A bow-and-arrow of a young woman with high-glee eyes, shrouded by a cowl of jet-black bangs, Priscilla Ahn perches center stage, cradling a guitar in the crook of her arm. She lets the instrument dangle comfortably by her side like a friend she grew up with and, by habit, feels at ease more with, than without.
She attends to a keyboard, woos a mic stand, and as a synthetic cicada starts to buzz and pop, exudes a sound that seems purely electronic, yet somehow warm and natural in this hushed, but sold-out L.A. music hall on the final night of a six week-long, group tour that goes by the name of its origin, Hotel Cafe. With the countenance of having owned this moment all her life, it is as if absolutely anything might happen.
What takes place next might be described as an unfurling. A clear voice from a deep well and a fine line melody flutter from the microphone center stage, passing through speaker bins, and wending their way through the heights of the venerable El Rey Theatre. Filling with instrumental accompaniment and breath displacement, her vocals uncoil like a wind-swept bolt of fine sonic fabric, now echoing lustrously through a loop pedal, almost translucent as they shimmer, radiating outward, orbiting the chandeliers above, gently reverberating and shaking the stilled house.
If there was any question, the audience seems to know now. This is Priscilla Ahn.
A formidable raconteur of everyday life and a close observer of the minutely perceptible vibrations in our airwaves, Priscilla embarks this month on a journey that promises to reach new elevations as a recording artist for Blue Note Records. Her debut album, “A Good Day,” releases on June 10.
Little more than a month before the date, in a lull before a demi-onslaught of media requests gathers steam, Priscilla is still somewhat at a loss for what to expect with the airing of two of her singles on the elite playlists of KCRW, the influential National Public Radio affiliate station in Los Angeles, and the pending wide distribution reach of her new album.
With devastating levelheadedness, she discusses the prospects of the coming release, declaring with characteristic waggishness and understated charm, “I think it’ll be in stores and stuff!”
“I mean I can’t even imagine it, yet,” she says, seated outside a quirky gelato shop on the outskirts of Koreatown in Los Angeles, her home for the past five years. “I have a feeling when the album comes out I’ll be doing a lot of touring, so there’s a part of me that’s a little nervous about that. It seems so surreal to me, right now. I have no idea. I think it will be interesting and exciting and fun. But in the end, I’ll still want to have my time at home and my time to myself. That’s really important to me. Also my creative space, too. It’s really important to have time by myself, and freedom to just lay around the house all week, and then play my guitar and stuff. I need that.”
