From riffmagazine.com on Native Sons:

Over the past four decades, few—if any—rock bands have evoked Los Angeles and Southern California as warmly or vividly as Los Lobos have. Of course, their SoCal is not the SoCal of, say, The Beach Boys or ’80s hair metal. It’s not catching waves, having fun-fun-fun in the T-Bird your dad bought you, or partying on the Sunset Strip. Instead, it’s more like guys walking along street medians and selling oranges. Or lying in bed at night and hearing an LAPD chopper flying overhead. Or being stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic on I-5. Or cracking open a beer and chilling out on your porch after a long work week.

The L.A. that David Hidalgo and his bandmates celebrate is the one occupied by the multiethnic lower-middle-class. That L.A. comes through as warmly and vividly as ever on the band’s latest album, Native Sons.

Composed of 12 covers and one original song, the LP pays tribute both to Los Lobos’ musical influences and to the city they call home. The covers may not sound too different than the original versions, but that’s part of the point—these are the roots of this Mexican-American group’s roots-rock. It’s more than enough that this baker’s dozen lets Hidalgo and company flex their well-honed chops and have some fun with their gritty, yet romantic vision.

Native Sons kicks off with “Love Special Delivery,” a rumbling rocker from ’60s east L.A. Chicano group Thee Midniters. Cesar Rosas takes lead vocals and is clearly having a ball; you can hear the smile on his face as he belts out the tune. The raucous horns and frantic drumming encourage the listener to get in on the fun.

The twangy “Misery,” an R&B chestnut first recorded by Motown artist Barrett Strong, keeps the party vibe going thanks to a shuffling beat, some elegant guitar soloing, and David Hidalgo’s buttery croon. Some may quibble that Strong is more of a Detroit artist than an Angeleno—though Hidalgo points out in the liner notes that he moved to California, he cut this song well before that. Still, remember that line from “Double Indemnity:” “They say all native Californians come from Iowa.”

Next up is a Stephen Stills/Buffalo Springfield medley, “Bluebird/For What It’s Worth.” In the first song, Los Lobos do their inspiration one better thanks to the muscle in the rhythm section and Hidalgo’s tenor. On the second, Hidalgo makes the song’s political message fresh again by virtue of having written such socially conscious classics as “Will the Wolf Survive?” and “The Neighborhood.”

“Los Chucos Suaves” finds the band delving into east L.A. history. They rumba deftly through this 1940s zoot-suit anthem penned by Lalo Guerrero, commonly called the “Father of Chicano Music.” After that, Los Lobos make Jackson Browne’s winsome ballad “Jamaica Say You Will” sound right at home among their self-penned heart-tuggers. The tempo revs back up on “Never No More,” a jump blues tune from R&B crooner and Ray Charles songwriter Percy Mayfield. Steve Berlin’s honking saxophone, Phil Parlapiano’s cool keyboard and Jason Lozano’s swinging beat transport listeners back to Central Avenue in the 1940s.

The stately and soulful title tune—the sole Los Lobos original on the album—follows. Hidalgo pledges his everlasting love for his hometown, concrete rivers and all, over a lilting 6/8 beat and jangling guitars. As Steve Berlin says in the liner notes, “It kinda put everything in perspective, theme-wise.”

Los Lobos switch back to party mode with the garage-rock standard “Farmer John,” which is highlighted by Berlin’s raunchy sax solo and Rosas’ and Hidalgo’s joyous harmonies. A mellow take on Willie Bobo’s “Dichoso” cools things down before what might be the album’s greatest act of love and theft, a cover of the Beach Boys’ “Sail On Sailor.” The lyrics’ references to life’s turmoil hit so much harder coming from guys who’ve written about that turmoil more trenchantly than the Wilsons (or Mike Love) did.

The band then oozes its way through the brooding, agonized funk of WAR’s “The World is a Ghetto.” Searing wah-wah guitar lights up this track like fires from the 1965 or 1992 riots. The mood lightens from there with a loping version of The Blasters’ “Flat Top Joint.”

Native Sons closes with the bittersweet Chicano soul instrumental “Where Lovers Go.” Somehow, the steady rhythm, dreamy melody and soaring guitar solo sum up not just Native Sons but life in Los Lobos’ L.A.—the yearning, the anger, the sadness, the joy and the endurance.

