Angel Olsen ‎– My Woman Label (Limited Edition, Gatefold, Purple Translucent) [LP]

Loosely divided by Olsen into halves, the first upbeat and the second contemplative, My Woman finds the St. Louis native breaking free of the ruminative folk and vintage-based flavors she pursued on her first two efforts. The 10-track set covers a spectrum of styles ranging from synthpop to chamber, country-western to crunchy rock ‘n’ roll, torch balladry to jangle pop. Yet Olsen cares not about catering to trends or touching on a genre to meet some unspoken hipster quota. Her lyrics and arrangements showcase seamless symmetry and moody diversity, and signal an era-independent timelessness that couches them as both contemporary and classic. 

My Woman wears many of its key influences — Stevie Nicks, Nancy Sinatra, Roy Orbison, Dolly Parton, the Ronettes, even a nod to Mudhoney — on its proverbial sleeve. Yet, in every regard, it announces Olsen as a formidable original graced with pipes, phrasing, and timing that would be the envy of any vocalist. Her knack for when and where to place hooks, and how to draw out melodies, proves equally sharp. As is her sense for drama and dynamics. Olsen sings with a pronounced fearlessness that appears, on occasion, to suspend time and cause her love-themed narratives to split thoughts, memories, and desires wide open with a penetrating truthfulness. 

Initially hesitant, then hissing words with resolute determination, “Shut Up Kiss Me” stomps and storms, Olsen riding a pouncing rhythm before emerging from the turbulence with a burst of wordless cries that carry the song to its finish. She slides between highs and lows, then back again, on the strutting “Never Be Mine,” revealing a faint Southern twang as she conveys unrequited affectation without the protection of a mask. Longing also informs the garage-rock feel of “Give It Up,” Olsen surrounding herself with raw energy and swaying bass lines.

The singer exits the album in contemplative fashion, with the desert-country dreamscapes and falsetto regions of “Heart Shaped Face” beginning a stretch of songs that arrest with calm, delicacy, and ghostliness. Heed the tempered joy and yearning of the epic “Sister.” The jazzy shimmer of “Those Were the Days,” on which Olsen goes to the top of her considerable range amid a cabaret-leaning tune that evokes the hug of a cozy blanket. Or the haze of the vulnerable “Woman,” the singer navigating romantic labyrinths as fuzz-treated guitars bloom around her. 

No wonder that, by the time she reaches the climactic “Pops,” a break-up song disguised as a dedication, Olsen sounds on the verge of collapse: torn, frayed, shredded. “Tear it up so they can all sing along,” she suggests while referencing her heart, leaving it all on the floor.