We decided to cover this instead of the Mark Ronson collaboration, which might account for the score…
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[6.44]
Joshua Lu: When Pazz & Jop’s top albums of 2014 list was announced, I decided to listen to the five highest-ranking albums by female soloists. I had already enjoyed Taylor Swift’s 1989 (#7), but I discovered artists that I came to love: St. Vincent (#4), FKA Twigs (#5), and Miranda Lambert (#12). The only album I wasn’t immediately taken with was Angel Olsen’s Burn Your Fire for No Wilderness (#8); I struggled to enjoy the barebones alternative stylings, especially when juxtaposed with the sonically rich production of the other four albums. When Olsen released “Intern,” where her tender vocals waded through layered synths, I felt a little ashamed of how much I preferred it to her previous album. (That guilt only intensified when My Woman largely didn’t sound anything like “Intern.”) Why did I prefer Olsen when she was submerged in goopy noise? Was I just incapable of appreciating artistry when it was presented without intricate crowding? “All Mirrors” features Olsen at her goopiest yet, save for maybe her Mark Ronson collaboration, and once again I’m conflicted about how much I utterly love the combination of Olsen and these overbearing backdrops. I can tell where people will find this bloated: That middle section, where the synths acquire an orchestral intensity reminiscent of Susanne Sundfør, doesn’t particularly mesh with the rest, as if Olsen ended her first verse, shrugged, and told producer John Congleton to just go ham. But I don’t care, because the song evokes something in me, regardless of how unearned all that swelling is, regardless of that awkward transition back to Olsen’s vocals, and even regardless of how the lyrics still don’t make sense to me. Maybe someday I’ll be able to properly take stock of these weaknesses, but for now I’ve fallen victim to Olsen’s goop.
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Joshua Minsoo Kim: Lana Del Rey for the serious indie crowd.
[4]
Kayla Beardslee: This is critical catnip, but it’s hard for me to enjoy. Olsen’s voice sounds so dreary, like it’s being played back at 90% its original speed, and though the vocals fit the mood of the track, I’m not a fan of funeral dirge-core. It all seems quite important (those strings! those big, gasping melodies!), but digging through the lyrics, it’s hard to find much of substance besides “losing beauty,” which isn’t much content for an almost five-minute song. Dull vocals, abstract imagery, a music video comprised of black and white beauty shots — as someone not already familiar with Olsen’s music, there’s just nothing exciting to grab onto.
[4]
Katherine St Asaph: Starts out a combination of the worst parts of Bat for Lashes (placid synth-pad ballad arrangement) and Zola Jesus (starchy vocal), and the result is too unengaging for one minute, let alone almost five. But Olsen’s singing betrays much more energy than her surroundings, and that energy reveals itself in the best way: a sumptuous, storm-tossed string arrangement, complete with torrid cello. By minute three the balance has shifted — the arrangement now overpowers Olsen, whose vocals sound clipped short in comparison — but that’s a much, much better complaint to have.
[7]
Ashley Bardhan: Space opera outro music, in the best possible way. Warped vocal samples shoot around the track, breathing hard, sounding like ghosts warding you away from your basement, living underneath groaning violins and an unyielding bass line. Everything is pushing against something, but all the smoke in Angel’s voice keeps running into glass. Drily, she repeats, “at least at times it knew me.”
[8]
Tim de Reuse: Masterfully courts grandiosity with chorused synthesizers and an emphatic chant (I love how the melody of “At least at times it knew me” ends a half-step away from proper resolution), but stumbles in some details of the presentation. In particular, the feathery effects on the vocals lend them an unwelcome straining quality that saps a lot of the impact they might have had in the grand finale. And was that swooping movie-trailer string section really necessary?
[6]
Alfred Soto: She can’t shake the drears and has shown no interest in doing so, pushing against her natural range while synth programs from Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me flicker in the rear.
[5]
Kylo Nocom: Angel Olsen’s world-weary cries suit the spectral backing well, and the song spends a sweet amount of time traveling across its ascending synth melodies and filmic strings. Before “All Mirrors” risks wallowing too much in its own prettiness, it kicks into full gear, delivering a moment of true kinetic dynamism by giving way to an explosion of drums that remains not unpredictable but very much appreciated alongside Olsen’s impassioned yelps.
[7]
Iain Mew: First there are the complex words hung out on their own, the world slowly unfurling with the cool inevitability of a St. Vincent ballad. Then somewhere along the way, in such slow motion it’s hard to see, something shatters. After the explosion of organ comes the reflection of the opening, Olsen out of space and just repeating and repeating, the strings now taking on the detail and force. The destructive momentum is breathtaking, and while part of its power is being unexpected it never feels anything other than a fitting response to what has gone before.
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