Archive for critic’s picks

critic’s pick 244: george harrison, ‘the apple years 1968-75′

appleyearsIn 2004, we were presented with The Dark Horse Years 1976-1992, a box set collection that gathered five studio albums and a tentative sounding concert recording that followed George Harrison through a period of commercial and critical rebirth. A fascinating but uneven set, the package left one looming question unanswered – specifically, why wasn’t the initial music Harrison created during the aftermath of The Beatles not given equal attention?

A full decade later comes the reply. The Apple Years 1968-75 serves up Harrison’s first six solo recordings – two experimental instrumental sets and four “proper” albums, one of which has long been sorely underappreciated – to showcase a spiritually imbued sense of pop songcraft.

The instrumental records, Wonderwall Music (1968) and Electronic Sound (1969), have long been dismissed as indulgences. But the former is a real sleeper, a musical kaleidoscope grounded in Eastern instrumentation and inspiration that regularly spins off into a variety of Western pop accents. It is a far more inviting listen today than the primitive analog synthesizer mischief of Electronic Sound (initially released on the short lived Apple offshoot label Zapple).

We won’t spend much time here on Harrison’s first song-oriented record, All Things Must Pass (1970) other than to say to it remains the finest solo album ever issued by a Beatle. Comprised largely of music ignored or unfinished during the Beatles’ final sessions, it is a majestic work in terms of sound, execution and intent. It belongs in everyone’s record collection.

Living in the Material World (1973) sounds as conflicted today as All Things Must Pass sounds resolute. Its appeal is strong, but the spiritual connections seem more obtuse and weighty at times (as in The Light That Has Lighted the World). But there are stunners here, too, like the achingly beautiful awakening anthem Try Some Buy Some and the comparatively whimsical title tune.

In some ways, Dark Horse (1974) is equally stilted, but its sound is looser and leaner. That underscores the hapless domestic upheaval of Simply Sadie and the learned bliss of Far East Man. Unfortunately the scorched vocals of the title song would surface again on a critically lambasted tour to promote the record, Harrison’s only North American concert trek as a solo artist.

If The Apple Years succeeds in nothing else, it helps reintroduce Extra Texture (Read All About It), Harrison’s curiously titled 1975 swansong record for the Apple label. Dismissed as readily as the tour that preceded it, the record is a delight from the start of the brightly orchestrated pop of You to a series of light soul-savvy reveries that culminate in the playful His Name is Legs. The record places the secular and spiritual concerns of Harrison’s music in animated balance to close out The Apple Years in a state of hapless harmony.

critic’s pick 243: lucinda williams, ‘down where the spirit meets the bone’

LUCINDA-BONE_0001If you ever had the desire to simply glide into the ocean of joy and misery that is the music of Lucinda Williams, her new Down Where the Spirit Meets the Bone album offers an immediate one-way ticket.

A two disc, 20-song, 1 ¾ hour opus, the recording explores in gloriously unrelenting detail the narrow bonds between love and loss and then colors them with loose, jangly Americana jams that feature such masterful guitar stylists as Bill Frisell, Greg Leisz and others. Topping it all is Williams herself and that worn, morning-after voice that sounds alternately battered, hopeful and defiant.

There is a fairly elemental song structure to many of the tunes on Down Where the Spirit

Meets the Bone. It presents Williams as a kind of fact checker that lists the numerous reasons for her particular mindset of vengeance or vulnerability. Take the boozy guitar lament Cold Day in Hell, which catches Williams in an especially unforgiving mood. “Before you trust me again, before you use me again, before I lust for you again, it’ll be….” That, of course, is where the title comes in.

Similar in design, but not intent, is Protection, a cautionary affirmation of a woman “traveling thru the world with dedication” as she seeks shelter from the enemies of love righteousness, good, kindness and, of course, love.

At times. the rants, confessions and meditations peppering the record turn topically political (West Memphis) or richly allegorical (Something Wicked This Way Comes). During When I Look at the World, however, the brilliant duality that has long distinguished Williams’ best music comes to bear. The singer outlines a litany of abuses (“I’ve been been lost, I’ve been turned away, I’ve paid the cost and there’s been hell to pay”). But the song, in essence, is a prayer when its world view becomes less self involved (“I look at the world and it’s a different story”).

