Album Review: Holly Williams – Here With Me

On her 2004 debut, The Ones We Never Knew, Holly Williams dispelled any of the suspicions that inevitably arise whenever the child of an established artist makes a record. The granddaughter of Hank, daughter of Hank Jr., and half-sister of Hank III, the only professional Williams not named Hank wrote keenly observant songs and sang them in a coarsely expressive voice that conveyed vulnerability with force. On her long-in-coming follow-up, Here With Me, she loosens up and settles into herself a little bit, showing more confidence and ease in the spotlight.

Of course there are songs that address her family, but Holly is writing what she knows rather than exploiting a legacy. Like the Wainwright scions Martha and Rufus, she addresses her parents candidly and frankly, but with no rancor or bitterness, a fact which dispels any tabloid ambiance that might hover over an album like Here With Me. Two tracks in, she’s singing about being raised in a broken home by a mother generous enough not to vilify the father. The lyrics avoid sappy best-mom-ever clichés, giving the song the impact of lived experience: “I’ve seen mothers fill their children’s hearts with hate,” she sings on the bridge, then concludes, “You let me love my daddy just the same.”

Toward the end of the album, “Without Jesus Here With Me” addresses the 2006 car crash that almost killed Holly and her sister, and while it veers into Carrie Underwood’s lane, the song nevertheless sound heartfelt, not least because she opens with the candid admission that “I still don’t talk to Him that much.” It’s a pretty brutal confession, suggesting that she feels unworthy or at least ungrateful.

Holly isn’t afraid to talk about herself as a Williams, but neither does she rely on the family name as a crutch. As its title implies, Here With Me prizes intimacy and immediacy, so these arrangements sound more direct and austere than those on her debut, putting more emphasis on live performance than canned strings. In fact, she seems to have gathered an able backing band that holds back on softer numbers like “Gone with the Morning Sun” but rushes forward on “Let Her Go” and first single “Keep the Change.”

Some of the powerhouse performances, like opener “He’s Making a Fool Out of You” and “Gone With the Morning Sun,” while fine on their own, can become a bit overwhelming and predictable over the course of the album. But it’s the quiet, essentially solo songs that really give this album its lively forlornness. Closer “Birds,” a Neil Young cover, sets her textured vocals against a somber piano, and on her own “Three Days in Bed,” she accompanies herself on guitar.

The latter is perhaps the album’s finest moment, a frank account of a trip to Paris and the therapeutic value of hooking up with a Frenchman. She makes no bones about indulging her vices; in fact, she seems to savor leaving herself behind and becoming someone else for a while: “You take the hard stuff it’s menthols for me,” she sings. “I don’t smoke but I do on occasions like these.” And therein lies the appeal of Here With Me: Airing her contradictions and uncertainties only makes Holly a much more forceful presence.