Devon Williams, Carefree
L.A. singer-songwriter wrestles with punk, folk and chamber pop.
Most singer-songwriters plying power-pop have relied on one fixed musical persona that lines up neatly with an unwavering lyrical point of view. Devon Williams hasn't done that. This young Los Angeleno launched his career with a pair of albums by his punk band Osker while still in his teens. Then he made good on Osker's criticism of punk conformity by joining the folk-tinged chamber popsters Lavender Diamond. On his solo debut, Williams assumes a third identity midway between Osker's boyish immediacy and Lavender Diamond's string-laden frills.
Carefree doesn't completely abandon Williams'recent past. Fellow Lavender Diamond member Steve Gregoropoulos piles on violins and cellos, and Williams whines with a plugged-nose twang that speaks of his snotty punk years as loudly as the racing guitars and sprightly tempo of “Bells.” Instead of going the Panic at the Disco route of explicitly referencing psychedelic ’60s pop with swarms of strings, Williams'collision of robust guitars and twee orchestration suggests ’80s UK jangle-rock on a collision course with Sufjan Stevens. The inevitable Smiths riffs crop up in “One and One” and “How Could I Not,” while “Fragile Weapon” adds gentle synths with bittersweet lyrics that evoke the aching heart of Prefab Sprout. Although its versatility benefits the tunes, Carefree's broad palate of hazy pastels fails to paint a clear picture of Williams, whose personality here retreats behind his references. Maybe he's held back his true self until the next incarnation.