Down Where the Spirit Meets the Bone bookends all this introspection and outward hope with two powerful tributes. The opening Compassion is written around a poem by the singer’s father, Miller Williams, which provides the album with its title. A plea for understanding (“Have compassion for everyone you meet, even if they don’t want it”), Compassion is performed as a stark, unaccompanied spiritual. The record ends with a gorgeous cover of J.J. Cale’s Magnolia, which Williams performs as a eulogy before the chiming guitar harmonies of Frisell and Leisz take flight.

How curious. Compassion suggests deep rooted conflict even amid tenderness (“You do not know what wars are going on down where the spirit meets the bone”). But Magnolia almost unwillingly surrenders to love and remembrance, asserting yet another blissful way Williams looks at the world.

critic’s picks 242: mike auldridge, jerry douglas and rob ickes, ‘three bells’ ; the earls of leicester, ‘the earls of leicester’

three bellsOn his own, Jerry Douglas has revolutionized the repertoire of the wiry resonator guitar known as the dobro, taking the resulting music down unexpected jazz and Americana side roads.

But within a band or collaborative context, the one-time Lexingtonian has favored the instrument’s most familiar setting – bluegrass. Of course, it helps that two of his most visible affiliations – a groundbreaking ‘70s stay with JD Crowe and the New South and his current tenure with Alison Krauss and Union Station – have approached bluegrass with the same expansive thinking in terms of style and direction that Douglas has brought to the dobro.

Two simultaneously released new Douglas-led recordings explore such stylistic extremes. Three Bells is a summit with two other dobro journeymen, Mike Auldridge and Rob Ickes. The self-titled debut of The Earls of Leicester, as the title perhaps doesn’t immediately imply, embraces the bluegrass legacy of Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs.

Three Bells is something of a destiny record, one with an urgency underscored by the fact that Auldridge was battling cancer during the 2012 recording sessions. He died three months after their conclusion.

There is no rhythm section or additional accompaniment of any kind on the record’s 11 tracks. On paper, that might seem like a static game plan, but Three Bells exudes all kinds of rich, acoustic color.

The opening cover of Silver Threads Among the Gold is beautifully conversational in its casual tradeoff of lead melodies and subtle, percussive rhythms while The Three Bells, a 1959 country hit for The Browns with roots that stem to Edith Piaf and the Andrews Sisters, possesses pining instrumental harmony full of light, efficient expression.

earls of leicesterThe Earls of Leicester, on the other hand, stands as one of the most traditionally minded adventures of Douglas’ largely progressive career. A cross-generational band made up of Douglas contemporaries (mandolinist Tim O’Brien, Union Station bandmate/bassist Barry Bales, fiddler Johnny Warren), a distinguished elder (veteran Nashville banjoist Charlie Cushman) and a youthful frontman (guitarist/vocalist Shawn Camp), the Earls freshen 14 staples from the Flatt & Scruggs canon, from the robust dobro/vocal holler of Big Black Train that opens out into banjo-led merriment to the gorgeous gospel eulogy of the album-closing Who Will Sing For Me.

Two dobro spirits pervade these records. Auldridge obviously guides Three Bells with a quiet desire for widening the instrument’s stylistic scope, a skill long mirrored in the solo recordings of Douglas and Ickes. What an outstanding victory lap this album is for such a mammoth career.

On The Earls of Leicester, the silent pilot is the late Josh Graves, the dobro giant that drove Flatt & Scruggs’ greatest records and served as Douglas’ foremost formative influence. How epic it is to hear Graves’ royal inspiration edging on such dutiful subjects.

critic’s pick 340: robert plant, ‘lullaby… and the ceaseless roar’

Robert-Plant-lullaby-and-The-Ceaseless-Roar_638One hardcore Led Zeppelin pal confessed to me after Robert Plant’s continued and steadfast refusal to follow the band’s 2007 London reunion with a full tour that the singer was “dead to me now.”

Undoubtedly many Zep-a-holics share similar sentiments. But if there was ever a nail in the reunion’s coffin, Plant’s fascinating new solo album, lullaby and… The Ceaseless Roar, is it. The work is a lush psychedelic-world music mash-up of an album. Curiously, it also reflects upon almost every musical step Plant has taken up to this point, including several with the mighty Zep. But the fabric of lullaby is so thrilling and new that no one is going to mistake it even remotely for a retro ride.

