This voice, able to negotiate a range of octaves and encompass the acts of remembrance, anticipation, recognition, and repetition that occur in O’Hara’s songs, was making a picture. More than that, it was making a space for the singer’s words to not only allow the pain of impossibility that exists in separation, but also acknowledge great love. And I didn’t feel sung at; there’s no showmanship in O’Hara’s delivery. Her lilt is sometimes matter-of-fact, sometimes near breaking, other times strong and angry. It’s human and animal and real. I trust it.