get back into mine, and I desperately wanted to. My only available option was to make my own shell. I spent recesses in the music room, practicing piano, when I could. And mostly, I took up residence between two headphones attached to a walkman.

It's there that U2's "The Joshua Tree" first gave me a sense of just how transcendent and therapeutic music could be. As a former church-going kid, that organ at the beginning felt spiritual and magical. Then in comes the Edge, with his signature delay and those suspended chords that take their sweet time to resolve themselves. "I wanna run...I want to hide." Yep. Exactly.

They talked about things that seemed more important than the lyrics of other musicians I'd listened to. They played with far more artistry and thoughtfulness. But mostly, it was the first time I saw how listening to an album could remove me from my current shitty situation and transplant me somewhere else. Somewhere where everything was anthemic, everything was a movie montage starring me as the good guy. Everything was possible—even something like a nerd finding happiness.

Problem was, I hadn't found "my people" yet. Any adult within earshot assured me of that, and they were of course right. That would indeed come later, with the school musicals and choir groups and bands and any number of geeky music-related things. But as a lonely 8th grader, there's no way of knowing what's coming at all. And as a kid who's sort of kind of not a kid anymore, that level of despair hasn't ever happened to you before—and it makes you wonder, "Why am I even here at all? What's the point?"

The point was music. Music got me through eighth grade. I've been on this earth for a good while now, and still, eighth grade is about the most painful stuff I've ever dealt with. And the thing that saved me was "The Joshua Tree." It gave me a place to hide, it gave me something to believe in, and best of all, it gave me hope.

"So she woke up,
woke up from where she was, lying still,
said, 'I gotta do something
about where we're going.

Step on a steam train.
Step out of the driving rain, maybe.
Run from the darkness in the night.'
Singing ha, ah la la la de day
Ah la la la de day
Ah la la de day

Sweet the sin
Bitter taste in my mouth
I see seven towers
But I only see one way out
You got to cry without weeping
Talk without speaking
Scream without raising your voice
You know I took the poison
From the poison stream
Then I floated out of here
Singing...ha la la la de day
Ha la la la de day
Ha la la de day

She runs through the streets
With her eyes painted red
Under black belly of cloud in the rain
In through a doorway she brings me
White gold and pearls stolen from the sea
She is raging
she is raging
And the storm blows up in her eyes
She will
suffer the needle chill
She's running to stand still"

When I finally took the headphones off, high school choir was there waiting for me. And I knew my purpose. And I knew it would all be OK.