From getreadytorock.me.uk on Sinister:

This is the first ever studio collaboration between the Brothers Appice.  Carmen is of course best known for his work with Vanilla Fudge and Jeff Beck.  Vinny is the younger whipper snapper who has worked most recently with rock heavyweights Last In Line but is perhaps best known for his time with Dio and Heaven and Hell.  Veterans of many a drum clinic, together they represent one helluva legacy in the drum department of rock.

“Sinister” gives them the chance to flex their respective drum muscles and whilst the drums are well up in the mix who cares when they are played (and recorded) this well?  And the guys only over-indulge themselves for one track – the instrumental  ‘Drum Wars’ – which will no doubt be the set piece of their live act.

Opening with the frenetic title track, this is heavy rock par excellence and aided and abetted by erstwhile journeymen Craig Goldy (guitar, Dio) and Tony Franklin (bass, Blue Murder).

‘Monsters And Heroes’ is their tribute to Ronnie James and features Paul Shortino on vocals whilst ‘Killing Floor’ (with Chas West on vocals doing his best Coverdale impression) thunders out of your speakers taking the bass bins with it.

Blue Murder are recalled with the rather excellent ‘Riot’ whilst there’s even  a Black Sabbath mash up reflecting Vinny’s tenure on that particular drum stool.

Other highlights include ‘In The Nite’ (featuring Bumblefoot) and ‘War Cry’ featuring Whitesnake’s Joel Hoekstra.
This is a great debut and you can’t help thinking … bring on a live gig, given the twin legacy that is almost an A-Z of heavy rock.  Nicely packaged, too, with digipak poster or double gatefold vinyl/CD.  A belated album, maybe, but well worth the wait.

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From vulture.com on Carry Fire:

You could argue that Robert Plant’s solo career began while he was still a part of Led Zeppelin. The band’s final studio album, In Through the Out Door (1979), was an album where Plant, in collaboration with John Paul Jones, was primarily responsible. Crippled by chemical dependence, Jimmy Page and John Bonham were hardly in a position to compose their own parts; so playing what was written for them by the other half of the quartet would have to do. Loungy in tone and gentle in tenor, In Through the Out Door turned out to be the least typical collection in an already eclectic Zeppelin catalogue. It was a strange note for the band to end on, but in its way a fitting one. The album’s wistful, elegiac dimension (particularly in “All My Love,” dedicated to Plant’s recently deceased young son) also ended up serving as a eulogy for the band, whose remaining three members agreed to part ways in 1980 in the wake of Bonham’s alcohol-related death.

The echoes would linger for nearly a decade, as Plant set off on a solo career — “solo” being, as usual with singers, shorthand for “singing with different musicians.” There was never an issue of matching his performances with Page, Jones, and Bonham; as Zeppelin and its fans knew, Rolling Stone covers from here to infinity announced, and critics slowly came to realize, the band’s record was matchless. The question was whether Plant would catch a second wind, and if so, how. It took some time. His output throughout the ’80s and ’90s sounds, for the most part, like outtakes from In Through the Out Door: there’s the same rubbery texture, the same rock-god-on-extended-sabbatical vibe. Plant’s lyrics were still covering familiar ground as well. They were still deeply informed by folk tropes and spiritual images, still centered on what was traditionally considered the natural world: rivers and trees, birds and saints, Zen and nirvana, longing and loss. The work — all six albums of it — holds up well enough on its own, but necessarily suffers when set against the Zeppelin albums to which they can’t help but hark back. There was no point in blaming such a wondrous voice; it was just that it would take some journey to exit the shadow of the greatest rock band ever

Plant was hardly alone in being tied to the Zeppelin estate. Many dominant bands in those two decades, whether hard rock (Van Halen, Guns N’ Roses) or grunge (Soundgarden) were fronted by singers and guitarists doing their best imitations of Plant and Page — the two of whom would finally, near the end of the period, compose, play, and tour together once again. The experience seems to have been cathartic for Plant; he returned to his solo career in a spirit of renewal. Raising Sand, his Grammy-winning album of cover duets with Alison Krauss in 2007, has been his most prominent achievement, but the freshness of that work also resounded in Dreamland (2002), Mighty ReArranger (2005), Band of Joy (2010), and Lullaby and … the Ceaseless Roar (2014), albums where Plant’s long engagement with folk, blues, Celtic, Indian, and Middle Eastern sounds merges ever more seamlessly with a deepened appreciation for the tremulous heft and pace of bluegrass.

