“Desert Gold” (CHRISWILLIAMSMUSIC.COM)
By Eleni P. Austin
Chris Williams grew up in Alabama. His earliest musical influences came from the 8-Track Tapes his family played on road trips and vacations. He started off grooving to the classic sounds of Johnny Rivers, Glen Campbell, Burt Bacharach and Johnny Cash. Soon enough, he began strumming on a guitar purloined from his own mother. He quickly fell under the spell of Jimi Hendrix, The Allman Brothers and Led Zeppelin. Suddenly, only an electric guitar would do.
But it was The Rolling Stones that truly blew his young mind. Their sound encompassed American Blues, R&B and primitive Rock & Roll, re-packaged with a supercilious soupcon of danger. By age 13, Chris had written his first song. After that, there was no turning back. Rather quickly, he was fronting bands like Dust On The Radio and Lucid. He also released a couple of solo efforts, A Nearby Phone Booth and Train Of Thought.
A few years ago, Chris connected with Princess Frank and the pair formed The High ‘70s. Zeroing in on their shared affinity for Iggy & The Stooges, T. Rex, Blondie, Bowie and The Cramps, their sound was a sly synthesis of Glam, Garage Rock, New Wave, Punk and Psychobilly. Everything came together when Chris and Frank enlisted Grammy-nominated producer, Ethan Allen. The result was The High ‘70s debut, Glitter Box. Released in 2021, it garnered rave reviews.
Recently, The High ‘70s were itching to get back in the studio and make some new music. Four new tracks have been mixed but not mastered. But Ethan’s services were in such high demand, the band was put on the backburner. Chris had been stockpiling several new songs that didn’t fit The High ‘70s paradigm, so he opted to reactivate his solo career. The first step in that direction involved reconnecting with Matt Adams (The Blank Tapes).
The High Desert denizen and Matt hunkered down in the studio and recorded basic tracks, Chris on acoustic guitar and vocals, Matt handling the rest. Guitarist David Williams (no relation) added some electric guitar. Recorded, mixed and mastered in under a month, Desert Gold is Chris’ third solo long-player. The High ‘70s exuded a feral and nocturnal allure, but his Desert Gold songs gently flip the script. Equal parts contemplative and playful. The opening three tracks reflect the cloudless, wide-open spaces of his arid surroundings. The record kicks into gear with “Nightmare Scenario.” Jangly guitars wash over vroom-y keys, angular bass lines and a basher beat. Chris’ warbly croon recalls Kinks front-man Ray Davies. Despite the song’s macabre title, lyrics offer a sunny rebuke to a pessimistic doom-scroller: “What if everybody feels the same, what if everything you say is right, there’s no reason to complain, there are no arguments or fights, there is nothing to explain, the sky is clear, the sun is bright, we could just smile through our days, because we sleep soundly at night.” A wily organ solo intersects with prickly electric guitar on the break, underscoring the lyrical sangfroid.
Sandblasted guitars slash and burn atop slithery bass, skittery keys and a see-saw beat on “Don’t Beat Yourself Up.” Once again, Chris is the sagacious voice of reason as he tries to talk a friend down from a metaphorical ledge: “You thought you were in love, now you’re boiling in your blood because you hate your own guts, you try to make it work, then you act like a jerk, now your feelings got hurt…don’t beat yourself up.” A barbed baritone guitar solo on the break drills down on the efficacy of this primitive pep talk.
By “River Of Stars” rangy electric guitar rides roughshod over whipsaw rhythm riffs, lanky bass lines, brittle keys and a chugging back-beat. Lyrics like “A river of stars as cold as night, wait for the sunlight to come around, wake us up with a ray of light and gently lay us down” look to nature as the ultimate panacea. A nimble guitar solo darts across the break with aplomb.
The album’s best tracks hopscotch across the record. “Easy Is Hard Enough For Me” is a lonesome, cowpoke-y lament that feels shackled by 21st century malaise. Willowy pedal steel accents, downstroke acoustic riffs and thrumming bass are tethered to a trap-kit beat. Tongue planted firmly in cheek, Chris acknowledges that “adulting” can be tough: “Easy is hard enough for me, open the refrigerator, just a cool breeze, I should eat something, that got me wondering if that pizza box contains some crust and cheese.” As the arrangement accelerates, guitars oscillate wildly on the break, before returning to its sad-sack origins.
