Album Review: Will Johnson’s Pensive Trip to Diamond City

Folk-rock troubadour strips down for 10th solo album

Reviewed by Miranda Garza, Fri., May 30, 2025

Photo by Jackie Lee Young

Singer, multi-instrumentalist, and renowned veteran of Austin’s music scene, Will Johnson has countless stories to tell. Apart from his current spot in Jason Isbell’s band the 400 Unit, the Missouri-born artist carries some impressive projects on his résumé, from Texas bands Centro-matic and South San Gabriel to supergroup Monsters of Folk, which also features Bright Eyes’ Conor Oberst, My Morning Jacket’s Jim James, and M. Ward of She & Him. Yet Johnson also boasts a prolific solo catalog.

The inception of his latest solo album, April’s Diamond City, dates back to 2023, when the singer adopted a writing approach inspired by his late friend and collaborator Jason Molina: writing at least two songs a day, followed by reflection. He then brought the album to Austin’s Ramble Creek studio, where his bandmate Britton Beisenherz enhanced his demos with additional instrumentation.

Within 9 songs, Diamond City quilts people, places, and moments together with guitar-led thread and the fuzzy grain of Johnson’s Tascam 424 4-track recorder. The stripped-down LP stays true to the singer-songwriter’s earthy folk-rock resonance, while showcasing a softer, rawer sound.

"Floodway Fall" slips into misty strings that brush against Johnson's tender vocals as he warbles ultra-specific hometown references (“So we set out, a brand-new interstate/ With a permanent Blytheville stomachache”) and surreal poetry (“I was part snake, part television/ You were full rake, on full-serve religion”). Pensive textures carry out the tune, like a soundtrack to a road trip where you have nothing to do but think.

A woeful number speckled with regret, “Unfamiliar Ghost” unfolds with quivering electric notes. The song’s initial frostbitten melody echoes the winter that it was written in until the bridge’s wavering guitar riffs melt the ice. The lyricless “Clem Witkins” carries the same chilled disposition, with foglike reverb veiling somber chords.

The stripped-down LP stays true to the singer-songwriter’s earthy folk-rock resonance, while showcasing a softer, rawer sound.

Soul-baring remorse spills through Johnson's sonnets, and his stirring arrangements mirror the unease of running away from something that you can't escape – whether it be a mistake, a memory, or a wish (“For our abandoned nights that died in vain/ For all the ghosts of old shame/ It’s like you knew their each and every move/ And they know you”). Caution closes the title track as the wordsmith croons, “So if it ever finds you marching off/ To the other side of town/ Let them know about the wreckage here/ Let them know to let me down.”

Pedal steel fuels a classic country flair on “All Dragged Out” and “Sylvarena.” The former’s breezy pace and lively strings envelop listeners like sun against skin, while the latter’s bright rhythm and swaying beat maintain the warmth. Reminiscent of the alternative twang of Johnson’s previous record No Ordinary Crown, the balmy tracks bring balance to the project.

cover art by Adam Young

Equal parts plucky and poignant, "Cairo" offers an intimate glimpse into self-reproach. Acoustic strums thread through Johnson's whispers: “How dare you interrupt/ This heinous clutter in my mind/ All this busted racket I call mine?/ Or the endless effort I commit/ To the high art of wasting time?/ How dare you be so kind?”

A standout among its more composed counterparts, "Rabbit Run" swirls with frantic static and layered electricity. Johnson's penchant for outdoor imagery reignites with a fruitful comparison: “I’m a small, black rabbit on a blackland plane/ You’re a red-tailed hawk staring down at me/ Who’s to say we ain’t both wrong for thinking we’re so strong?”

Instrumental closer “Requiem/High Road Plume” swells with final contemplation. Full-bodied piano keys pulse through the minimalistic reverie, gleaming fond recollection and hope as distorted reverb coats its final notes with uncertainty. Memories may not be as we remember them, Diamond City says, but they’re all we have.