Though comprised mostly of new songs Plant penned with his two year old Sensational Shape Shifters band, lullaby begins with a parting shot to the Americana, folk and blues inspirations that dominated his 2007 multi-platinum Raising Sand with Alison Krauss and his Band of Joy followup in 2010. But the album-opening treatment of the bluegrass/country classic Little Maggie is tossed to another country altogether.

Percolating banjo from Liam “Skin” Tyson, a returnee from Plant’s 2005 Strange Sensation band, meets the brittle but wildly emotive playing on the single string African fiddle known as the ritti by a Gambian griot by the name of Juldeh Camara. Then the banjo runs seamlessly turn into electric beats, the light percussive shuffle of Dave Smith begins to flirt with loops and the melody that was once distinctly American becomes a jig on a dance floor located somewhere between Ireland and Mali.

And what of Plant, you ask? He sings with a meditative whisper throughout, as if engaging with spirits worldly and otherwordly. His multi-tracked moans effectively become an ultra-spooky, Zep-friendly chieftain in a global séance. I was so taken with Little Maggie that I must have listened to it five times before giving the rest of lullaby a chance. That’s when the Shape Shifters’ own material takes over and the album’s true riches are revealed.

Pocketful of Golden initially suggests some of the trippier moments from Zep’s Houses of the Holy before blooming into a blissful Eastern sweep while Somebody There brings Plant’s musical past beautifully into the Shape Shifters expansive pop present.

Not all of the global inspirations are African and Eastern, however. House of Love moves along with a rippling guitar drone that could pass for the work of King Crimson founder Robert Fripp while the techno/worldbeat boom that gooses Plant’s singing during Turn It Up brings the recent recordings of Peter Gabriel to mind.

It all makes lullaby an ultra-cool global party album that reaches across cultures and generations alike.

critic’s pick 336: the allman brothers band, ‘the 1971 fillmore east recordings’

abbfillmoreeast“Hope this comes out pretty good,” utters Duane Allman at the onset of The 1971 Fillmore East Recordings. We’re cutting our third album here tonight.”

Yeah, it came out pretty good, alright. Roughly three months after the March 1971 performances the guitarist and the rest of the Allman Brothers Band gave at Bill Graham’s historic music hall, the recorded results surfaced as The Allman Brothers Band at Fillmore East. The album broke the ensemble’s career wide open, further heightened Allman’s already heroic status as a generation-defining guitar stylist and expanded the scope of blues, rock and jazz directed jam bands everywhere.

What The 1971 Fillmore East Recordings does is gather all the available source material that went into the original album – specifically, four full sets performed over two nights – along with the equivalent of an encore, a June 1971 show that served as the final concert staged before the Fillmore East’s closing. All of that is spread over six discs to construct a remarkably comprehensive overview of one of rock ‘n’ roll’s truly landmark concert recordings.

First, let’s explore the surprises. All of the new edition’s first disc and most of the second consist of previously unreleased music. What is especially distinctive here is that an already expanded ABB (fleshed out by harmonica ace Thom Doucette and percussionist Bobby Caldwell) is further augmented by saxophonist Rudolph “Juicy” Carter on co-guitarist Dickey Betts’ heavily jazz-inspired instrumental In Memory of Elizabeth Reed and three other tunes. Carter’s contributions don’t so much offer new insights to these recordings as simply a fresh perspective. He was dismissed from the Fillmore engagement’s final March evening.

The rest of the The 1971 Fillmore East Recordings gathers material initially issued on 1972’s Eat a Peach and the 1992 double-CD The Fillmore Concerts. Those recordings summarize the Allmans at their best, from Berry Oakley’s whiplash bass intro to Whipping Post to Allman’s jubilant slide guitar intro to Statesboro Blues to younger brother Gregg Allman’s bluesy, boozy vocal lead on One Way Out. And that says nothing of the wild ensemble groove that fuels the 35 minute Mountain Jam.

The final disc, originally issued as a bonus on the 2006 reissue of Eat a Peach, is a monster. Performed without any guests, the band rips through essentially the same set of tunes featured on the earlier discs but with noticeably greater cohesion and confidence. The nearly five minute guitar and percussion coda capping Whipping Post is a gorgeous, formless cooldown that underscores the Allmans’ sense of invention at the time.

