On sex and sultry moods, within 3 seconds of Angel Olsen’s show in Berlin last night, my friend squeezed my hand and said, “this is so romantic.” I was unprepared for it. Having not listened much to the new record, which is surprising rockin’ and sometimes electronic, in performance the sound was voluptuous. When she sang some lyrics, “I aint giving up tonight,” you agreed.
The air strobed, my beer was cold and bitter. The songs wended through my various selves like a demand or desire exaggerated, up close, the thing pulling back, the thing that makes a moaning.
In one of the most staggering songs, “Sister,” she says, “I want to live life, I want to die right,” which is juxtaposed with the jarring sentiment, “All my life I thought I’d change.” Consequence and the desire it was born of.
When I got home, I listened to the record in bed. I fell asleep and dreamed of eating a feast and also of being in love. For the past week, all of my dreams have followed this format. Different feasts, different men. I wake up satisfied. It wears off, of course.
I think challenges attract me now, though they rarely did before. I’ve noticed this with my body, in yoga, for example, I push myself past what I think I can do, then feel strong and capable when I’ve done it. Maybe this is why I’m allured by the difficulty of learning German, of going through the bureaucratic bullshit of trying to stay here, of finding an apartment so I can leave it in the spring and summer months to return to Italy, to Greece and Croatia, to see Scandinavia.
But I can’t deny this either: I want to be chased through a field with the summer light working through me.
The baseline kills me (wait for it.)
30 Days to Berlin 