American wanderer Julie Byrne‘s second album Not Even Happiness (released earlier this year to widespread acclaim) vividly archives what would have otherwise been lost to the road – bustling roadside diners, the stars over the high desert, the aching weariness of change, the wildflowers of the California coast, as well as the irresolvable mysteries of love.
A more confident beast than her 2014 debut Rooms With Walls And Windows, adding atmospheric instrumentation and electronic flourishes to Byrne’s unusual guitar tunings and fingerpicked melodies, moving the songs from the front-porch into subtle anthemia.
In the live arena she enchants, leaving rooms and festival crowds mesmerised by her voice and warm presence, who find a real connection with Byrne’s intimate songs. This feeling is often shared: ‘When the show has that magical spirit every person has contributed, even unknowingly, in creating a space of responsiveness to each other through vulnerability, through our unified experience and honesty about our sorrow and our emergence.’
