Americana-UK review

The dominant sound of this record is a banjo, sometimes augmented by percussion and even background cicadas, but it's the gnarled persistence of the clawhammer which really lingers in the mind and whilst the technique never dazzles, it still rolls along quite nicely. There is a deliberate primitivism to the whole affair, even in terms of the recording, with a great deal of clipping evident on the vocals, perhaps in an attempt to emulate the field recordings of old. Fortunately the songs are short and the album's title quite literal, which prevents the sonic homogeneity from ever growing too dull.

As on his previous releases, Williams aims for a kind of gothic old-time music, trying to invoke the spine-chilling quality of something like Ralph Stanley's recording of O Death and on a song like Thin Ice he certainly comes close. Whilst it is probably impossible to fully recapture the quality of such material, Williams impresses with his resonant vocals and turn of phrase. The lyrics of Apple Tree have all the Biblical exhortations associated with old-time spirituals, delivered with a compelling ferocity. Some songs do get lost amongst the flurry of material, but the majority make their presence felt.

In his revivalism, Williams recalls the likes of Michael Hurley or Peter Stampfel, albeit without any of their wry humour. This is possibly the principle difficulty with the album, for whilst those artists were adept at reinvention as well as revival, Williams sticks too closely to the formula and lacking the authenticity of the originals, comes dangerously close to mere pastiche. Fortunately, whilst this sense of self-consciousness never fully evaporates, he is a skilled enough songwriter in other respects to somewhat negate this criticism, and if you can overlook the occasional moment of artifice, there is much to enjoy.
6 out of 10
-Kai Roberts
Americana-UK

Slant Magazine review

There's no shortage of bands mining the same strain of gothic prairie music to which Christian Williams has laid claim—bands with synthetic twangs and a nagging fascination with the dark side of the heartland. Few, however, have the nerve to go about it so plainly. On his fifth album, Thirty Minutes with Christian Williams, Williams digs into bluegrass in its most basic form, shedding all layers of mannered affectation to create a work that's enormously affecting in its simplicity. To the legions of guy-and-a-guitar albums, he adds one that's mostly about a man and his banjo.

This no-frills approach is refreshing because it gives the banjo, a fascinating instrument that's usually a supporting player, lots of room to breathe. Williams uses this space to pluck, strum, and race, in speeds that range from blindingly fast to a lazy crawl. The effect is reminiscent of Roy Acuff, Jimmie Rodgers, or countless other early country pioneers, artists who seemed to record in voids populated only by them and their instruments. The only thing missing is the pops and crackles.

Thirty Minutes is not a perfect album. Williams's voice is often strangely toneless and his lyrics tend toward the sappy when dealing with specific emotion, as in the album closer "Born Again." But in its bareness, the album achieves a rare kind of elegance that exceeds the sum of its scant parts. This is typified by tracks like "To the Stars," a short instrumental piece propped up on a repeating melody that, at less than two minutes in length, doesn't amount to much. Nevertheless, the song is breathtaking in a quiet way, typifying an album whose simplicity resonates well beyond its range.
3-1/2 out of 5
-Jesse Cataldo
Slant Magazine