Album Review: Shadows On A Windmills Wall by Jim Sarkissian
Released in 1970, Shadows On A Windmills Wall is one of those folk albums that sneaks up on you. It’s not flashy or overproduced—just a quiet masterpiece from the heart of Americana. Jim Sarkissian, who wears multiple hats as producer, vocalist, and even cover designer here, crafted something deeply personal yet universally relatable. Backed by Compass Mill Records, this record feels like an intimate campfire session with friends rather than a polished studio project.
The album dives into themes of love, loss, history, and dreams, all wrapped in acoustic warmth. The musicianship is tight but unobtrusive, with standout contributions from bassist Fritz McDonald, guitarist Peter Korff, and keyboardist Richard Vogel. And let’s not forget Kenneth Vogel’s subtle percussion work—it adds just enough texture without stealing the spotlight.
Two tracks that stick out? First, there’s “Cost Of Chancellorsville.” This song hits hard because it doesn’t just tell a story—it feels like history unfolding before your eyes. The lyrics are vivid, painting pictures of battlefields and broken promises. You can almost hear the echoes of boots marching across muddy fields. Paired with James Sarkissian’s raw vocal delivery, it becomes more than just a tune; it’s a meditation on sacrifice and human cost.
Then there’s “Twilight In The Spring Time,” which somehow manages to capture both melancholy and hope at the same time. The interplay between William Westwood’s guitar and Richard Vogel’s keys creates this delicate atmosphere—you might find yourself staring out a window, lost in thought, after listening. It’s hauntingly beautiful, the kind of track that lingers long after the needle lifts off the vinyl.
What makes Shadows On A Windmills Wall so special isn’t just its craftsmanship—it’s how real it feels. There’s no pretense here, no attempt to chase trends. Instead, it’s a snapshot of its era, rooted firmly in the American folk tradition while still feeling timeless.
One thing I didn’t expect? How much John Nessenthaler’s cover art ties everything together. That windmill silhouette against a shadowy sky mirrors the mood of the music perfectly—it’s simple, evocative, and unforgettable.
In a world full of noise, albums like this remind us why music matters. Listening to Shadows On A Windmills Wall, you get the sense that Jim Sarkissian wasn’t trying to make a hit—he was telling his truth. And honestly, isn’t that what great art should do?
Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I need to go listen to “Crying Day” again…
