Well. I’ve been a little blindsided during my research for this record.
My overwhelming, initial impression upon first listen, was that of an exceptionally accomplished group of musicians weaving complementary guitar lines through a selection of foot stomping barn stormers. I’ve subsequently discovered that the band currently consists only of the brothers Robinson and Sven Pipien on bass (who research suggests doesn’t even play on this album), implying that all this glorious, twisting guitar, as well as the bass, was performed by Rich Robinson alone. So, I now need to write a rather different review!
The Crowes have now been ploughing their vintage tinted furrow for longer than the period between their inspiration’s heyday and their own first release. Which. I guess goes to show that if you can keep doing what you’re doing, you can surpass any allegations of imitation and simply become the real deal.
A Pound of Feathers sets out its stall from the off with opener Profane Prophecy. A greasy, sleazy guitar line that would make Keith Richards proud ensnares some typically charismatic lyrics from Chris Robinson, sounding here in fine form indeed. His voice as rich and comforting as the finest bourbon. Also, Cowbell!
Cruel Streak follows, bringing more bass, more groove and a Zeppelin-esque swagger that no doubt will please superfan Jimmy Page.
Another stand out for me was closer Doomsday Doggerel. Rounding out the album in a darker, swampier manner, conjuring the sweat soaked, fecund mysteries of the Georgia swamplands, pregnant with both poison and possibility.
After 40 years of fights, fuck ups and fornication, it’s safe to say that the Black Crowes have earned their place in the pantheon of Rock ‘n’ roll greats. Put this on, tap your foot and dream of dancing by the bayou.
Best paired with: A second guitarist!
Reviewed by Jake.
A Pound of feathers by the black crowes is out now on silver arrow.
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