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Fiddling with her rainbow guitar strap in the middle of her set, Julien Baker looked out at the sizeable crowd surrounding the Miller Lite Oasis and apologized, for the second time, for "bumming [us] out." For some reason, Baker felt the need to repent for bringing to the stage a powerful, emotional energy that one rarely experiences on a Saturday night at Summerfest. I, for one, was not sorry at all.

Following the release of her album "Sprained Ankle" in October 2015, Baker has enjoyed a relatively impressive amount of success for a 20-year-old from Nashville. Fresh off of a European tour, it’s a surprise she isn’t already featured on the playlists of every millennial that swears by indie rock artists that croon about existential crises (i.e., all of us). Somehow, though, Baker feels different than your typical counter-culture soloist, and as she inevitably becomes internationally famous, you can trust that she will not lose the essence of who she is and what makes her music so important on the way there.

Her vocals and instrumentals are as raw as the sentiments behind them, and trust me, these lyrics are not casual. Case in point: her opener, "Sprained Ankle," in which she claims, "I wish I could write songs about anything but death," or just about any of the deeply impassioned lines of all her songs. You can tell that the inspiration she pulls from is deeply personal and about as subtle as a punch in the face, such as her experience with the intersection between sexuality, faith and addiction. But when she whispers them into the microphone, it’s inevitable you’ll be pulled in.

However, it was clear that Baker’s vocals would lend themselves more to, say, an intimate coffeehouse with a max capacity of 30 rather than an outdoor stage with echoing acoustics at best and a constant din of drunken yelling at worst. The situation was certainly not helped by Baker’s naturally soft voice; even she herself joked that, "During my set, I either mumble or scream." Although it was hard to catch much of what she muttered into the mic between songs, it was impossible to miss her pleasant personality and enchantingly demure stage presence.

What Baker lacked in volume and flashy showmanship she more than made up for with her polite, apologetic and undeniably Southern nature. For example, she stated, "I want to thank you for choosing to spend your evening here, when you could be other places, ‘cause I don't take that lightly." She even candidly referenced multiple times the fact that she knew that the majority of the crowd was there for Death Cab for Cutie, and yet she still thanked us, even though she had said thank you "a thousand times." But, she "really means it!"

In all honesty, there was nothing about the set that Baker didn’t really mean. This was evidenced through the way her face would scrunch and almost contort as she would sing particularly touching lines, such as in "Everybody Does," a piece referencing abandonment and depression. Even the previously disinterested, Death Cab-loving crowd couldn’t ignore her efforts on "Rejoice" specifically and erupted into spontaneous cheers when she reached the chorus.

Let’s not forget her unique voice, though. In a more touching moment that exemplified the impact that Baker’s music can have when it’s not muffled by drunken cries, the camera connected to a large screen panned to a preteen fan, front row and mouthing the words to "Good News" while tears streamed down their face. Even though I couldn’t really hear much and someone had just spilled beer on my shoe, I may or may not have shed a tear myself. In the end, Baker’s awkward, modest yet completely endearing presence combined with her true natural talent was enough to make me cry right along with the fan up front.

As the absolutely hammered man screamed behind me to his friend actively complaining about the "boring music," "This is the first good music we've heard all day, so don't be a d*ck about it!"

I couldn’t agree more, dude.