There's a part in "Turn Out The Lights," the title track from Julien Baker's second album, that I wish I could grind into dust, dissolve into liquid, and then inject directly into my bloodstream. There's a minimal, reverby guitar strum with a hum in the background that sounds a bit like a church organ. Baker is singing quietly and gently, almost muttering, when she gives us these lyrics: "I just wanted to go to sleep / But when I turn out the lights / When I turn out the liiiiights / There is no one left between myself and me." And then, for just a second, Baker's voice goes quiet, while that churchy-organ sound draws itself up and out. Then Baker's voice comes back in, howling, roaring. She's singing that line again, the one about turning out the lights and finding only herself there. But now she's just wailing it at the top of her lungs, and that guitar sound is building a whole cathedral around her. This isn't some grand production. Baker is the only musician on the song, and she's just making it sound bigger through the power of effects pedals and multitracking. But the effect is like a whole orchestra coming crashing down on you. I hear that part of that song, and I feel like I'm flying.