"William Blackart, one of Arkansas' most criminally under-exposed and great songwriting talents."
“Next up was Arkansas native William Blackart, whose songwriting style and voice from the gravelly-bottom reminded me of summer evenings around a campfire and a game of pass the guitar/pass the bottle. This vision became manifest when he actually did start passing a bottle. He played a tune called “The Great Deception”, filled with the familiar melancholy that seemed to echo the great Townes Van Zandt, and followed it by saying “I think I’ll play a slow one.” Irony. Self-deprecating humor. Haunting songs, old-timey sentiment. In that place between “the nighttime and the dawn”, a perfectly lovely evening.”
“William Blackart plays lo-fi folk that's a little bit haunting . . .”
"His voice ... was rough and emotive, weatherbeaten, framed by the hypnotic, spare music. At times merciless, at times loaded down with all the dusty despair of Steinbeck, the stories he told were poetic and captivating, as substantive as literature."
"When Blackart takes the stage, you'll see he hasn't abandoned his punk origins. Jutting out of his stoic, straight-up folk songs are remnants of his musical past. There's an edge to the music: Blackart's gravelly voice, the violent shifts in melody, tempo and tone."
"William Blackart brings a haunting, desolate sincerity to his scratchy-throated acoustic ballads. An Arkansas native, Blackart injects a southern folk-punk twist into territory explored by lo-fi country, Chuck Ragan, Lucero, and Bruce Springsteen on his album Nebraska."