Should have saved this one for a cloudy day I guess, but I swear the chilly whispers of Gossimer are enough to banish Spring to a black hell on their own. It’s cold, I tell ya. Cold and fragile, and like an ice carving, Gossimer is also a sparkling beauty, tears streaming down its melting face beneath the March sunshine. Across That White Plain brings us the latest spook-folk tunes from Jennifer Williams, an aching collection of ballads so delicate, they nearly crumble under the music’s emotional weight. It’s all carefully etched into a palette of wax paper, spare arrangements of vibraphone, piano, and percussion laid down like straw bedding for Williams’ mousy voice circle around, like a house cat nervously exploring new terrain, wondering if this is indeed the safe spot to sleep that it appears to be. The songs center around a fingered guitar/vocal underbelly as sampled instruments interject like horror-holograms, swooping in to cast a cloud of uncertainty over otherwise quite lovely and optimistic sounding melodies. It’s the type of feeling you get when you’re not quite sure if you’re having a wonderful dream, or a terrifying nightmare, music that can turn on you in an instant, figuring the listener with the inexperienced eyes of a young child — curious, but maybe a little skeptical, of the beautiful things presented by the world.
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