From npr.org on Both Sides Of the Sky:

At this point, some 47 years after Jimi Hendrix‘ death, it’s probably unrealistic to expect that a set of deep-vault studio tracks can expand the guitarist’s legacy in any meaningful way. This no doubt dismays the Hendrix obsessives, who pine for the long-whispered-about radical experiments they believe Hendrix squirreled away in some Electric Ladyland broom closet.

For the rest of us, the arrival of any sort of Hendrix material, especially if it’s captured in the studio, is a chance to be awed, all over again and in surprising ways, by this human’s freakish powers of musical persuasion. No rock figure before or since could breathe fire like Hendrix does, on his beloved well-known albums and on the assortment that is Both Sides Of The Sky. Even when he’s playing the well-worn heard-it-a-zillion-times blues like the opening track “Mannish Boy.” Even when he’s dropping an over-the-top theatrical solo on his original “Hear My Train A-Comin'” that alternately celebrates and shatters blues tropes.

Both Sides Of The Sky culls music from sessions Hendrix began in 1968 as the follow-up to Electric Ladyland – but never completed as a cogent single album. Though its track list includes a tune with original Jimi Hendrix Experience members Mitch Mitchell and Noel Redding, the bulk of the set features the lineup that became Band of Gypsies – bassist Billy Cox and drummer Buddy Miles. Given the high-elevation stratospheres the second great Hendrix trio visited later on, it’s interesting to hear the group attend to rhythm in more foundational ways – check out the way they lock into and maintain the blazing breakneck pace of “Stepping Stone.” The steady backing allows Hendrix to tear into the massive contorted fistfuls of notes that define his solo.

Hendrix was open to all kinds of ideas during this period, and some of the most interesting moments involve studio visitors. Stephen Stills sings and plays on two tracks (his original “$20 Fine” and a new Joni Mitchell tune called “Woodstock,” which features Hendrix on bass). Johnny Winter appears as a Hendrix jousting partner on “Things I Used To Do,” and a figure from Hendrix’ pre-stardom days, the singer and saxophonist Lonnie Youngblood, steps in for “Georgia Blues.”

All these performances – along with the searching guitar/sitar/drums instrumental “Cherokee Mist” that closes the album – overflow with the single salient trait that made Hendrix unstoppable: his spirit. No matter what he’s playing, whether it’s a workman’s blues or some high-concept improvisation, he conveys, just through the way he sings and the way he shapes the notes, that what he’s doing matters. And will not be stopped. There’s always something deep and existential on the line, and it is that emotional intensity – not the songs, not the flashy solo playing – that defines every Hendrix encounter. This one doesn’t disappoint.

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From pastemagazine.com on American Utopia:

In the cosmology of David Byrne, the Almighty resembles an aged rooster, bullets wreak unthinking destruction with a certain bleak poetry and dogs pretty much have it made. They’re all reference points on American Utopia, Byrne’s first new solo album since 2004.

In the intervening years, Byrne, 65, released collaborative LPs with Brian Eno and St. Vincent, respectively; wrote musicals about Imelda Marcos (with Fatboy Slim) and Joan of Arc, respectively; scored the 2011 movie This Must Be the Place; explored his interest in color guards with a pair of live events that resulted in the 2016 documentary Contemporary Color; and published three books. That’s enough for an entire career, and we haven’t even mentioned Talking Heads.

Fortunately, Byrne has too restless a creative drive to slow down, and he’s as inquisitive and eclectic as ever on American Utopia. The title would seem sarcastic coming from anyone else, given current events, but Byrne is in earnest. In fact, perhaps the most striking thing about these 10 new songs is the sense of cockeyed optimism that pervades them (and a thematically related blog, Reasons to Be Cheerful).

Byrne writes in the liner notes that he was inspired in part by outsider artists, who often focus their work on visions for a better world. That, writes Byrne, “is exactly what this record is about.” So when he proclaims that “every day is a miracle” on a standout song by that title, he means it, even as he veers off into lyrics imagining how the afterlife would look to poultry, or confidently describing the media consumption habits of elephants (spoiler: they don’t read newspapers). No matter: the refrain is so upbeat and joyous, over a gently pulsing reggeatón beat, that Byrne could spend the rest of the song shouting out GPS coordinates for his favorite bike lanes and it would seem like an artistic statement.

That speaks to one of his great strengths: Byrne’s willingness to risk looking uncool or out of place gives him an unflappable serenity. He intones solemnly about his moves on “I Dance Like This,” accompanied first by a simple piano line and later by a thundering rhythm. He sends his voice into falsetto as he describes in slow-motion anatomical detail what has been destroyed by the shot fired on “Bullet.” He extols the virtues of living the blissfully unconcerned life of a dog on “Dog’s Mind,” over atmospheric layers of keyboards and synthesizers. And he does it all without a trace of irony.