Taken as a whole, this is a lavish and perhaps even indulgent embellishment of a classic album. Mostly, though, The 1971 Fillmore East Recordings makes a watershed rock ‘n’ roll moment in time sound more alive, vital and complete than ever before.

crtic’s pick 334: eric johnson, “europe live”

Eric-Johnson-Europe-Live-300x300Eric Johnson has long been something of a musical amalgamation. Within his guitar playing, you hear the deft picking that a Nashville classicist like Chet Atkins might give a nod to, the kind of thunderous drive that brings to mind the more fusion friendly records of Jeff Beck and suggestions of blues spirits like Stevie Ray Vaughan that emanate from the same Texas base of operations as Johnson – namely, Austin.

Still, slip on Europe Live, a true sleeper of a summer concert recording, and you will discover he doesn’t really sound like anything of those giants. Instead, Johnson is as inconspicuous as he is inventive. He has long shown zero interest in the hyped-up profile of the modern day guitarslinger. Instead, Johnson remains the master of his own universe, an expanse where he can play with the fluidity of a country vet, the precision of a fusion pro and the passion of a bluesman. Now, squeeze out the ego pinned to each of those personas and add together what’s left. What you have the comprehensive drive bolstering Johnson’s playing. And on Europe Live, that playing has never sounded finer.

Witness, for instance, Zenland and its brief prelude Intro. The muscle of the medley blasts off with a crackling riff that sounds like Mark Knopfler in full Money for Nothing mode. But the tune quickly tightens around a searing guitar line likely boosted by pedal effects. It’s a bold, rockish run Johnson establishes with the lean rhythm section of drummer Wayne Salzmann and bassist Chris Maresh riding shotgun. But you also don’t appreciate how a clean a player Johnson is until he pulls back and assumes the role of rhythm player with a few efficient jabs that emphasize a surprising lightness to the trio. Such are the dynamics that make Europe Live a delight.

Some of the tunes are fairly recent, like the brief but beefy instrumental Fatdaddy, a romp that recalls Beck’s unrelenting fusion records despite the music’s initially country-esque tone. It’s a serving of great trio cunning that plays at full throttle with maximum efficiency. In under three minutes, the whole wild ride is complete.

Other works, like the Grammy winning Cliffs of Dover, are nearly 25 years old. But the way the tune coalesces out of spiraling guitar lines into a roadhouse groove sounds positively ageless.

The album’s lone excess is a fairly pedestrian drum solo from Saltzman that derails the otherwise engaging electric swing behind John Coltrane’s Mr. P.C. Outside of that, Europe Live is an unassuming summer treat – a live album by a guitarist that has long prided himself on being a studio perfectionist. Then again, the liberating feel one senses in Johnson’s playing is just a single highpoint from one of the year’s most complete and robust guitar rock adventures.

critic’s pick 331: john hiatt, ‘terms of my surrender’

JohnHiatt-TermsOfMySurrender“I guess we all have dreams floating on feathers,” remarks John Hiatt near the end of Terms of My Surrender in a song of separation titled Come Back Home. It’s a sentiment both passive and deflating, a shadow from the darker side of a songwriting psyche with a front row seat to the human condition. Color that with the low, scorched tone of his singing and the light, rustic tone of the instrumentation and you have a portrait of the 21t century Hiatt at work.

Well, you have one portrait. Hiatt may sound like he belongs to an elder school of hard knocks on Terms of My Surrender. But, as has always been the case with his recordings – especially the remarkable string of nine albums he has issued over the last 15 years – Hiatt wears the comedic mask as much as the tragic one. Two songs earlier, on Here to Stay, brittle guitars sway in bluesy simpatico preaching romantic salvation and familial faith in the face of desolation (“Even your pride is gonna leave you; my love is here to stay”). And in a wily instance of roots-rock diplomacy called Baby’s Gonna Kick, Hiatt takes a whimsical pass at domestic distrust that is revealed when the title’s full intent unfolds in the chorus (“My baby is gonna kick me out someday”).

Such are the peripheral glances of domesticity that Hiatt serves up throughout Terms Of My Surrender. The wiry, rootsy backdrops Hiatt designs with producer/guitarist Doug Lancio nicely compliment all the emotional fence-straddling, too. But even within that context, the album offers a few surprises.

When the troubled skies clear for the baby talk parlor piece Marlene, Hiatt and Lancio create a light, summery sing-a-long. Then during the title tune to Terms of My Surrender, the sound turns to slow jazz while the mood becomes whimsical enough for Hiatt to summon a truly distinctive metaphor for the lovelorn (“my heart is so heavy, like a stack of Bibles”).

