Leading a scrappy power trio, Tamara Sandor cut a mystical figure. Her voice was breathy, but bold. During a song inspired by a story she read once about 13th century nuns, when she sang, "Nobody can love you like I do," it sounded less like a romantic promise than it did a bloody threat.
Sandor was as in command of her guitar as she was her voice, summoning well-phrased chords out of wild strumming. Her bassist kept songs busy and bouncing, mostly complementing Sandor's singing, while the drumming was primitive and yet perfect for this collective meltdown that kissed the fringes of classic rock and abstract, subversive folk.
Angel Olsen was in town this night as well and, while they're not necessarily spiking the same vein, with idiosyncratic flair, Tamara Sandor conjures her own fascinating kind of rush.
Sandor was as in command of her guitar as she was her voice, summoning well-phrased chords out of wild strumming. Her bassist kept songs busy and bouncing, mostly complementing Sandor's singing, while the drumming was primitive and yet perfect for this collective meltdown that kissed the fringes of classic rock and abstract, subversive folk.
Angel Olsen was in town this night as well and, while they're not necessarily spiking the same vein, with idiosyncratic flair, Tamara Sandor conjures her own fascinating kind of rush.
