When you change, your whole body changes with you. Your feet might even feel different inside your boots. Jess Williamson made her incandescent fifth album Time Ain't Accidental during a transitional time in her life, as a longtime romantic and creative partnership dwindled and a brief single phase gave way to a new love. That's typical fare for a singer-songwriter, but the native Texan, now splitting her time between Marfa and Los Angeles, writes from such a holistic perspective that a listener can empathize from head to toe. "Take me for a ride," she wails in this soft-rock reverie's chorus, "all tangled inside." In that phrase, set to a descending melody, she surrenders and holds back at the same time.
The song's lyrics about a casual but intense encounter follow suit: her tongue is in this new lover's mouth and the windows are down, but then they are barely holding hands. Their intimacy comes easy, but in a flash they're so far apart. It's all conjecture and desire and hesitation and "I want to, but I can't make you, man." The music has a slowed-down "Boys of Summer" quality: it's one long swoon propelled by synthesizers so unobtrusive they recall the whispering electronic system powering a Tesla, the kind of car this fancy new paramour of Williamson's might drive. But her voice, as poignant as Linda Ronstadt's singing a Karla Bonoff song, dwells in the loneliness that even the most exciting casual encounter can produce. As she leaves this one behind, recognizing that in this dance she's only a stranger's projection, Williamson repossesses herself. "Is it a one time dream, or a country queen that you take me for?" she sings, turning her heel in those best boots of hers.