Byrne wrote eight of these 10 songs with Brian Eno (Daniel Lopatin of Oneohtrix Point Never co-wrote the other two), and they’re a musically mixed bunch. An Eastern-sounding keyboard part and busy rhythm propel “It’s Not Dark Up Here,” while layers of saxophone at the start of “Everybody’s Coming to My House” give way to a club-ready dance beat as Byrne yelps out his vocals. “This Is That” mostly features Byrne’s voice, an array of live and programmed drums and an effects-treated harp; and another rhythm-heavy song, “Gasoline and Dirty Sheets,” takes on an urgent feel with taut bass, layers of keyboards and subtle guitar licks.

In other words, it’s a David Byrne album: cerebral, but with an irresistible beat; and exuberant, but in a way that is self-contained. And if America right now is something less than a utopia, Byrne is a force for positivity, exhorting us all to do better.

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From spillmagazine.com on Year Of The Tiger:

Having fronted and played guitar for Alter Bridge as well as being Slash’s go-to choice for two solo records and a pair of stellar tracks on his 2010 self-titled solo record, Myles Kennedy has solidified himself not only as one of modern rocks most powerful vocalist, but also among the genres most visionary songwriters. It comes as no surprise then that Kennedy has released his first solo record, the greatly anticipated Year Of The Tiger and much like some of his greatest contemporaries – Chris Cornell, Eddie Vedder – he has chosen to take a primarily acoustic route for this record; an artistic direction he rarely gets to pursue in his main projects.

Opening with the title track, it is beyond clear that Kennedy is a master of creating an emotional atmosphere with little more than his rich vocals and the six steel strings of his acoustic guitar. The song contains a dark sense of urgency, tension, and yet a strong sense of light. Considering much – if not all – of the record is based around the loss of his father – who passed away after refusing medical assistance due to his faith in the Christian Science church when Kennedy was four years old. Kennedy channels his love for his family and melancholic memories throughout the album in a manner that is intimate; making for a vulnerable collection of music. He grapples with the loss on songs like “Blind Faith” and “Haunted By Design” while empathises with his mother who raised him and his brother without her husband on “Mother” and “Turning Stones”.

Musically, Year Of The Tiger proves to be just as complex and yet conflictingly sparse. Juxtaposing or not, Kennedy proves once again to be among rocks most esteemed and brilliant songwriters. While every track feels fresh, exciting and resembles a sonic adventure following Kennedy’s narrative, certain songs stand out among this impressive collection. From the upbeat blues of  “Devil On The Wall”,  the emotional capacity of “Love Can Only Heal”, and the folk nature of “Ghost Of Shangri La”, Year Of The Tiger is brimming with exceptional tracks, each different from the last.  “The Great Unknown” however is not only the most daring, but the most explosive and unlike anything else on the record. Plugged in, this would be the easiest to imagine blaring at an Alter Bridge concert, yet it fits seamlessly on Year Of The Tiger while also elevating it with a level of raw intensity that I haven’t heard in recent memory.  While already the whole record has the potential to sweep an array of album of the year awards, ”The Great Unknown” is more than likely to stand as one of the best songs released this year.

The story goes that Kennedy wrote and recorded his first solo record, and then threw it away before making Year Of The Tiger. This leaves me content and curious.  Make no mistake, I am beyond happy that this is the record that Kennedy chose to release; Year Of The Tiger a flawless record. It is so good, that it leaves me wanting more; even an album of outtakes like the now defunct first record is bound to be an exciting album.  Over the course of its twelve tracks, there is not a song on Year Of The Tiger that fails to draw the listener in to what feels like an intimate invitation into Kennedy’s living room studio. From the song writing to his stellar and versatile guitar playing and vocal performance, Kennedy has carefully crafted an immediate and instant modern masterpiece with Year Of The Tiger; an unparalleled solo debut from one of rock & roll’s finest.

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From angrymetalguy.com on Firepower:

Having spent the last month immersed in the back-catalog of the legendary Judas Priest, a nagging thought kept running wild through my mind. What if I get through this ginormous ranking of the Priest albums, designed to coincide with their latest release, only to hate it and have to bash it? As a life-long fan, that idea didn’t really fill me with joy, but all I could do was grit my teeth, get the countdown done and hope there was a decent album waiting for me on the other side. Firepower is Priest‘s 18th full-length, and marks what may be the end of the road for the legendary act, with founder Glenn Tipton’s diagnosis of Parkinson’s Disease forcing him to retire from touring. It’s a disheartening backdrop for a new release, but whatever fate may hold for Judas Priest going forward, they sure as hell put out an aggressive, balls out metal album this time around. It’s easily the heaviest thing they’ve done since Painkiller, taking influences from Rob Halford’s solo albums and his Fight side-project for a direct, no-nonsense outing with surprisingly sharp, focused song writing. Firepower indeed.