From nme.com on For Free:

In recent interviews, 79-year-old Dave Crosby has been blunt when addressing mortality,  putting it as any gracefully ageing hippy might: “Man, I could have two weeks; I could have 10 years,” he told shock-jock Howard Stern. It’s something he’s had to come to terms with, having pulled through health issues including diabetes, a liver transplant and multiple heart attacks for good measure.

The icon who has given so much to music, including co-founding two bands who form part of the fabric of American culture – The Byrds and Crosby, Stills and Nash – has a refreshing outlook. “It’s not how much time you’ve got because we really don’t know,” he went on to say. “It’s what you do with the time that you have. I’m trying to really spend it well. I’m very grateful for each day that I get and I try to do it making music because I think the world needs music.”

The beauty behind this sentiment courses through ‘River Rise’, the sun-soaked opener to his seventh solo studio album, which begins with Crosby’s sweet, gentle vocal atop plaintive piano. It’s a pensive and poignant love letter to his native California, capturing his ‘seize the day’ ethos. The track steadily builds into a grand soul healer as he sings, with true abandon, “Let the clock run out / Don’t care about it / Not today.”

Though there’s little ground he hasn’t covered in his six-decade career so far, from societal and political issues to love and grief, this record is among his most beautiful and reflective works yet. ‘I Think I’ toils with a sensation of feeling lost and coming through the other end: “There’s no instructions / And no map / No secret way past the trap / It’s so confusing I keep losing my way.” The lyrics will make sense to anyone familiar with Crosby’s journey; he’s spent a hefty chunk of his life battling drug and alcohol addiction.

Despite his candidly addressing some of these harrowing topics, there’s incredible warmth and soul-searching joy throughout. The likes of ‘The Other Side Of Midnight’ show an artist at the highest level staying true to his early vision; the song features the signature intricate finger picking style he’s well-recognised for (and which old age is slowly taking from him due to tendonitis in both hands).

As he has throughout his career, Crosby leans on friends and loved ones for this treasure-packed album. The artwork is a portrait painted by Joan Baez and he’s enlisted his son James Raymond on production duties. Steely Dan’s Donald Fagen and Michael McDonald appear on the record, the latter’s writing shining brightly on ‘Rodriguez For A Night’, a swaggering jam depicting outlaws, angels and drugstore cowboys. It’s all too easy to see it clearing heads on a lazy Pyramid Stage at Glastonbury.

The most notable nod comes with the title track, a Joni Mitchell jewel Crosby’s returned to many times over the years. While he isn’t currently on the best of terms with the folk legend he dated in the ’60s, his respect for Mitchell’s artistry and songwriting remains paramount. “Joni’s the greatest living singer-songwriter,” he recently said, “and ‘For Free’ is one of her simplest.” The fragile piano ballad is very much a centrepiece of the record, a chance to take stock of Crosby’s vocal, which still sounds youthful and disarmingly open.

Somehow the record takes an even more moving and heartbreaking turn with ‘I Won’t Stay For Long’. A tear-jerker of a finale, it’s the unmistakable sound of a man nearing the end of his days, and while it was written by Raymond rather than Crosby, the singer gives each word profound magnitude: “I’m standing on the porch / Like it’s the edge of a cliff / Beyond the grass and gravel / Lies a certain abyss.” It’s as haunting as it is devastating before the track allows romantic optimism shine through: “If I could just remember the smell of your skin / Then I could live / I could breathe.” 

Crosby isn’t alone in delivering some of his most moving, sparse and poetic music in later life – in-fact he’s upholding a rich tradition, from Johnny Cash’s weathered and soulful ‘American IV’ to Leonard Cohen’s ‘You Want It Darker’, which broached death with humour and grace. Despite all he’s been through and some of the challenging themes on this record, Crosby isn’t always one to take life too seriously – he did, after all, spend lockdown rating his fans’ joint rolling abilities on Twitter.

This surge of creativity and zest for music is something we can all be grateful for, and hopefully there’s more to come – he’s said there are two more albums planned. If ‘For Free’ does prove a parting gift, it’s as fitting as any, an album that can only be made after a life lived. And it’s another glimmering triumph from the counterculture great.

