Julien Baker turns concert venues into sacred spaces. When she is onstage, the audience goes hushed, reverential. The only sounds you hear between songs are her fingers as she tweaks the tuning on her electric guitar, scattered whispers between friends, and the rustling as the crowd waits patiently for Baker to start strumming again. She never asks for this quiet from the pit, it just seems to coalesce around her. Baker herself is shy, squeaky, small of stature—an introverted pip in plaid shirts with a Memphis twang and a nervous stutter. But her music seems to demand a certain kind of pin-drop attention the moment she starts to shake her voice loose, flinging it up to the rafters of her range. At Primavera Sounds in Barcelona a few days ago she was standing on stage and grabbing the attention of an audience that didn’t com to see her but to have fun in the sun of Spain. This is unique and deserves our attention.