By Lindy Rybloom

You find me on an afternoon in March. Although it is technically the beginning of spring,
you’d never be able to guess because the weather will tell you the opposite. Before I step out of
the door, I’m sure to put on two pairs of socks, a thermal layer underneath my pants, and for
good measure, a long sleeve shirt beneath a wool sweater that’s under my typical red coat whose
vibrance is starting to fade. To top it all off, I wrap a scarf around my neck and pull a pair of
gloves over my fingers so they don’t go numb. But wait – I’ve forgotten to curate a queue of
music for my walk, and once I put my gloves on, I magically lose all dexterity and ability to
operate my phone.

Before I leave, I load an array of unskippable tracks onto my list, adding overplayed songs to the
sequence that I know I can hum along to for the time it takes me to get from my apartment
building to school. As it usually does, my Spotify account knows me better than I know myself
and suggests Billie Marten’s recently released single, “Feeling.” Sure, why not. I add it to the
list.

I put on my gloves and begin the gloomy, freezing walk to campus that I’ve grown used to since
moving to Copenhagen. I’m strolling through the King’s Garden when Billie’s familiar voice
comes on. It stops me in my tracks – if her album is anything like this I am going to like it. I pull
my glove off with my teeth, grab my phone from the back pocket of my pants and add the song
to my playlist almost instantly. I can’t lose this, I need to hear it again. The Danish wind is
whipping through my hair but Billie’s voice keeps me warm for the next three minutes and
twenty seconds.

Fast forward a few months and I have returned from my semester abroad. You find me sitting at
my work desk, checking an email about upcoming shows at The Crocodile in Seattle. I thumb
through endless names of artists I don’t recognize until she pops out at me. Billie Marten – I
know her! I owe it to myself to see her live.

I walk into The Crocodile with unusual ease, approaching the calmest crowd I’ve ever witnessed.
To my surprise, when Billie walks onto the stage, no one pulls their phones out to begin the
painful documentation of an entire concert. I’m used to this by now, craning my neck around the
people in front of me to get a glimpse of the stage instead of watching through their tiny screen
that is recording every beat, every note. No, tonight in Seattle, we are all here to witness Billie
Marten’s wonder with our own eyes – no pressure to film her every move and claim, “I’ll watch it again, later.”

We all know you won’t.

Lucky for me, “Feeling” is the opener. Before even greeting the crowd, Billie Marten and her
intimate band of two launch into the song that held me through the cold and dark months –
hearing it live was like being transported back to Copenhagen, like hearing it for the first time all
over again. Suddenly I am picturing the walk through the tree lined path that leads me to school.
All sense of urgency is lost, I don’t care if I am late for class, I need to take a seat on the bench
until this song is over. I must consume its every beat. Back to reality, I am completely transfixed
on the stage for the duration of the song. My feet are glued to the floor, and all I am able to do is
sway my body slowly to the soothing beat of this familiar tune.

Billie Marten isn’t known for her wild stage presence, but more energy might have felt
inappropriate at a show like this. For an hour and a half, I float with the music as it lulls me into
a calm that I haven’t felt in months. She doesn’t say much, but her soft-spoken British accent
casts a spell of stillness upon us all as she performs the remainder of her setlist. Billie stares into
the sea of swaying bodies with precision, her golden blonde hair enough to blind you. At one
point I even feel like she is looking directly at me which is nearly impossible considering that I
am standing in the back row, but this is how intimate her show feels. Even in a crowd of other
listeners, I feel as if Billie sees me.