Also see the reviews for the albums – David Crosby – Sky Trails and David Crosby – Lighthouse.

From glidemagazine.com on Downhill From Everywhere:

Jackson Browne sounds equally invigorated and self-assured on Downhill From Everywhere. Recalling his best work from the past in the most natural and unaffected ways, this fifteenth studio album of his extends a string of superb albums dating back to 2002’s The Naked Ride Home, all of which marks a return to form comparable to Bob Dylan’s in the late Nineties.

To that point, intentionally or not, a few notes in the beginning, middle and end of  “Still Looking For Something” echo the solemnity of “Before The Deluge” from Late For The Sky. Following closely on that opener, the unmistakable sound of slide guitar on “My Cleveland Heart” is an even more overt evocation of the early period of Browne’s career when stringed-instrument wizard David Lindley’s work mirrored Jackson’s own voice. Here it’s the uncannily simpatico musicianship of Greg Leisz, arguably as a sympathetic accompanist as his predecessor, if not more so.

The front man’s accompanists are comparably empathetic. Participating in a collaborative effort on par with the California poet laureate’s other splendid LP’s from early in the 2000’s Time The Conqueror and Standing in the Breach, guitarist Leisz appears alongside fretboard partner Val McCallum, bassist Bob Glaub, keyboardist Jeff Young and drummer Mauricio Lewak (who also participate in the songwriting here too). Just as crucially, however, via Browne’s own production, the shifting rosters of personnel invariably forge the unity of a bonafide band, details of the various bonds readily audible on cuts such as “Minutes to Downtown” through the clarity of the recordings (mostly by Kevin Smith, subsequently mastered by Gavin Lurssen and Rueben Cohen).

The corps of participating players and singers bring a slight reggae lilt to “Love Is Love,” but it’s a bit overly-familiar as a songwriting trope Browne’s used more than once in the past (i.e., his cover of Little Steven’s “I Am A Patriot” in 1989). Still, the tuneful repetition of the refrain, as well as counterpoint background harmonies courtesy vocalists Chavonne Stewart and Alethea Mills, turn the cut comforting even as its sequencing effectively begins the album all over again: the second half of Downhill From Everywhere reaffirms how Jackson Browne has mastered the art of uniting issues personal and political, then turning the dual meaning(s) universal (albeit not without some difficulty, circa 1986’s Lives in the Balance).

These ten tracks total are a template for that process, writ large beyond the litany of cultural touchstones—the NRA, the laptop, etc–within the number after which this record’s named. Likewise, on “The Dreamer,” Browne delves into the human issues behind immigration but, instead of preaching or proselytizing, turns the acoustic-based guitar motifs into part of the story he’s telling. In a very real sense, this expert songwriter/musician is updating his expansive world view as expressed on his second album, 1973’s For Everyman: in “Until Justice Is Real,” for instance, he furthers that apt comparison by asking rhetorical questions and, as a measure of his inherent self-awareness, brings urgency to the issues with a casual but specific reference to  The Pretender (‘…time like a fuse…burning shorter every day…’).

Always the most cautious of optimists, though, Jackson offers glimmers of faith in the future through the sly understatement on “A Little Soon to Say.” And even as the author speaks to our divisive times, he maintains a healthy sense of detachment by injecting some wry element(s) of humor into “A Song For Barcelona.” This eight and half-minute plus closing cut also allows the assembled musicians their most extended spotlights of the record and it’s not impossible to imagine the band’s focal point standing back to bask in the pleasure of what he’s hearing.

It’s fair to say most who listen to Downhill From Everywhere will experience a similar sensation—and more than just once.

From pitchfork.com on Exit Wounds:

During the alt-rock gold rush of the 1990s, the Wallflowers didn’t quite belong to the grunge or burgeoning Americana camps, but they benefited from the abundance of guitar bands. They arrived during the radio heyday of both Pearl Jam and Hootie & the Blowfish, so there was an audience primed for their strum-and-jangle. With its enduring singles “One Headlight,” “6th Avenue Heartache” and “The Difference,” 1996’s quadruple-platinum Bringing Down the Horse provided the foundation for frontman Jakob Dylan to lead various incarnations of the Wallflowers through lineup changes and extended hiatuses, negotiating slight shifts in fashion without abandoning the group’s adherence to the basic building blocks of rock’n’roll: guitar, bass, and drums, all given dimension by whirls of Hammond organ.