Wasting no time, the album gets down to metal business with the title track’s heavy riffing and straight-ahead bullying. There’s a Painkiller era flavor and intensity, but it doesn’t feel derivative. If anything it reminds me more of Halford’s Resurrection material. It’s satisfyingly heavy and Halford sounds in good form, screeching and growling along with the extra crunchy riffs. “Lighting Strikes” keeps the momentum going with another nut-buster full of thick riffage and heroic vocals. It’s quite catchy and sounds like the output of a much younger band.

What makes Firepower such a pleasant surprise is how consistently good it is and the sheer number of album high points. “Never the Heroes” really grabbed me on the first spin and got under my skin. It reminds me of the recent Saxon output and has a simple but deceptively addictive chorus that really sticks. “Rising From the Ruins” is the best song the band’s written since 1990, steeped in rebellious attitude and vintage metal tricks and tropes. Halford delivers a powerful and poignant performance on a very upbeat, fist pumping “defeat the world” kind of song with a great chorus and enough chest thumping machismo to get you through several barroom brawls. It’s hard to believe this is the same band that put out Redeemer and it’s a revelation that they still have this level of vim and vigor. “Spectre” is also impressive, meaty and uber-catchy, with some interesting guitar-work woven around the edges. The late album tandem of “Traitor’s Gate” and “Never Surrender” show Priest functioning at their highest level in 30 years, crafting punchy, hard-hitting metal with serious staying power and bite.

The only song that feels superfluous is penultimate track “Lone Wolf.” It’s not bad, but it’s not up to the standards of the rest of the album and should have been dropped. Since the album clocks in at 58-plus minutes, that kind of trimming makes good sense. Luckily the songs are all concise, running 3-5 minutes, and there’s no album killing “Lochness” slog, so the 58-minutes doesn’t feel too long. The production by one-time band mainstay and confidant, Tom Allom¹ is loud and crushing, but it works with this material. The guitars have a ton of power and Rob is placed appropriately high in the mix.

Glenn Tipton and Richie Faulkner slathered this album with thick, crunchy riffing more like the first Fight album than what Judas Priest is known for. This gives it a much more intense, modern sound and the aggression definitely works in the band’s favor. They layer on the flashy solos too, and some of the fret-work is surprisingly subtle and tasteful. Rob Halford sound better here than on Redeemer, and though he still stays in his mid-range much of the time, he does attempt more upper range wailing here. He sounds particularly vibrant and powerful on cuts like “Children of the Sun” and “Traitor’s Gate,” and it’s great to hear him belting it out again like a man possessed.

I approached Firepower with realistic expectations, and merely hoped the band could top Redeemer of Souls and put out a consistent album. This is considerably more than that, and easily the best thing they’ve done since Painkiller. It’s heavy, hooky, full of piss, vinegar and whiskey and has few glaring flaws. I really hope the band can keep going in this form, as it’s clear they can still deliver the goods, but that looks less and less likely given recent developments. If this is to be the swan song for one of metal’s most legendary acts, it’s a damn good one to go out on. Thanks for a lifetime of great music and memories, and thanks for Firepower.

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From spillmagazine.com on Myles Goodwyn And Friends Of The Blues:

You have to give Myles Goodwyn a great deal of credit. He is known for his work with April Wine, and April Wine have never been known as a blues band. A talented band, led by Goodwyn who wrote and produced some of the greatest pop/rock records in the last five decades, but they were not a blues band.  Therefore,  no one could predict that Goodwyn would come up with a blues album for his second solo album. The fact is Myles Goodwyn and Friends Of The Blues is a brilliant album. Blues fans should appreciate it and like it and April Wine fans just might find out that they love the blues as well.

April Wine debuted, on vinyl, in 1971 (April WIne) and would go on to release 20 studio albums. The most recent being 2006’s Roughly Speaking. Underneath the pop/rock standards that Goodwyn created was a tinge of blues, but he was never able to cut loose with a full on blues album, until now.

Goodwyn’s first solo album was released nearly 30 years ago (Myles Goodwyn), and like that album his solo work affords him the opportunity to play music that he loves without the worry of making it an April WIne album. For this album, he has called in some friends, who happen to be some heavy hitters in the blues genre. This is a stroke of genius. There is no doubt that he could have carried it off himself, but by playing with blues musicians, he is able to remove all doubt about his sincerity for the project.

Goodwyn wrote all but one song (he does a remarkable cover of Jesse Winchester’s “Isn’t That So”),  and what is evident, besides his obvious love of the blues, is his sense of humour. Songs such as “I Hate To See You (But I Love To Watch You Walk Away)” (which has a brilliant video), “I Hate You (Till Death Do Us Part)” and “Tell Me Where I’ve Been (So I Don’t Go There Anymore)” show his humour. The songs are pure blues, but the lyrics are humourous (maybe with a tinge of melancholy) and at times downright funny. Meanwhile, Goodwyn is playing some very hot blues licks. A great combination.

