Sounding down-to-earth and ethereal at the same time doesn't come naturally for everyone, but Jess Williamson seems to have figured it out. She likes her hometown but isn't so happy with the ways it's changing, she's adverse to heartache and watching her exes get married, and she's proud of being a little unpredictable. She also sings about these things with a soft, breathy voice that makes the commonplace seem a little mysterious, and steps up her passion when she's thinking about God, lamenting the fate of undocumented immigrants, or trying to convince us there isn't anything truly magical about her. 2020's Sorceress is Williamson's fourth album and her most ambitious to date, with the spare, sunburnt indie folk of her early efforts burnished with a more elaborate production and a few instrumental choices that show off her enthusiasm for both classic singer/songwriter artists of the '70s and glossy pop of the '80s. Williamson sounds quite good on poppier numbers like "Wind on Tin" and "Infinite Scroll" (the latter boasting a synth sound that could have been a supporting character in Boogie Nights), and her vocal delivery isn't radically different than it is on the more folk-oriented cuts. Ultimately, though, Williamson seems most at home when she sounds as if she just arrived in 2020 from a time warp located in Laurel Canyon in 1971, and the very gentle psychedelia drifting through her more personal numbers meshes with her vocal style and lyrical outlook like yin and yang getting to know one another. Sorceress doesn't feel like a slam-dunk triumph for Williamson, in part because it seems like she's still working out the balance between the various facets of her creative personality. But she sounds solid and assured even when she's swimming through the darkness, and her consistent strength as a writer and vocalist makes Sorceress well worth investigating.