Tales Of Wonderment
By Beth Winegarner
In the world of hard electronic noises and gruff guitars, Victoria Williams' music is something of an anomaly. Her down- home folk songs have earned her the reputation of a musician's musician (her fans include R.E.M. and Soul Asylum). When Williams was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in 1992, her famous followers got together to record Sweet Relief (a collection of Williams' songs performed by artists such as Pearl Jam, Lou Reed and Michelle Shocked), to raise money for her medical treatment and the treatment of other musicians struggling with medical hardship. With this album, people began to take notice of Williams.
What followed was 1994's Loose, a critically lauded collection of trademark Williams material, with songs that allude to everything from century plants (which take at least 15 years to bloom and die shortly thereafter) to the Rainbow Gathering, a peace meeting that occurs every year at a secret location. Since that release, Williams has been relatively quiet (releasing a live album that got little attention), but this month she's back with another gem of a studio album, Musings of a Creekdipper.
It's difficult to be in a bad mood when you're listening to a Victoria Williams record, and Creekdipper is no exception. "Periwinkle Sky" starts off the album with sweeps of rolling drums, tinkling piano and meandering trumpet. Williams' quaint, relatively untrained voice eases into the lyrics "The clouds pile up high in the periwinkle sky/ The water's soft and brown/ It looks like you could walk on it." In "Rainmaker," she sings "It's hard to be a rainmaker/ Always movin' on so the town don't drown." In "Nature's Boy" and "Allergic Boy," she introduces us to a couple of unusual children. The first is a sleepy, jazz-flecked song about a shy, wise child who makes his home on the land. The second is more whimsical though no less compassionate: "It was just a birthday party but he come home nearly half-dead ... poor little boy, allergic to his toys."
Other songs suggest a fantastic side to Williams' imagination. The banjo-laced "Kashmir's Corn" opens with a scene in which a horse is preaching its message to 15 rabbits. She delivers the tale as though addressing a group (both human and animal) gathered 'round a fire on a country evening, sipping moonshine from mason jars. In "Grandpa in the Cornpatch," Williams tells the story of an old man who just wants to relax and enjoy his last years despite all the work he has to do. "I wish I could fly and see everyone I love in the blink of an eye," he thinks. His reverie is interrupted by Williams' weary chant, "chores, chores, chores!"
Providing the soundscape for these stories, Williams has assembled a cast of wonderful musicians, including husband and guitarist Mark Olson (who recently left his band, The Jayhawks) and renowned jazz drummer Brian Blade. Williams also enlisted the help of Wendy Melvoin and Lisa Coleman (Wendy and Lisa, formerly of Prince and the Revolution) to formulate the jug-band rhythm loops that support "Train Song (Demise of the Caboose)." Their backing is funky enough to inspire some serious hip- shaking, yet the song retains a shuffling underbeat that mimics the passing of a train. In the song, Williams mourns the end of the train industry, the death of which is emblematic of those parts of American culture rendered obsolete by modern technology and big corporations.
Williams is most arresting when she infuses songs with a childlike perspective -- childlike in the sense that she marvels at the wonders of the world. In "Let it Be So," she sings about marriage and perfect love with so much conviction that it's easy to forget that there are such things as broken homes: "Rejoice in this moment/ And many hereafter/ Sweet and holy because of the sound of your laughter/ Oh let it be so."
Williams' music might not be for everyone, but her love for the world is infectious and energizing.
This article was originally published in Addicted to Noise.