"Close the Circle, Lay the Stones"
Gossimer, the musical outlet of Oakland poet Jennifer Williams, follows last year's Across that White Plain with an equally moving six-song cassette, Close the Circle, Lay the Stones. A set of forlorn songs built with acoustic guitar and wisps of quiet noise, it feels somber and disquieted. But a close inspection of the lyrics — engrossingly delivered in Williams' soft lilt — reveals meditative depth beneath the miserablist exterior.
— Sam Lafebvre, 'The Top Sixteen Bay Area Releases of 2016', East Bay Express
'Across That White Plain'
“An excellent suite of forlorn songs bound by fingerpicked acoustic guitar, it’s speckled with spectral, fleeting samples and subtle intrusions of quiet noise. Williams’ lyrics, at times delivered in a near-whisper, are similarly sparse. There are no choruses, and most songs contain only two or three lines, but the few elements are wholly engaging.”
— Sam Lefebvre, East Bay Express
“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. ”
— Strauss, Tiny Mixtapes
Glaum is a spacious electro-acoustic tape featuring a Tremeloa, founds objects, and electronics.
THEY MEAN NO HARM
“A ponderous, heavily-spaced electroacoustic slowburner from Sean Conrad (Ashan, Inner Islands Records) and Jennifer Williams (Gossimer) is a realtime exercise in space-finding between two interconnected beings. Pregnant pauses follow sonorous guitar-lines bending and arcing in the upper register that are played back through a ghostly apparatus that leave the casing of the passage while letting the soul rattle about like a ghost in the machine. About half-way through “Glass Sisters”, Williams’ voice rises through the settling electroacoustic mist, ebbing and flowing with the same regularity of the passages of silence and sound. Then the essential stringness of strings are explored: the oxymoronic brittleness of metal, the tensile slack and tightness. These are played over a faraway oscillation and buried, leading, coaxing voice that creeps in so slowly you swear it was there the whole time. The B-Side, “Come Down the Night” is a propulsive passage of basement effused beats, washes of warbly synthesizer drones, wandering acoustic instrumentation and contact mic solipsisms into a wonderfully pastoral marriage of all four. A satisfyingly calming and contemplative listen.”
— Tome to the Weather Machine
INTO THE WIND
"The forests hide us in the day, and we sleep when we can. As soon as it is dark, the path beckons, and we douse our small fire and remove any sign of our passing. The combination of the fog and the gathering dusk allows us greater freedom of travel, but we must take care not to veer from the path. We numbered three once, but we no longer do – we lost a companion on the wild steppe before we came to the forest; he simply disappeared in the night without a sound. We dare not stray now – we have come too far. The path continues on."
— Ryan Masteller, Cassette Gods