Every genre has its icons and its iconoclasts. Rock'n'roll will likely always have both bands that sound like Led Zeppelin and bands that absorbed Led Zeppelin but marched proudly in an unforeseen direction. Country music has chicken grease-and-cheap beer adherents in addition to pop crossover darlings, while rap brims with boom-bap purists and backpacking sonic explorers. These divisions are rarely as evident or amusing as they are in the world of guitar instrumentalists, a realm where either John Fahey is some sanctified combination of Zeus, Athena, and Poseidon or the brilliant dude who has become annoying because he's the only touchstone most people have. You either fully embrace Fahey-- like, say, the late Jack Rose-- or you run the other way, like Ben Chasny with his work as Six Organs of Admittance. A middle ground exists, certainly, but it's rarely been claimed with the grace and elocution of Behold the Spirit, the debut from young Nashville guitarist William Tyler. Arguably the most vital, energized album by an American solo guitarist in a decade or more, it accepts Fahey's legacy while escaping its shadow. Moreover, it's simply a joy to hear.
You might recognize Tyler's name from his long stint as a multi-instrumentalist in Lambchop, or from album credits alongside Charlie Louvin, Bonnie "Prince" Billy, Silver Jews, and Wooden Wand. Lambchop's oeuvre should give you some hint as to what makes Tyler special. Just as Lambchop's pan-American indie incorporates soul, rock, country and outsider music into one weirdly warped mold, Tyler integrates a dozen different approaches. He's as comfortable with an electric as an acoustic, as accomplished conducting a long, coruscated drone as he is gliding through fingerpicked hymns. The English folk of Pentangle and the American hum of Tom Carter are clear references, as are Indian ragas and Appalachian ballads. Unlike the work of fellow polyglot Sir Richard Bishop, though, Tyler engages all of those muses at once, consistently folding them into surprising revelations.
Behold the Spirit is a sterling mixture of bravado and dexterity. Tyler could be an ace in any rock band, so crafted are his chops and developed is his taste. During the elegant climber "Missionary Ridge", Tyler winds through a complex circuit of melodies and variations with perfect clarity, the low notes resonating and the high ones shimmering resplendently. "The Green Pastures" feels like some sort of tantric test of his skill, as Tyler picks the notes from a handful of chords while an ace country band-- pedal steel, then drums, then piano-- threads melodies and tones through the lines of his acoustic. His guitar always prevails. But if technique were enough to recommend an instrumentalist, we could all save a lot of money on records by applying for a job at Guitar Center. Tyler tempers his skills with patience and ease, delivering these winding passages with unimpeachable composure. "Tears and Saints" for instance, is a rugged waltz for electric guitar that depends as much on the rests as it does on the notes. Tyler takes his time with the tune, giving each phrase time to radiate.
The nine numbers collected here never, however, feel like expressions of Tyler's skill. Rather, each feels like its own compositional springboard, where Tyler's guitar simply happens to take the lead. Each of these pieces seems to suggest a story, too, whether through the arc of its music or the sound of its instruments. Opener "Terrace of the Leper King" admittedly keys on flurries of acoustic guitar notes, but the song peaks when a chorus of horns and fiddle wail between guitar breaks. It sounds like quiet conquest. In "Oashpe", a 12-string guitar breaks through the still of field recordings only to create the same atmosphere with a listless but meticulous drift of chords. Tyler takes advantage of that torpor, though, eventually racing ahead, pulling fleet strings of melody from a cloud of overtones. As with the roaring electric drone that follows or the workmanlike acoustic hymn that closes the album, or really like all of Behold the Spirit, both the sounds and the stories they imply are mesmerizing.
Back to the question of icons and iconoclasts among guitar instrumentalists, it's no secret that neither lot courts a very big audience. John Fahey died a legend, sure, but he didn't die a superstar. Behold the Spirit doesn't feel marginal, though; rather, it feels like the sort of album that can achieve crossover success without alienating that core who can hum "Imaginational Anthem" from memory. These spry melodies and generous arrangements are the stuff of pop fantasy, while the reach of Tyler's music offers calling cards for fans of folk and more textural avant garde pieces. Behold the Spirit works as well on a lethargic Sunday afternoon as it does after dark, on headphones in a still space. It's the sort of achievement that acknowledges and challenges the expectations of its form-- and smiles knowingly the whole time. It's iconoclastic, then, just classically so.