Exit Wounds, the group’s first album in nine years and only their seventh record in nearly 30, doubles down on these basics, offering an album that could in many ways have been released somewhere in the mid-1990s. Dylan is the only original member from the days of Bringing Down the Horse, so the consistency in sound and aesthetic is surprising. Revisiting old Wallflowers records makes it apparent how much he struggled with a desire to modernize their trad-rock to suit the times—2002’s Red Letter Days has a discernibly glassy electronic sheen—and his instinct to forge ahead on a well-trodden path.

No attempts to reckon with contemporary fashion are apparent on Exit Wounds. Working with a lineup he assembled toward the end of the 2010s, Dylan seems comfortable playing the same kind of highway ballads and Saturday afternoon rockers he’s been writing for decades. His voice bears slight leathery undertones that are highlighted by the Wallflowers’ soulful Americana, like in the opening track “Maybe Your Heart’s Not in It No More.” The song provides an ideal opening salvo for the record: the group’s confident groove is offset by Dylan’s modicum of middle-aged introspection, a sentiment that’s echoed through many of these songs. Dylan balances these moments of doubt with wry self-deprecation, a tendency that’s pushed to the forefront on “I’ll Let You Down (But Will Not Give You Up).” This blend gives his straight-ahead songs a slight lift. He’s arriving at familiar destinations through detours, not the main road.

Call it wisdom, call it maturity, but the depth of experience deepens the traditionalism of Dylan’s music; he’s grown into the clothes he’s been wearing all his life. To that end, he is assisted greatly by the production of Butch Walker, another old-school rock’n’roll lifer who knows which elements of Dylan’s music to accentuate. The leanness of Exit Wounds is a bit deceiving. It may sound unrushed but the simple, direct arrangements give the record a pulse of subdued energy. Keyboards soften the harder edges of the guitars, Americana singer Shelby Lynne provides harmonies throughout, and the rhythms are supple even when they’re straightforward. Every detail adds not only texture but also character.

None of Walker’s brushstrokes are surprising but they do accentuate Dylan’s personality. He’s got a slightly surly disposition that camouflages an open heart; it’s hard not to see his bruises when he sings “set myself on fire keeping you warm” on “Roots and Wings.” Like Tom Petty, Dylan prefers small gestures to grand statements, finding the emotional truth within a clever turn of phrase like “the dive bar in my heart.” This modesty has been one of Dylan’s gifts since the beginning, when he was attempting to write songs that felt like they’ve been kicked around for years. Now that he’s gotten some mileage under his belt, his songwriting feels sharp and his collaborators sound at ease. On Exit Wounds, the Wallflowers finally turn into the classic rock band they always ached to be.

From spillmagazine.com on McCartney III Imagined:

Say what you will about Paul McCartney, but he never does what is expected of him. Following the success of 2020’s McCartney III, McCartney has invited some very interesting artists to interpret the songs from that album. This is not a remix album, but a completely new take on each and every song.

McCartney has never been a stranger to writing songs for other artists, and his work has certainly been covered many times. But here he has basically turned his most recent work over to several artists and let them do what they want.

In some cases, the songs sound like good, old fashioned remixes. Beck’s version of “Find My Way” is a good example. It kicks off the album in fine style. While the original version had a sense of urgency to it, here, Beck kicks it up a notch and with some fine use of the bass line, bringing out the groove of the song. St. Vincent does something similar with her take on “Women And Wives”, but she adding guitar and vocals, bringing out interesting aspects that were not present in the original version.

The most drastic remix is courtesy EOB and his version of “Slidin’”. Here the song is a force, blasting out of the speakers and demanding one’s attention.  Phoebe Bridgers’ remake of “Seize The Day” is downright perfect.  She takes the song into a melancholy zone and enhances the meaning of the song. It is quite a wonderful remake and perhaps one of the best McCartney covers I have heard. Dominic Fike’s wonderful cover of “The Kiss Of Venus” is quite stunning and again, takes the song into zones maybe McCartney was not aware of when he was creating it himself.

