Lily Talmers, Woehrwolf, Steph Jacqlin
Abyssinia
229 S 45th St.
Philadelphia
May 21, 2026
“According to the de Broglie hypothesis, every object in the universe is associated with a wave. Thus every object, from an elementary particle to atoms, molecules and on up to planets and beyond, are subject to the uncertainty principle… When events transpire at very short time intervals, there is uncertainty in the energy of these events.” (Wikipedia entry re: the Uncertainty Principle)
What gives your life meaning, what makes a song hit? For me, most of the time, it’s as simple as the act of noticing, whether that’s something huge – new and recurring shades of existential questions that’ll nag at you forever – or a split second of vocal fry from the singer and the well of feeling that suggests.
New York by-way-of Michigan singer-songwriter Lily Talmers stopped by Abyssinia last night, in between shows in Brooklyn and Ohio. Talmer’s a probing and furious songwriter, with wit to spare and razor-sharp songwriting chops. Hearing her up close for the first time, I heard traces of so many artists I adore – Judee Sill, Emmylou Harris, Iris DeMent – while also being stretched as a listener by what she can do; after performing a song in Greek, with a rippling melody striding freely in, out and around its major-minor tonality, I leaned over to a friend and whispered in his ear, “I didn’t even know that was possible!” Melodically, she was a powerhouse singer last night, phrases gliding and notes elongated with artful grace always. I also loved the way she sang with a dramaturgical energy, slipping into speech rhythms and tone or a scratchy delivery to really emphasize a lyric. I derive a lot of pleasure and excitement in seeing the level of craft an artist like Talmers can push into any given number: with nothing but a box of wood with metal strings and the clay we’re stuck with from birth, delivering song after song of intense and intricate work, big, tumultuous feelings turned into vessels that can contain it all while remaining curiously buoyant.
In noticing so many small, quickly-passing musical moments – like the finer details in stitching and latticework, the expressive signatures of a designer – I'd catch myself, realizing that while I didn't understand everything that was going on in these songs right off the bat, everything the singer was saying and feeling, I was catching the level of intention behind that vocal fry, or the elegant voice-leading to a dissonant chord, or the build-up in volume when she strummed harder and harder, steadily leading the room from conflict to resolution. Just paying close attention to Talmer's singing was like a bumper-car ride, with so many changes, subtle or severe, suggesting the whole spectrum of frustration, exasperation and relief. She’d lace a lyric with so much texture that it struck me as commentary on how it’s just so hard to be truly heard sometimes: “What the hell’s the big idea?” Talmers sang repeatedly in “The Big Idea," plopping the words out in the open, palpably and properly vexed by life’s many indignities: “People often go swimmin’ / In their favorite notion, or an ocean, or a lake / Even babies, they know how to swim / If given proper help, believe me / I’m afraid of drownin’, too / So please just hear me out.” The room was truly packed to the gills – shouts out to the other performers (both excellent!) and the organizer, Sam, booking his very first show in Philly and knocking it out of the park, with a line out the door – and everyone hung on Talmers’ every word, each unexpected-yet-perfectly-executed musical shift. It reminded me the feeling I get from a moment in one of my favorite REM songs, “Hairshirt," where Michael Stipe draws the word “waves” out for so long you almost forget, so briefly, that a wave above you ever really crashes, that it’s the end of the thing that makes it anything at all in the first place; and then, more waves.
