It's a brutally icy winter's night, and Julianna Barwick is singing solo amid a cluster of trees. Unfortunately, they're fake plastic trees arranged around the stage at a pop-up art space sponsored by a liquor company. And we can only assume Barwick is singing, as the crowd, fueled by free libations from said sponsor, is generating an impenetrable din. But ever so slowly, an otherworldly sound can be gleaned amid the drunken chatter. Gentle gossamer vocal melodies waft up and take form, a wordless beauty seemingly distilled from such chaos. Strain, and you can just make out her... More >>>