Every universe begins with a singular point, a quiet corner where instinct speaks loudest, where existential imagination can stretch its limbs. For acclaimed harpist and songwriter Mikaela Davis’ new album, Graceland Way (due April 24th via Kill Rock Stars), that singularity was a hillside home in Chevy Chase Canyon on the titular street, a spot nestled in Los Angeles County where time slowed, the world fell away, and Davis could create from a sense of warmth and passion. Graceland Way is the product of weeks spent watching dusk settle over the hills, encircled by the totemic presence of the studio’s pet black cat: the ever-watchful Bubu, a symbol of witchy good luck and quiet protection. The “canyon country” epic born of that work ties a neo-western future back to the lineage of Laurel Canyon, the mythos of Elvis’s Graceland, and Paul Simon’s restless reinvention. And across that grand sweep, Graceland Way explores the fragile humanity-defining balance of light and dark, grace and struggle, rose and thorn, as well as the mystical power found at their nexus.    The precise origin of Davis’ musical big bang comes in the form of Glendale’s UHF Studio, home of producer/bassist Dan Horne. Davis’ other trusted collaborator in the process was noted guitarist John Lee Shannon. The trio co-produced Graceland Way, a cozy braintrust that made the songs flow intuitively. “The studio was in Dan’s house, and we would just stay for a couple of weeks and work when the spirit moved us,” she explains. “It was a really fun way to work, and the best part was having Bubu there. He’s our best friend.”   Graceland Way also marks the debut of the Davis-Shannon songwriting partnership, the pair finding the album's message as her harp, his guitar, and their joint melodies unfurled. “The songs were written from our personal experience, but together they tell the arc of humanity,” she says. “The album tells the story of a character that any listener can identify with.” That’s immediately evident from the opening track “(Looking Through) Rose Colored Glasses”; after opening with a harp glissando burst reminiscent of being burst through a blissful wormhole, the track sets the listener out on a journey into the unknown after being jilted by a lover. “Throwing pennies in an empty fountain/ Rainbows in the dark/ Pulling petals from a dying flower/ A sudden change of heart,” she sings, the dark Western tones aided by Kurt G. Johnson’s pedal steel guitar and transformative harmonies from guest vocalists Madison Cunningham and Tim Heidecker. (“I love Madison. She's one of my favorite songwriters,” Davis says. “I feel like I found my Emmylou.”) But even in this pained origin story, Davis’ glittering, opalescent voice and evocative harp find a depth of beauty.