Photos by Dylan Simmons
This March, British-American singer-songwriter Cornelia Murr embarked on a small stint of intimate shows to celebrate her new record, Run to the Center, released on February 28. After two shows in New York, she ventured to LA for two back-to-back, sold out nights at the Gold–Diggers bar, the final night of which I was fortunate enough to attend.
Arriving at the combination bar/venue/hotel in East Hollywood, I was excitedly greeted by Peanut — apparently a regular at the bar and perhaps the friendliest dog I’ve ever met — before pushing past a wall of black velvet curtains to enter the venue. The inviting, reposeful ambience inside the intimate venue stood in stark contrast to the loud, busy traffic and crisp winter air just beyond the curtains. Golden candlelight and crystal chandeliers illuminated the room alongside a spinning disco ball refracting dappled light in every direction, serving as perhaps the last relic of the Gold–Diggers’ debaucherous past life as a strip bar. I entered the venue just as the final croons of the opening act, Lightman & Lightman, faded into the night, and were soon replaced with the low murmur of friendly chatter and cocktail shakers as the crowd eagerly awaited the main event.
Not long after, Cornelia Murr took to the small stage with her five-piece band and a comprehensive setlist. She began to walk us through the entire record — from its romantic, sweeping highs to its melancholic lows — interspersed with brief, friendly banter. Run to the Center is rife with bittersweet themes of transformative change, and understandably so: the record is Murr’s first LP since her iconic debut with Lake Tear of the Clouds in 2018. Her poignant writing illustrates the introspective journey of a woman coming into her own, grappling with changes in her desires, her relationships, and the world at large.
The record opens with “Skylight,” a track just as murky and gray as the rest of the album’s overarching themes. Rather than being an outright romantic serenade or a tragic breakup song, Murr confronts the much more messy, yet much more authentic, reality of a “right person, wrong time” type of love, singing, “It’s not our time baby / Don’t hold me too tightly / You gotta let a good thing breathe / Maybe I’m just afraid.”
“In the Wings” is another ode to a lost lover, juxtaposing melancholic sentiments with an unusually upbeat track. In this song, Murr contends with the haunting persistence of love’s memory (“I spend a lot of time in / The gallery of memory”), and the at times delusional blindness induced by yearning (“Somehow I thought you’d be waiting / Crazy the things we’ll believe / To keep from grieving”).
“Layaway” takes a much more broad perspective, grappling with the burden of existence as a whole. To me, “Layaway” feels like the inevitable disillusionment that accompanies adulthood, and a first glimpse of the bottom of the well of time. The song is centered around the existential realization that one’s dreams of an idyllic future are just out of reach, being tauntingly withheld on “layaway.” She pleads, “Take the kids out to see the wilderness / So they’ll remember what it is / While all the rest of us / Are stuck in technological adolescence.” Her words ring sadly true; it especially stung to hear Murr lament how “machines are writing poetry” at a show spotlighting the pure artistic and literary excellence of this record. “Layaway” is a hidden gem of the album, if not solely for its masterclass in lyricism, but for its hauntingly ethereal sound, contributed to by a distinct two-note motif echoing throughout the song.
The final track on the record, “Bless Yr Lil Heart,” exudes a strange sense of nostalgia for a time I haven’t experienced. Its lyrics are sweet and tender, and are further elevated by dreamy, synth-forward instrumentals reminiscent of sounds of the ‘80s. After a chorus of disappointed “aww”s from the audience upon realizing that the album has come to a close, Murr treats us all to a three-song encore. The show finally ends with fan favorite “Different This Time,” the poignant, deeply romantic song that first introduced me to Cornelia Murr back in high school.
Run to the Center, more than anything, feels raw, real, and authentic. The writing, while still being universally relatable, is so intrinsically personal, the distinct product of Murr’s own experiences and intricate introspection. Murr’s sound has remained uniquely her own, yet in an evolved and elevated form, exhibiting both her personal and artistic growth over the last seven years. The record is carried by an ethereal masterpiece of instrumentals, leaning heavily dream-pop while incorporating jazzy elements and Cocteau Twins-esque ‘80s synth. Murr’s distinct voice, rich and smooth like honey, adds to the romance and melancholy of the album, as arguably the most distinct feature of both her live and recorded sound.
Run to the Center is simultaneously painful, nostalgic, and bittersweet; hearing the record live in full is both enchanting and tear-jerking. Altogether, the emotional journey of the record — experienced alongside a small, intimate crowd in the cozy warmth of Gold–Diggers — culminated in a transcendent and unforgettable concert experience.
Listen to Run to the Center here!
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