An exquisite, emotionally layered pivot from guitar prodigy to chamber-pop auteur
If Madison Cunningham wanted to prove that mastery doesn’t mean standing still, Ace is her most eloquent argument yet. Trading her signature guitar-led arrangements for a lush, orchestral soundscape, Cunningham has crafted her most vulnerable and ambitious work to date — a record that dares to be softer, deeper, and more emotionally revealing.
Following her Grammy-winning 2022 album Revealer — a sharp, dynamic showcase of technical chops and lyrical precision — Ace arrives as something altogether more fragile and cinematic. The guitar is still there, but its role is reimagined. In its place? A palette of piano, strings, and woodwinds that wrap each song in intimacy and intention.
A Personal and Artistic Unraveling
Written in the aftermath of a relationship’s slow collapse and amid a period of creative writer’s block, Ace plays like an emotional autopsy — graceful, at times restrained, but never cold. If Revealer introduced us to a woman in control of every note, Ace shows us someone who’s learning to let go.
“This is the first record that felt like mine from start to finish,” Cunningham has said. That’s not just about songwriting credits — it’s a statement of emotional ownership. She’s less concerned with showcasing musical dexterity and more focused on communicating raw, vulnerable truths.
From Guitar God to Chamber-Pop Architect
Cunningham’s pivot to piano as her primary writing instrument is central to Ace’s DNA. Songs like “Shore” and “Wake” (a breathtaking collaboration with Robin Pecknold of Fleet Foxes) unfold like dream sequences: soft piano lines drift through misty strings, while her voice — always measured, always emotionally precise — guides us through grief, reflection, and recovery.
But don’t mistake softness for simplicity. The time signature flips, the harmonic complexity, the chord voicings — they’re all still there. This is still Madison Cunningham. Only now, she’s inviting us into her living room instead of playing to the back of the auditorium.
On “Skeletree”, one of the record’s sharpest moments, she sings:
“Something’s got to give / I don’t trust what you say
But I’ve come to lose my faith in everyone.”
It’s a line that cuts twice — once with its bitterness, then with its clarity. And it’s that tension — between confrontation and collapse — that defines the album’s emotional center.
Track Highlights
- “Wake” (feat. Robin Pecknold): A quietly devastating ballad with layered harmonies and orchestral swells. Cunningham and Pecknold’s voices blend like fading light through fog.
- “Mummy”: Lyrically one of her most personal — exploring family dynamics, shame, and identity. The string arrangements are haunting without being overbearing.
- “My Full Name”: Perhaps the album’s most immediately accessible track, though some critics saw it as overly straightforward. Still, it provides a moment of levity in an otherwise emotionally heavy sequence.
- “Beyond That Moon”: A slow-burner that channels ‘70s soft rock in the best way, echoing Joni Mitchell’s Blue in both tone and thematic reach.
Why Ace Matters
A great album doesn’t just show you where an artist is — it shows you where they might go next. Ace is a turning point for Cunningham, one that places her alongside the likes of Weyes Blood, Julia Holter, or even Paul Simon in his Hearts and Bones era — artists who understand that maturity often sounds like restraint.
This album isn’t about being flashy. It’s about building a world around a feeling. In that sense, Ace is both a breakup album and a personal renaissance. It’s Madison Cunningham saying: here’s what’s left after everything else falls away — and here’s what I can build from that.
Verdict
9/10
A graceful evolution. Ace redefines Madison Cunningham not as a guitar prodigy, but as one of this generation’s most emotionally intelligent songwriters. It’s not just a great record — it’s a brave one.