Still, the sound and imagery permeating the record suggest the blues. Hiatt began leaning more prevalently in that direction with 2008’s Same Old Man. But on the new album’s most arresting tune, Face of God, Hiatt gets worldly (perhaps even otherworldly) with a brittle acoustic meditation that strives to find the balance between earthy suffering and spiritual release.

Nothin’ I Love is a more earthbound reverie with a dirty, dirty, dirty guitar riff and a sense of playful confession fit for a priest (“I keep-a slink-slack-slidin’ down a slippery slope”).

Ever since Bring the Family redefined his career over 25 years ago, Hiatt has sounded remarkably at home in the well worn skin he calls home. While the stories on Terms of My Surrender aren’t autobiographical, they are told with enough crusty, curmudgeon-ly zeal to make Hiatt the master of all the bliss and wreckage before him.

critic’s pick 329: bobby hutcherson, david sanborn and joey defrancesco, ‘enjoy the view’ and bobby hutcherson, ‘total eclipse’

enjoy the viewThe recordings vibraphonist Bobby Hutcherson cut for Blue Note play out like a jazz encyclopedia. He relished the hard bop of the label’s ‘50s and ‘60s heyday but eventually experimented with post-bop, free-jazz and, increasingly, contemporary grooves of the late ‘60s up through 1977 when he defected from the label.

This summer, Hutcherson is back with Blue Note for recordings representing two different eras. The first is Enjoy the View, a new collaborative record cut with saxophone star David Sanborn and organist/trumpeter Joey DeFrancesco with strong support from drummer Billy Hart. The other is a vinyl-only reissue of the 1968 album Total Eclipse made at the height of Hutcherson’s post-bop period.

The near-simultaneous release of both recordings is part of a celebration honoring the Blue Note’s 75th anniversary. That makes the label two years older than Hutcherson himself.

Hutcherson has formed a number of strong saxophone alliances through the years. While the one with Sanborn is new, the two create a cool, immediate simpatico over the loose groove Hart designs on Delia (a Sanborn composition from 2003). The relationship between the vibraphonist and DeFrancesco is equally tasteful (the two were bandmates for roughly a decade), as evident by the pair’s calm, conversational turns on Don Is, a new DeFrancesco tune named after current Blue Note chieftain Don Was.

It should be noted that Sanborn, who has long ties to the smooth jazz world, checks his slicker profile at the door on Enjoy the View. For Hey Harold, a 1971 tune Hutcherson initially cut with tenor sax great Harold Land, Sanborn’s playing reflects a soulful immediacy that has always been on display in performance but appears less frequently in his recorded work.

total eclipseThe late Land lives again on the reissue of Total Eclipse. The recording was the first collaboration between the saxophonist and Hutcherson, who was in a period of considerable artistic transition at the time of these sessions.

While the opening Herzog is full of the swift, agile bop that defined his classic albums from earlier in the decade, the title tune is a luxurious but substantial post-bop work distinguished by two elegant solos presented one after the other by Land and Hutcherson with a young Chick Corea offering a third that is full of stoic grace.

Pompian, which places Land on flute and Hutcherson briefly on marimba, flirts with waltz patterns and subsequent dissonance but also hints at the more modern turns and exchanges the two would embark on in the future (especially on 1970’s exquisite San Francisco, a record that screams for a reissue).

Here, though, Total Eclipse becomes a beautiful though restless portrait of a young jazz spirit that shines with mature contentment on Enjoy the View.

critic’s picks 328: the led zeppelin reissues

ledzeppelinRecommending a listen to the new reissues of Led Zeppelin’s first three albums is like endorsing a look at a restored Picasso. The art at hand was revolutionary to begin with. Now, both figuratively and literally, it is even more so.

The leg up Led Zeppelin has in what might seem an obligatory reissue campaign is considerable. Jimmy Page, the band’s pioneering guitarist, doubled as producer of these initial recordings. He has also overseen the remastering process, which provides especially vivid detail to the acoustic passages of 1970’s Led Zeppelin III and makes the spaced out interplay of the majestic Dazed and Confused (from Led Zeppelin II) sound like a true trip into the cosmos. But it is with the bonus “companion” discs of unreleased material now accompanying each recording that Page hits serious paydirt.