Some of the friends joining Goodwyn include David Wilcox, Rick Derringer, Jack de Keyzer, Frank Marino, Kenny ‘Blues Boss’ Wayne, Garret Mason, Joe Murphy, Bill Stevenson, Shaun Verrault, Amos Garret, to name just a few.

Goodwyn developed a taste for the blues in the 1960’s and that music influenced his writing and playing as much as The Beatles. Goodwyn has said he was influenced by Howlin’ Wolf, B.B. King, and Muddy Waters, to name just three. Listening to this album one can hear these influences. He does not copy, but rather incorporates years of listening to the greats and using what he learned to create his own blues sound, much like they did all those years ago.

Myles Goodwyn and Friends Of The Blues is not only a great blues album, it is a great album. It is obvious when one listens to the album that Goodwyn put a great deal of effort into this record and it paid off. As much as I love April Wine (and I do love their music), I hope that we hear more from Goodwyn’s blues side.

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From npr.org on Whistle Down The Wind:

When Joan Baez was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2017, she jettisoned much of the inside-baseball career reflection usually seen in acceptance speeches. Instead, Baez connected the dots between the folk scene from which she emerged, her life-long dedication to the nonviolence movement and political activism, and how vital it is to repair today’s divisive society.

“And now, in the new political and cultural reality in which we find ourselves, there’s much work to be done,” she said. “Where empathy is failing, and sharing has become usurped by greed and lust for power, let us double, triple and quadruple our own efforts to empathize — and to give our resources and our selves.”

Whistle Down The Wind, Baez’s first studio album since 2008’s Day After Tomorrow, embodies the kind of selfless, galvanizing work she mentions. The timely collection is concerned about the lingering negative reverberations from global discord, and the ways this friction trickles down and inflicts personal pain. But in a radical move, Whistle Down The Wind gives people permission to envision and seek out a better world, and beseeches them to “be of good heart” while doing so.

That last phrase comes from a Josh Ritter-penned song, also called “Be Of Good Heart.” It’s an inspired cover choice, as is the rest of Whistle Down The Wind‘s track listing, which features Baez tackling work from contemporary songwriters. She includes new discoveries — the hymn-like “The President Sang Amazing Grace,” Zoe Mulford’s stunning song about mourning the 2015 Charleston church shooting — alongside favored scribes: her Four Voices collaborator Mary Chapin Carpenter; Tom Waits and Kathleen Brennan; and Eliza Gilkyson.

This particular batch of folk songs amplifies Baez ever-present gift for interpretation. On the title track, which Tom Waits originally recorded for 1992’s Bone Machine, her vibrato-lifted delivery is weathered with wisdom. Throughout a take on Joe Henry‘s “Civil War,” Baez runs through a gamut of moods — wistful, grave, angry, and resigned — as she details how violence precipitates division. And on the Anohni-written “Another World,” her voice sounds anguished and fragile as she sings, “I need another place / Will there be peace?” against a backdrop of fraying acoustic guitar and brushed percussion.

Joan Baez and producer Joe Henry recorded Whistle Down The Wind in just 10 days, alongside a core band of instrumentalists. The resulting music is immediate and lively, with golden acoustic guitars, stately piano and muted percussion augmented by unexpected bursts of color. The title track is punctured with an eerie quivering saw; spongy organ swells through “Be Of Good Heart”; and upright bass and gut-string guitar lends a country edge to the honky-tonk slow dance that’s Gilkyson’s “The Great Correction.”

Baez has always covered contemporary artists, but with a looming semi-retirement — 2018 is said to be her “last year of formal extended touring” — this album could be seen as her anointing the next generation to carry on her legacy. Yet that would imply she’s ready to pass on the torch, and Whistle Down The Wind is by no means a farewell. Baez more than clears that up with a tenacious cover of Tom Waits’ “Last Leaf,” in which the leaf in question declares, “The autumn took the rest but they won’t take me.”

That shouldn’t be a surprise. At another point during her Rock Hall acceptance speech, Baez said, “What has given my life deep meaning and unending pleasure has been to use my voice in the battle against injustice. It has brought me in touch with my own purpose.” This purpose has never faltered, in large part because she refuses to let cynicism derail her determination.

That defiant optimism is evident in spades throughout Whistle Down The Wind. Even “The Great Correction,” which despairs at humanity’s selfishness and myopia, still contains the sentiment, “Still got hope in this heart of mine.” It’s inspiring enough that Whistle Down The Wind represents Baez adding her voice to the resistance. That her idealism remains intact — and these protest songs still contain glimmers of hope despite steep odds — ensures the album is also deeply empowering.

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