Chris Williams’ and Kid Reverie’s (Steve Varney’s) ethereal new album Something from 
unfolds cinematically, their lyrical lens panning slowly across the musical universe and 
inviting us to peer with them into the vast expanse of human emotion. Their shimmering vocals, 
lush arrangements, and swirling instrumentation create an atmospheric sound that resembles the 
Beatles’ “Across the Universe” or George Harrison’s “All Things Must Pass.” The songs 
envelop us with warmth and comfort while at the same time peering into the corners of our souls, 
uncovering our loneliness, our desires, our bereavement, our capacity for loving beyond 
ourselves. Something from Nothing—the title perfectly captures the emergence of beauty from 
the dark void, the sun breaking through the fog—takes us on a journey, climbing through the 
sonic stratosphere with exhilarating elegance and revelatory wisdom. 
Partnering with Kid Reverie, North Carolina native Williams’ third album Something 
from Nothing
evolves effortlessly out of his bluegrass, rock, and jazz roots. Woven into the lush 
interplay of keys, strings, and guitars are swirling banjo rolls and crisp fingerpicking, adding an 
earthiness to the spiraling transcendence of the sound. In his 2019 debut album, The Farewell 
, Williams paid homage to his musician father in the album’s title song. “When my father 
passed away in 2007,” Williams says, “he left me his banjo. I started writing an album, largely 
about him and family.” Early in 2020, he recorded his second album To Be Determined featured 
layered acoustic folk. 
Something from Nothing, in part, grew out of Williams’ quest to find a particular banjo 
and in part because the pandemic gave him time to start thinking about writing a new album. One 
day he watched a video of Gregory Alan Isakov and saw Steve Varney (Kid Reverie) playing an 
Open Back Banjo. “That banjo sounded so amazing on one condenser mike, and I wanted to find 
one like it,” says Williams. After a long search, he landed on Steve Varney’s website. Williams 
noticed that Varney offered lessons, so he decided to sign up for one or two. “I was so taken with 
his work and his instrument that I’d pay to talk to him,” Williams chuckles. The two hit it off 
immediately, and it wasn’t long before they started writing a sing together. Very soon, Varney 
and Williams were meeting once a week over Zoom for writing sessions and recording efforts. 
“This was the most serendipitous musical moment in my life,” says Williams. Kid Reverie 
recalls, “Chris always came to our lessons with a solid idea. I routinely found myself saying 
something like, ‘This is great, now let’s make it a song.’” Williams confirms about their 
collaboration that “This stretched me in ways that songwriting had not done before, and it was 
quite eye-opening. I needed to listen more than I talked.” 
The two eventually co-wrote the 12 songs on Something from Nothing, co-produced the 
album, and Varney mastered it. They played all the instruments on the album—though Michael 
McKee joins them on drums on five songs Ayda Varney plays cat toy sounds on one song. “This 
process was very cathartic. It took a trying time for both of us and allowed us to open ourselves 
to a writing partnership that neither of us expected. I am grateful for this amazing musical 
experience and hope everyone enjoys these songs as much as we loved creating them!” Kid 
Reverie affirms that he’s “rarely had such deep collaboration with another songwriter. For so 
long it felt like we were just doing lessons. I think it took both of us quite a while to realize we 
were co-writing songs and making an album.” 
Something from Nothing opens with spacious, atmospheric “Morning,” filled with 
pirouetting strings and keys that evoke melancholic loss and yearning for the promise of a new 
day. “My mom passed away during COVID,” recalls Williams, “and I was standing outside the 
hospital where she was a patient when this song began to form in my mind.” He pondered 
separation and loss—two themes woven through the arc of the album—and how they affected 

him and others during the pandemic, wondering where hope for the future might lie. “I imagined 
this perfect golden field, a place both physical and abstract. A retreat for loss and memories, 
hopes and determination. A space that our own energies could converge and swirl, absent each 
other,” he says. As Kid Reverie remembers about writing the song: “The title, the space and 
ease… It lead me to produce it like a grand entrance.” 
“Morning” segues effortlessly into “The Fog,” a dreamy waltz floating on piano, synths, 
and ringing guitar lines that echo the notes on the piano. The Beatles-esque soundscape pulls us 
into the beauties and mysteries of a fog-shrouded landscape. “Half a Mile” ingeniously combines 
lilting banjo rolls and an upbeat Flying Burrito Brothers country rock tempo with soaring 
symphonic strains and transcendent vocals, while the spare guitar strums that introduce 
“Himalayan Hills” undulate and wash into sparkling, crystalline vocals that evoke the spiritual 
grandeur of the landscape in the song’s title. As Williams observes, “imagine a photo of 
mountains as far as the eyes can see, covered with flowers in every hue the mind could conjure. 
A place so majestic one would find it impossible to carry burdens. Mountains so imposing, they 
demand respect and surrender.” 
The gorgeous love song to the universe “Asleep” floats on lush strings, echoing vocals, 
and melodic piano chords, punctuated by the plaintive strains of banjo fingerpicking on the 
instrumental bridge, while the heart-catching “Dappled Grey”—“Don’t tell anyone this is my 
favorite,” Kid Reverie chuckles—ambles through the vagaries of love, flitting between the 
crooning poetic explorations of Simon and Garfunkel and the spiraling harmonies of the Beatles. 
As Williams says of the song, “It meanders gently from the start with swells and valleys, 
conveying a sense of uncertainty while matching the story line for line. That is the amazing thing 
about music; the emotion that it can evoke from a listener who had no plans on being dragged 
The album closes the lullaby “Mercury,” the first song that Varney and Williams wrote 
together. “It is a very simple delving into the depths of love and imagination,” William says. 
“This was our first song,” Kid Reverie recalls. “It’s pretty nostalgic to listen back and think 
about how we were trying to figure each other out. It ended up being a cosmic lullaby. I 
remember referencing it in my car and my daughter asked to hear it again. Always a good sign.” 
Chris Williams and Kid Reverie hope the songs on Something from Nothing inspire 
others in their art: “not to be afraid to take chances musically.” Their music illumines the 
struggles of the human soul, lighting a path between the shadows and light that leads from 
despair, fear, and loss to hope, courage, and love. 
Chris Williams’ ability to weave different sounds into a seamless whole comes naturally. 
He grew up near Greensboro, North Carolina, and his father, Allen Calhoun, was a bluegrass 
musician who played a little bit of everything. Williams was paying banjo by the time he was 
ten, and he and his father traveled constantly to bluegrass festivals where his father played. 
Williams grew to be a big fan of New Grass Revival and their innovative ways of stretching 
traditional bluegrass in new directions. In his 20s and 30s, he played with rock bands and heavy 
metal bands, honing his instrumental chops and even taking the drums. He moved into jazz under 
the influence of Steely Dan’s Aja. Though he got away from music for a few years, he started 
buying recording equipment and eventually set out to make an album. When his father died in 
2016, he started writing and collecting song that as he says grew out of a “confluence of personal 
stories and musical styles.” 2019’s The Farewell Tour, an album that wove bluegrass and folk 
and jazz together, was the result. A year later, Williams penned another set of songs for his 2020 
release To Be Determined, an expansive journey into the Americana soundscape. Williams 

combines lyrical ingenuity with a gift for finding the just-right melodic vibes in which to wrap 
his words. As he says, “I am trying be true to myself and to articulate my truths in my music and 
lyrics. I listen carefully and deeply to the work of other artists and glean from them what I can 
that will help me express my own truths.” — Henry Carrigan