Will Johnson – Diamond City (Keeled Scales) (13th Floor Album Review)
Will Johnson has long been a quiet cornerstone of American indie rock and alt-country, crafting a rich and varied body of work that spans decades, emotional registers, and genre lines. Emerging in the mid-1990s as the frontman of the beloved Centro-matic, he quickly proved himself a prolific and fearless songwriter, equally adept at ragged rock anthems and hushed, intimate ballads. His musical path has never been linear—branching into the softer hues of South San Gabriel, joining the supergroup Monsters of Folk, and collaborating on deeply respected albums like Molina & Johnson and New Multitudes, a tribute to Woody Guthrie.
Johnson’s solo work has always felt like a secret shared, a lo-fi journal of the American landscape—dusty roads, forgotten towns, flickering memories. Now, with Diamond City, he circles back to those roots both literally and artistically. Recorded alone in his Texas farmhouse on a vintage 4-track cassette machine, this album feels like a love letter to imperfection. It’s intimate, warm, and full of soul.
The opening track, Floodway Fall, subtly samples The Ronettes’ Be My Baby, adding a gentle shimmer beneath its bluesy, Americana feel. The transition from Unfamiliar Ghost into the title track is unexpected yet mesmerizing—repetitive guitar chords pulling you into a trance, grounded by Johnson’s raspy voice. On headphones, the instrumentals occasionally overshadow the vocals, but that lo-fi mix only deepens the album’s analog charm, like hearing a lost classic through a Cadillac radio at dusk.
Johnson balances his songwriting between sparse, lyrical storytelling and instrumental interludes that carry their own quiet power. Clem Witkins, a purely instrumental track, feels like a postcard from a place both abstract and strangely familiar. Cairo reads like a diary entry—a soft, aching longing for escape as he sings, “All I wanna do is flee, and fling myself into the sea,” with ocean sounds gently folding around his voice. It’s soothing, cinematic, and deeply evocative.
Sylvarena takes us to a forgotten Mississippi village, population 51 as of the 2000 census—a detail that speaks volumes about Johnson’s gift for finding poetry in overlooked places. The final track closes the album like the last stretch of a lonely night drive, ending in a piano-led folk ballad that rises—and then suddenly cuts to silence, snapping you out of the reverie like morning light after a long dream.
Diamond City doesn’t just tell stories—it builds a world. One of ghosts, gravel roads, aching hearts, and quiet revelations. It’s a beautiful, haunting, and necessary addition to Will Johnson’s already remarkable catalog.
Azrie Azizi
Will Johnson’s Diamond City is out today on Keeled Scales Records
