May, recorded at various times in Harpenden, England, is Richard Youngs’ newest solo meditation. His music is magical, but not in the sense that it merely conjures up fantastical imagery or “transports the listener to another place”. None of that is really happening. Richard Youngs’ spell lies in the transformative qualities of his music. From so little we get so much. It is minimalism without pretense, songwriting that abhors artifice. It resides in the spiritual nexus between the oft disparate realms of traditional folk and the avant-garde. Following in the same spirit of his more celebrated solo works, Advent (1990), Sapphie (1998) and Making Paper (2001), May is, like Sapphie, just acoustic guitar and Richard Youngs’ voice. Like the others it has an unmistakable “drone-like” quality that has, over time, become one of Youngs’ trademarks. But what sets May apart is that it is almost a conventional record; six songs, just over 36 minutes, no song over 8 minutes. If you listen carefully enough to the plaintive, stripped-down and gentle rumbling of the songs on May (and squint hard enough), you can almost discern a semblance of verse-chorus-verse structure. And, for sure, May derives much of its glory from the traditional and the hymnal. If there is a “psych” or “trance-like” quality to Youngs’ music, it is charged only by internal endorphines, nature