There’s a certain solitude that takes place towards dusk in the American southwest. If you stand in one spot long enough, amidst the scrub and dust, you’ll likely hear no sound except the air and your own breath. No trees are around to rustle and with the sun going down, most animals that are out and about are either too tiny or stealthy to make a peep.
After the funeral of a loved one, Jess Williamson heard that breeze. Ruminating on death and its aftermath, ‘Wind On Tin’ is arguably the singer-songwriter’s masterpiece. It’s just two verses, a chorus and a bridge, but Williamson captured something profound: “There is a braid that binds us, and his thread ain’t gone”, she sings of her departed friend.
The song begins with a tour of Marfa, Texas, Williamson’s home and often the backdrop to much of her music. “They’re taxing the adobe now that the money moved into town”, she observes, and as wealthy transplants move in, the town her friend knew is slowly erased, while the friends they left behind are still “chasing a legend, one last legend is raking the grounds”.
Out there in the high desert, grief connects Williamson to the sacred. “Heard a sound so heavenly / Were the angels singing just for us?” she wonders, “Or is that what the wind out here does on tin?” Whether it’s the divine or nature taking its course, it remains holy. “I heard God”, she whispers repeatedly until a steel guitar whines into a roaring, electric interlude.
Faced with the existential, Williamson’s grief is compounded by those around her. “Nothin’ll get you like seein’ a cowboy cry” she avows, before murmuring “I heard God” for four more measures. The airiness of Williamson’s voice and the haunting instrumentals make this song unforgettable.
