Sharon Van Etten ::: Photo by Josh Lovseth

Some records we come to love aren’t just records. Over time they become our best friends. We’ve all got the friend we want to call up when we need to just cut loose and have fun and we’ve all got the friend who we call when we need a shoulder to cry on, the one who we can talk about anything with, and we have records to go to for those same reasons. As we really become close to a record, we start to look beyond our the context of the songs to own our lives, and peer deeper into the heart of the creator. Though it’s probably not fair since we don’t personally know the songwriter, we project the personality of the songs onto the personality of the person making the song, and feel that we can somehow see deeply into the songwriters soul.

In the case of Sharon Van Etten’s music, and by extension my imagined version of her, over the past year as I became more familiar with her work, I’d become deeply worried over her state of mind. Her voice was beautiful, of that there was no doubt. But that she was inexorably tied to having to perform songs of personal tragedy, night after night, was also distressing. Her joyful appearance at Neumos last week set to rest at least some of my worries, and served as a prime example of why we shouldn’t equate the song with the performer.

Much like many a musician before her on visiting our fair city, Sharon van Etten gave a nod to Seattle’s storied musical past by dusting off the flannel. She arrived on stage enveloped by an over-sized orange flannel, a garment obviously favoring function over fashion and probably sized for an actual lumberjack. In this case the tribute even went so far as to have a worn hole in the elbow, a well-remembered calling card for a decade past. “See this?” she says pointing at the shirt with a huge grin. Answering her own question without a hint of irony, she points to the crowd and says “Do you know who I’m wearing this for? I’m wearing it for all of you Seattle!” Before things have even started, my image of a humorless woman on the verge, another darker days of Chan Marshall kind of thing, is completely shattered. Whether Van Etten herself feels the pain of wounds re-opened nightly I couldn’t say, or maybe by owning her story in song she’s able to have the last laugh after all. Joking with the crowd and her band between just about every song, she was obviously no stranger to laughter.

This night also made me realize if you haven’t heard Sharon Van Etten live setting, you haven’t really heard. I thought I’d heard over the past year as I ravenously waded through sub-par Youtube videos in search of more jaw-dropping sessions equal to her visit to Daytrotter. But a voice like hers really demands to be heard unfiltered, with none of her deep deep tones missing and the details of her emotion left uncompressed. Human to human, shades of gray in the voice make all the difference; Van Etten’s very presence serves as a poignant example.

Though much of Van Etten recorded work is just her with a guitar, and with that stark presentation is emotional impact, her simple three piece band gave the songs the momentum they needed to work in a live setting without lessening the overall impact. When Van Etten took a turn at the harmonium for what may be our song of the year “Love More,” I got the shivers. I say this not in hyperbole. Band’s don’t really do that to me, so when a song has that sort of involuntary affect, I remember. Her unmediated expression communicates directly to my fundamental emotional hard-wiring. With Van Etten I’m finally starting to grasp just what “catharsis” actually means. And for that, I’ll keep coming back again and again.

Sharon Van Etten ::: Photo by Josh Lovseth

Junip ::: Photo by Josh Lovseth