Dissonant, Tesla-coil keys connect with scruffy acoustic notes, stinging electric riffs as well as agile bass lines and a stickity beat on “That Depends.” Chris and Ami Flouri trade verses with a laconic bite that feels like the High Desert answer to Lee Hazlewood and Nancy Sinatra. A shaggy dog study in equivocation, lyrics offer a slo-mo seduction scene that is the antipathy of urgent: “Did you? Don’t You? Will you? Won’t you? Can you? Could you? Did you? Would you? That depends…”
On “Turn Yourself Around,” he executes a stylistic 180 and sticks the landing. Jazzy guitar chords wrap around sinewy bass lines, sparkly keys and a jittery Cha-Cha-Cha. Lyrics like “Can’t you feel what you’re going through, your body is telling you what to do, but you don’t believe it’s true, turn yourself around/I’m looking into your eyes, I see red and stormy skies peeking through your window blinds, turn yourself around, turn yourself around,” split the difference between mansplaining desire and emotional voyeurism. The arrangement takes a Yacht Rock turn on the break, as shang-a-lang guitars and mellow vibraphone enact a twitchy pas de deux. For a couple minutes Moonlight almost feels right.
Then there’s the High Desert Hillbilly Crunch of “I Can’t Wait To Miss You.” Bramble-thick guitars partner with high lonesome pedal steel, a walking bass line and a ramshackle beat. Lyrics brazenly rip the band-aid off a fractured a fractured romance: “It takes two to tangle, I’m a stubborn mule to wrangle, but you think you’ve got the angle, to hear you talking, but I am tired of hearing all your filthy swearing, I’m past the point of caring, just start walking/Yes, I can forgive you, what’s done is done, but I can’t wait to miss you, because that means you are gone.” Gauzy guitars two-step across the break, mirroring the marital ennui.
Finally, on “Asleep In My Arms,” is a tense narrative bookended by strumming acoustic riffs, searing, stratospheric electric licks, buoyant bass and a jackrabbit beat. Initially, lyrics echo to go-to macho ethos that Mac Davis pioneered on “Baby, Baby, Don’t Get Hooked On Me,” but Chris quickly cuts the shit, and exposes some vulnerability: “I want you to go to sleep in my arms and to a peaceful place, I want you to dream until the dawn, into another day.” A guitar solo, spun from thin, wild mercury threads through the break.
Other interesting tracks include the ‘60s flavored “Don’t Be Sad,” the woozy romantic collision of “The Last Train Wreck” and the shambolic “told you so” of The Blue Light.” The record closes with an epic diatribe, “Monkey See Monkey Do.”
Spiky guitars collide with spidery bass lines, spooky keys and a walloping backbeat. Taking a page from Bob Dylan’s mid ‘60s playbook, Chris unspools a free-form soliloquy aimed squarely at the Cheeto-hued taint-stain that currently inhabits the Oval Office and his misinformed followers: “They go to their rallies in their MAGA hats (Monkey see), swallowing lies like ‘they’re eating cats’ (Monkey Do), they think big business is so fantastic, as they fill up their bodies with micro-plastics.” Domestically, as well as on the world stage, the Grifter-In-Chief is only out for himself: Putin orders the Ukraine invasion (monkey see) trading death and destruction for a sovereign nation (monkey see), he will kill your sons and crush your freedom, get away with it because he lies and they believe them, Greenland, Panama and Canada too, they’ll divvy up Europe before they’re through.” It’s a rollicking ride down a rabbit hole that speaks truth to power.
While Chris and David (no relation) Williams both handled guitars and vocals, Sarah Barlow and Ami Flori added backing vocals. Matt Adams tackled everything else, bass, drums, organ, vibes, vocals, production chores, and yes, even the album artwork.
On this record, Chris has added new colors and textures to his sonic palette. Desert Gold is equal parts contemplative, playful and pensive, smart-ass and sympathetic. Kinda mirroring the world we’re left with.
