There may be a few females present (Gwenifer Raymond and Muireann Bradley, say), but the emerging scene is guaranteed to be overwhelmingly male – and white.
A black woman from Northern Virginia raised on a diverse diet of music from jazz to hip-hop, Yasmin Williams (who has a degree in music theory and composition) would stand out from this crowd based purely on identity. However, the versatile, open-eared, often startlingly beautiful contents of Acadia is what really makes Williams special and noteworthy in the densely populated field of solo acoustic guitar arts.
As per the norms of the genre, Williams can really, really play – and not just guitar: Acadia also features Williams on kalimba and kora, alongside guest appearances from the likes of alt. guitar scene figurehead William Tyler and Aoife O’Donovan. Although it’s hard not to become mesmerized by Williams’s swift-fingered yet robust fingerpicking patterns (check out the blurry of notes amongst the bluegrass-hued Appalachian hoedown of “Hummingbird”), the real substance of Acadia is in the tuneful, accessible yet ambitious compositions, which blend respectfully transparent nods towards the roots and traditions of the solo acoustic guitar lineage with restless musical adventurousness and unexpected departures from the predictable script with effortlessly surefooted grace.
Acadia is also uncommonly carefully and
imaginatively structured. The first handful of tracks sticks to more or
less what we’d expect from a solo acoustic guitar album, only with a
bunch of guest musicians popping into the party. The finger-picking
flurries of opener “Cliffwalk” echoes vintage fretboard acrobatics of,
say, Bert Jansch and John Renbourn, whilst the impeccably pretty
“Harvest” finds Williams’s guitar swirling and dancing in circles around
Darian Donovan Thomas’s bittersweet violin melody to create an almost
impossibly beautiful and moving update of the olden times folk dance
idiom.
By “Virga”, vocals (courtesy of Darlingside) enter the
frame, starting the album’s second movement that culminates in the
unhurriedly unfurling “Dawning”, a six-minute slice of pastoral bliss
(with Aoife O’Donovan on wordless vocals) that faintly echoes a less
full-on interpretation of the rapturous, elemental testimonials of cult
hero Robbie Basho. Electric instruments and drums make an appearance on
“Dream Lake”, which packs more than a passing resemblance to the
forward-thinking post-rock textures of Tortoise, as does the rippling,
slinky groove of “Nectar”, while the robustly rhythmic, kora-fueled
final track “Malamu” steps a toe in jazz, with the ascending saxophone
solos of Immanuel Wilkins in a prominent role.
Somehow these seemingly disparate parts hang together as a
thematically logical and coherent whole: there’s still some of the year
left, but it’s pretty unlikely that there will be a more compelling and
inspired guitar album than Acadia emerging in 2024.