There are other artists involved here, such as Damon Albarn, Khruangbin, Blood Orange, Anderson .Paak, 3D RDN and Josh Homme. Idris Elba even gets into the act and does a fine version of “Long Tailed Winter Bird” which is a little more interesting than Albarn’s remix.

McCartney took a great risk with this album. It could have been a disaster, or worse, boring. But, much like his Fireman projects, it is another crowning achievement in his ongoing career. After 60 years of recording music, McCartney still looks for new avenues in which to express his art.

McCartney III Imagined is more than a remix project, it is a reinterpretation. Here, the new versions create a whole new and distinct album, and one that sits comfortably aside with McCartney III.

See also the review for Paul McCartney – McCartney III.

From 100percentrock.com on Radio On!:

Lee Aaron is one of the original Metal Queens, having been at this game a long time.  While the musical tides have ebbed and flowed over the decade, make no mistake, she still has her finger on the pulse of the music she loves. Disc opener “Vampin’” comes in nice and slow, but not without attitude or purpose.  Once the guitar kicks in and the rest of the band joins in, we get a bluesy rocker that sets the bar high.  Aaron’s vocals are thick honey coated goodness that shows off her different tones and a bit of her range.  “Soul Breaker” has all the swagger and attitude of Lee’s earlier hits and catalog without all of the heavy metal crunch making this an enjoyable rock and roll listen that has a catchy chorus that gets you singing along while the music gets your foot tapping and head banging.  Be sure to check out Sean Kelly’s solo on the bridge.  “Mama Don’t Remember” is another bluesy number that has a bump and grind quality woven into it that gets a bit of punch added to it once we get a touch of gravel in the chorus from Aaron’s vocals.  “Soho Crawl” is a fun song that starts and ends quickly with high energy and a chugging riff that is dutifully supported by thumping bass lines from Dave Reimer.  The song would sit well in a live set list helping bridge older material with this new stuff.  “Russian Doll” adds a cool swing feel to the collection, with drum fills, fun riffs, solid bass lines, and some of more diverse vocals on the disc.  With layers and different textures pulled together, this one adds depth to the disc without deviating from the path cut by the other songs.  “Wasted” has two identities; it opens with a power ballad groove and feel that draws you in, but when you get to the chorus, the energy grows miraculously and soon we are tossed into a rock and roll tornado.  The musical storm is all vocals, guitar riffs, and some cool cymbal work and drumming that is highlighted on the transition and bridge.

“Cmon” has all the markers of a GREAT rock and roll track.  The lyrics are punchy and full of wordplay while sitting on top of a contagious melody.  The musical accompaniment is cool and swirls a bit of AOR rock into the melody and invites you in from the first note until that last, with each listen.  The song quickly catapults itself into your head and you find yourself singing along before the first chorus passes.  Title track “Radio On” has a great guitar riff that kicks this one off and soon Lee joins in for a fun duet before the rest of the band jumps in, led by drummer John Cody.  The song has an almost pop feel woven into the rhythm of the track, it is that contagious.  The bridge is fun and the transitions are full of cool layered vocals.  “Devil’s Gold” is the disc’s longest track, clocking in at over six minutes.  The pacing is slower than most on the disc, but not power ballad slow.  If you were to strip some of the instrumentation back and drape this track in jazz, it would be perfect; it would embrace Lee’s beautiful vocal, control of her voice, and the vibrato she demonstrates at times while letting it stand out in the mix.  “Great Big Love” continues the slower pace of the previous track, but this one features a heavy bottom end that give the song punch.  The vocals are delivered with precision and purpose while the music slithers along in the mix.  “Had Me At Hello” is a gritty rollicking rocker that is a smooth listen from the opening riff until the final notes reverberates into silence.  The feel of this one helps tie together the bulk of the material on this disc.  I dig listening to this one each time it hits the speakers.  Disc closer “Twenty One” is a perfect power ballad that allows Lee’s voice to shine while giving the rest of the band their time in the spotlight.  The mix is great and keeps everything moving nicely underneath the emotionally charged lyric.  As I tell Lee each time I interview her, I cannot wait to get her back in the US (especially Detroit) so we can get a listen to some of these songs pinned up against some of her catalog.