My Woman

In some ways, My Woman is the love song reimagined: a fearless and accomplished work whose deep-seated humanism is a stirring reminder that falling in love is for idiots, and that we should put our faith in any artist who might just convince us otherwise.

My Woman is one of the realest albums of the year.

Although her bio insists that the narratives within the record aren’t intended to comment on gender roles, My Woman strikes down the notion that neither Olsen’s artistry nor her womanhood can be limited.

With every album she releases, Angel Olsen seems to step up a gear. As My Woman will comfortably be seen as one of the best albums of the year come December, it’s a head-spinningly exciting prospect to think where she’s going to go next time around.

The relentless heat of My Woman can be exhausting over the course of 10 searing tracks--the addition of a throwaway would give a weary listener time to regroup. But Angel Olsen’s fearless and eloquent embrace of raw emotions in all their messy splendor ultimately feels oddly uplifting, the way it always does when you witness a gifted artist at her best.

Her ambitious third record marks anther giant progression in an already distinguished career, and offers provocative thoughts on sacrifice and identity that should outlast its 48-minute runtime. [Oct 2016, p.22]

My Woman is a new watermark for Olsen. It somehow elaborates on the disparate missions of both Half Way Home and Burn Your Fire For No Witness while reaching out into the unfamiliar spaces of dreamy synthpop and more hook-driven, pop-oriented songwriting.

The second, slower side is the less immediate of the two, but the one that features its most jaw-dropping moments, namely twin seven-minute monoliths “Sister” and “Woman.”

Her lyrics have the conviction of someone like Fiona Apple: a profoundly individual presence that centers, above all, on self-reliance, on searing autonomy, on the act of becoming. My Woman does this more vividly and lucidly and daringly than before.

lsen's songwriting has a way of undressing emotions, and she's got a voice that holds nothing back. Now she's made an album that sounds far bolder than anything she's released so far.

What makes My Woman great isn't the new synths or the rockier tone. It's Olsen herself, filling these songs with the love, desire, anguish and acceptance that comes from her perspective as a woman.

As with her previous efforts Olsen’s unique vocal steals the show, but this is the singer opening up all the other parts to her personality. The more we see, the more there is to love.

There may not be clear answers to the riddles of identity and agency posed on My Woman, but even in all of its knotty uncertainty, to be caught in Olsen’s web is such a sweet place to be.

On the surface, a welcoming, accessible, wholly beautiful record, but laced with depth, allusion, and verbal knots that refuse to be untied. It’s addictive yet confusing, instantaneous yet difficult to fully understand--it continually forces to you to cease arguing, and simply listen.

These are controlled, tempered, well-steered songs, capable of navigating genres. [Oct 2016, p.104]

Olsen never gives into indulgence, however, her songs keeping their shape, their direction and their impact to the end. [Sep 2016, p.90]

Olsen’s most ambitious album yet. Taking a more polished--though not straight-up glossy--approach, Olsen sounds more vulnerable for having made her vocals more central to the mix.

The elements that are new here play out like a means to an end for a songwriter with a tale to tell, one chock-full of raw emotions. The songs stand just fine on their own, too, out of context.

The music toys with nostalgia, with the reassuring dependability of structure and instrumental arrangements.

This feels like a record that contains a great deal to pore over.

Contradictory, complex, and worthy of endless re-listens, Angel Olsen has crafted her most compelling record to date.

Listeners expecting the feminine-themed album and song titles to highlight obvious lyrical threads will be left with more vague notions. What is consistent is Olsen's musical personality, which feels perfectly at ease and singular, irrespective of producers or genres or other boxes that might try to contain it.

It’s a roller coaster, to be sure, but it’s one that Olsen controls with a steady hand even as she sings for her life.

It's a determined album, almost to a fault, and like the romance hinted at in lead single Shut Up Kiss Me, the album is occasionally messy and frequently epic.

A fascinating, affecting statement from a musician firmly in control of her artistry.

Even My Woman's back half, which features Olsen's two longest, most challenging songs to date in "Sister" and "Woman"--though neither come anywhere near "White Fire" levels of morose--succeeds largely due to Olsen's remarkable ability to make her loneliness sound like so much more than just that. [No. 135, p.61]

It’s more ambitious than her last one; better too. But I simply don’t think the formulaic songwriting is worthy of praise, nor the very notion of being more ambitious. Nor do I think the anti-septic production of the second half to be the best fit for her sound

While My Woman may not be as powerful as Burn Your Fire for No Witness, it draws its strength from its creator’s sheer temerity to so drastically change course.