In the case of II (the second of two 1969 albums) and III, he has patched together a scrapbook of rough mixes, blueprint versions and alternate mixes of songs fans have known by heart most of their lives. The results are similar in intent to what the Beatles did nearly 20 years ago with their Anthology series. There is little by way of actual unearthed songs. But these works-in-progress act like liked a guided tour through one of rock ‘n’ roll’s most formidable catalogs.

Whole Lotta Love, the breakthrough hit from II, is presented as a live sounding beast with little studio embellishment. Even Page’s frenzied squeals come with minimal trickery, sounding like atomic duck calls as a result. But the charge provided when drummer John Bonham kicks the band back into gear after a trippy interlude is pure, handmade fury.

At the other extreme is the isolated backing track to Thank You, which makes the song into a largely pastoral instrumental. With only drums and Page’s rhythm playing as a backdrop, the lead winds up in the organ colors of bassist John Paul Jones, who makes the mighty Zeppelin sound like the more contemplative Traffic.

The companion disc for III digs a bit deeper. Immigrant Song is presented with the same unadorned clarity as Whole Lotta Love, while Friends is served as a raga-like instrumental. Then the surprises emerge.

We recognize in the guttural shuffle of Bathroom Sound the root of what would emerge on the finished album as Out on the Tiles just as Jennings Farm Blues is a jam-style predecessor to Bron-Yr-Aur Stomp. Page’s acoustic medley of the blues chestnuts Key to the Highway and Trouble in Mind with vocalist Robert Plant serve as a loose, cryptic coda.

The companion disc to Led Zeppelin’s self-titled debut album differs in design to offer the biggest treat of the batch – a 70-plus minute concert recording from Paris’ Olympia Theatre that represents – especially in the electric folk frenzy Page triggers on a medley of White Summer and Black Mountain Side – the performance abandon Led Zeppelin embraced when it fled the studio and hit the heavens.

critc’s pick 327: joe henry, ‘invisible hour’

Joe-Henry-Invisible-Hour“It wasn’t peace I wanted,” sings Joe Henry at the onset of his quietly fantastical new album Invisible Hour. “So it wasn’t peace I found.”

Such rumination could be said of his entire career. A one-time Americana ambassador, avant-pop stylist and go-to producer (whose clients have ranged from Allen Toussaint to Mose Allison), Henry has shed musical skin with nearly every recording, moving from alt-country confessionals to scorched abstractions with storylines as expansive as they are impenetrable.

Invisible Hour is perhaps the most relaxed and subdued of Henry’s 13 albums. The theme that binds its 11 songs together is love, which might not seem like much of a revelation. But the vantage points these songs take possession of are what make the recording so arresting.

Conventional pop thinking dictates that modern love songs approach their subject matter from one of two extremes – the seemingly blissful sense of discovery that marks the beginning of a relationship or the scorn and unfaithfulness that trigger its demise and inevitable fallout. Henry has taken the middle ground to explore love both a constant and a mystery. In other words, Invisible Hour‘s unifying topic is marriage.

Then again, the record isn’t some guidebook to domesticity either. There is gospel imagery at work on the album-opening Sparrow (“my eye is on the sparrow, but she looks the other way”) as well as a reference to the end of days. Not exactly lovey dovey stuff. Yet love endures (“I wait for one grave angel and I know she waits for me”). That, of course, leads into a song called Grave Angels where two enjoined souls brave “love’s growling weather.”

Invisible Hour doesn’t address conflict directly, even though it never seems to be far at bay. “The loss of love one day may bear me out and away,” Henry sings later on the album. “But let’s be clear, my streaming volunteer, I want nothing more than you to see me now.” Somewhat ironically, the title to this open-ended ode is Plainspeak.

As always, the musical palette Henry chooses for his songs makes or breaks the mood. For Invisible Hour, the songs sound mostly like summer serenades. They utilize light, airy and patiently paced acoustic settings with subtle jazz colorings from son Levon Henry (on clarinets and saxophones), folk atmospherics from Greg Leisz and John Smith (on various guitars and mandolas) and subtle, otherworldly rhythm from one of the most distinctive drummers on the planet, Jay Bellerose.

Don’t mistake the results as some sort of valentine. Like love itself, the music of Invisible Hour is never obvious. But the mix of aloof contemplations and sunny soundscapes greatly freshen the perspective of modern love songs while embracing the indefinable emotions that summon them.

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