On a recent morning, I was thrumming with anxiety. My brain would not stop whirring so I went for a walk around my neighbourhood and listened to Angie McMahon’s new album while looking up at the flowers, the trees, everything above ground. By the end of it, everything was still, and the sky looked especially blue, and I felt my breath return to my body.
Perhaps that’s a strangely personal way to start a piece of criticism, but so much about the Melbourne singer-songwriter’s meditative second album feels personal, as though it was written especially for people who feel like this. McMahon’s anxiety is evident in these songs, too – but so is her self-soothing as she looks both within herself and to the world outside and beyond to find something like peace.
