Singer-songwriter William Andrew Reveles defines his artistic mission in these words: “To acknowledge, maneuver, and co-exist with the human condition.” His six-song collection Laurel Canyon echoes this theme with eloquent songs of love, loss, and life. A spirit of renewal illuminates a celebration of second chances, as Reveles sings in a lyrical invocation, “Welcome to the revival/ Welcome to the night/Welcome to your survival/You can do whatever you like/Welcome to your life.”
With multiple indie record deals, music publishing pacts, and numerous placements of his songs and productions in feature films and television shows, Reveles has an extensive history as a music creator. A move to Nashville, a European tour, and the end of a relationship concluded this chapter. For the past seven years, Reveles has been missing from the stage.
Following the death of his father and brother, Reveles returned to his hometown of Los Angeles to act as a family caregiver. “I see my mother slowly dying/She’s a hostage to her bed,” he chronicles in his lyrics. After her passing, he lived in isolation. “It was more monumental in my life than I thought something could be,” he remembers.
The pandemic extended the solitude. Although not performing, Reveles was constantly collecting fragments of lyrics and melodies as voice memos. “I realized I had a hundred plus ideas, from just a lick to some that were fully formed. Writing provided more depth, an advantage after all of that horrible stuff.” Longtime colleague Tim Godwin heard the tracks, and began creating audio blueprints of what was to become Laurel Canyon.
The Laurel Canyon song cycle commences with “Civil War,” and concludes with a swampy electric version of the same song, recast as “Revival,” contrasting versions bookending what lies between. Produced by Godwin and engineered by Brian Scheuble, the aural soundscapes are subtle and spacious, with a stellar cast of players culled from the bands of Jackson Browne, Melissa Etheridge, The Steeldrivers, and other luminaries framing Reveles’ intimate vocals with a rock solid rhythm section, ghostly slide guitars, 12-string power chords, mandolins, fiddles, whirling keyboards, and consummate musicality.
Because of the pandemic and thanks to recording technology, individual musicians contributed parts long distance. Reveles’ poignant performance of “Sweet Magnolia” is a voice memo intended to be a scratch vocal, a single take recorded on a cellphone while he was lying on a wooden floor.
The darker edge of the artist’s continuum appears with “The Monster In Me.” Explains Reveles, “We all have this thing inside us – some call it demons, or mental health issues. Historically, it was treated with incarceration. People will commit crimes or get angry. It will come out and ultimately ruin a connection.” The song inspired a graphic tale/comic book written by Shane Roeschlein and illustrated by Dean Kotz. Referencing Greek Mythology, a Reveles-modeled protagonist is cast in the role of Orpheus, the magical master of music in the underworld, characterized as “A lovelorn bard plucked from a purgatory roadhouse by a keen-eyed devil to put his talents to use in the mortal realm.”
In the spirit of revival, William Andrew Reveles is revitalized with a wealth of new songs. “It’s up to the listener to feel what a song means, to define and interpret it,” he suggests. “But like a painter, I believe that words can be used as colors, like a choice that an artist might make as a descriptor. Someone once called one of my songs an ‘Anti-ballad.’ I was very proud of that. Some people have described me as negative and cynical. I don’t think so. I can write about pain and hardships, and the fact that for every success there are far more failures, for writers, journalists, painters, or lovers. Songwriting is everything that is good about a life well respected. Hope has to be a part of everything. And it can all be in a song.”
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Laurel Canyon is available for listening on all major streaming platforms.
For information and social media links visit www.williamandrewreveles.com