here’s a record that has me thinking a lot about performance. as i write this, it is just a day after Sarah Golley’s release festival for her new album, As We Crawl. it was a very special evening (to say the very least), filled with music, love, and art. the final event, the headlining performance, was Golley playing songs from As We Crawl accompanied by contemporary dancers and an expressive, modern choreography. it was big! it was ambitious! and as if that were not enough, a live stringed quintet sat in the balcony and a synchronized projector, projected images, individualized for each song, rounded out the experience. it sounds like a lot, right? and indeed, it is a lot to cap off a full festival of local artists and bands. but here’s the thing: even though all of this was created and directed by Golley, she sat to the side of the stage, out of the spotlight, during her own performance.
you can read a lot into that gesture. an artist, on her own special night, using that spotlight (literal in some cases) to feature other local bands, artists, dancers — it is a generous move, and an example of an artist using their platform to support the community’s scene. the ultimate effect is that of a director, managing an entire afternoon’s events while keeping her authorial voice strong and vibrant. that’s part of what has me thinking of performance when i listen to As We Crawl. with every piece of the album release festival, with every moment of her live show, it is impossible to forget about Golley’s presence or narrative, even if she is working behind the scenes or performing on the side while others take center stage.
that’s because her art, and As We Crawl specifically, is so incredibly personal. every song presented in the first-person perspective. As We Crawl has been a long time in the making. her last album, Weaving The Pieces came out in 2015, and across a span of three years, she has worked on this record, at one point pausing the writing process completely while life intervened. “crawling to make art / where the shatters once lay,” is a thesis line presented in “to our graves”. and the sentiment is both sad and empowering — an artist has been delivered a crushing blow, and they find the strength to turn that turmoil into something beautiful, strong, and self-affirming. but it is just as easy to Golley in these words as it is to see yourself. the “i” statements put you there, in her head and in her heart.
here are my three favorite moments from As We Crawl:
“like a royal reptile”: the verses of this song are killer. beautifully melodic and surprising, they also showcase some of Golley’s theater background. the song — and many of the songs on As We Crawl — could have been featured in an elaborate musical. her tactile lyrical imagery (crawling, physical tattoos, holding someone tight, feeling their warmth) is balanced with her piano lines, which feel cosmic. this give-and-take is a theme of As We Crawl. the incredibly personal takes place on a universal stage, and the universe plays out its grand story in the most intimate ways.
“on the treadmill of thought”: is there anything more daring than releasing your first single as a song that is nothing but vocal samples? it’s an exercise in nakedness; for an album that features strings and excellent production (courtesy Sammy Wags), the first teaser of As We Crawl is a tightrope act with no net. “on the treadmill of thought”, as the title suggests, simulates being in an overly ruminating consciousness. Golley’s voice layers over itself as she interrupts her own thoughts: advice, non-sequiturs, self-affirmations, and negative intrusions. “that’s not ladylike”, “people like a confident person”, “selfish”, “love yourself”, and “who cares what they think?” are overwhelm you, the listener, as you are placed in the narrator’s head. this exercise is bookended with the opening “absolutely no room for fear in this heart” and the closing “focus on the music,” letting you know exactly how Golley is able to clear her mind.
“through a black hole”: spanning nearly ten minutes in length, the song is the longest of Golley’s career. its length is justified not just in being really great, but thematically, it represents a new beginning. nothing comes out the other side of a black hole — once something goes in, it’s gone. it isn’t reversible; it’s a permanent, final change. that sense of adventure, part excitement, part hesitation, marks “through a black hole”, as Golley brings in multiple vocal styles, instruments, and lyrical narratives. it’s a swirling morass of creation. and as we’ve reached this final point of the album, time begins to slow down, and we feel that the place we just came from (physically, emotionally, spiritually) is now a place of the past. we don’t know what’s on the other side of the black hole, but we know it’ll be different, new, an adventure.