Released today, his new album Carry Fire further extends Plant’s voyage and reaffirms his mastery. There’s always been something deeply enviable about Plant’s voice, which summons, more or less without effort, a sense of sustained astonishment. Tipsy with its own abundance, it sifts through what it describes; one feels as if the material world has been passed through a filter until only the best things remain. He possesses, in other words, unhindered access to the relation between the world’s various folk musics and the natural world. He’s classical, not neoclassical: there’s never any sense of laboriousness, of template. He always sounds as if it’s good to be alive. Much as songs like “Freedom Fries” on Mighty ReArranger addressed the Iraq War, certain tracks on Carry Fire allude to politics and history. “Bones of Saints” references an impending war; “New World …” recounts the European invasion of the Americas; “Carving Up the World Again … A Wall and Not a Fence” is informed by Brexit and Trumpism. In Plant’s delivery, these dire events, and his resistance to their criminality, take on the inevitability of twigs floating down a river or a bird taking flight; they fit in with the songs of love and departure without a hitch. Looking back, this compatibility produces an eerie feeling, but in the moment nothing seems less strained or more natural. Plant is not a particularly personal singer: The self never takes priority over the material. It’s not his emotions, but emotion itself that he channels, and if a certain distancing is the inevitable response from listeners looking for reflections of their own selves, it’s ultimately a small price to pay for perfection.

Like a retiree who, after a period of aimlessness, discovers new pastimes and an improved relation to life, Plant has come into his own. He’s always going to be remembered as Led Zeppelin’s singer, but now he’s clearly his own man as well. Though his voice can’t reach the aching summits of his rock-star prime, in recompense he’s gained a lower, darker register, a tone ideally suited to evoke the wonder, and embody the weight, of passing time. Fans may dislike his refusal to reunite Zeppelin for a reunion tour when Page and Jones are plenty willing, but the truth is that what made that band great was its willingness to face forward. It’s no accident that so many of their lyrics focus on departure and the exhilaration of endless travels, nor a coincidence that Plant was responsible for most of those lyrics. So long as that questing impulse remains strong in his own music, he’s honoring the spirit of the band far more than any reunion ever could.

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From spillmagazine.com on Road Songs For Lovers:

The return of Chris Rea, not that he disappeared or that it has been that long between records, but Road Songs For Lovers feels like a return. Not a comeback, just the return of a good friend.  It is hard to believe that Road Songs For Lovers is Rea’s 26th album since he debuted in 1978 with the wonderful Whatever Happened To Benny Santini and  his first album of new material since 2011’s Santo Spirito Blues.

This album is a welcome return to form by Rea. He does what he does best on this album. Blues infused rock songs, with brilliant guitar work and strong vocals. Rea’s voice just gets better with time and on this album, his playing is perhaps some of his best ever.

The rock songs are there, and so are the ballads. And although the rocking songs are brilliant, it is the ballads that steal the show here. Listen to his vocals on “Beautiful”, it is heartbreaking. And the production is sparse and not cluttered like so many other albums. Here, the piano, and sax carry the song with Rea in the spotlight bringing the listener along with his incredible vocals. It is the perfect way to end the album. No pun intended, but simply beautiful.

The same can be said for the other ballads on the album. One of the highlights, “Breaking Point” is stunning in its simplicity. The guitar along with piano just create a mood that is almost of another world. It is almost like a John Cale song, even the lyrics, “He never said nothing, because he had nothing to say…they say when you break down, you are the last to know…no cries of attention, just seems like he let go…ah the breaking point”. Moving and coming from Rea’s voice it is almost too much at times, and his slide guitar at the end is the icing on the cake. A classic.

Rea has been doing a lot of blues based albums in the past few years. Although there is a definite influence from the blues, this is a more mainstream album from Rea. Again, the return of Chris Rea, and he seems to do it effortlessly. But that does not mean he has not put his heart and soul into the songs. This album seems very personal at times, and highlights his ability to create stories. The characters in these stories suffer loss and love. Nothing new, but in Rea’s hands, it is the feeling and the depth of that feeling that makes the album stand out.

This is a major work of art and should be viewed as such. Yes in many regards it is a traditional rock album, but again, it is exceptional. Young artists would do well to study this one, it really could be a blueprint for how a good rock album should sound. By all rights this album should be a huge album, and return Rea to the top of the charts. I don’t think Rea does music for that reason. Listening to this album, one gets the impression that he needed to record this album and express his thoughts and feelings. I am sure if it is a hit he will be pleased, but it is not the motivation. This album is art.

I am glad Rea has returned, and I am extremely glad he brought Road Songs For Lovers with him. It is a stunning album, and as the year winds down, it is certainly yet another album contending for album of the year. It is certainly one of his best albums, and that is saying something.

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From maximumvolumemusic.com on The Salentino Cuts:

Their first covers album – and it’s not what you’d think

Let’s be honest, covers albums can go either way. So it was that when MV received a press release saying that UFO were doing their first one in the 50 year history of the band, there was a bit of trepidation.

This was, however, tempered with the thought that it would be interesting to see what a band who has been covered enough themselves would come up with and also that this current line up is absolutely exceptional and their albums over the last decade or more have been wonderful.

Then we saw the track listing. And yeah, there’s the odd thing that you think, “fair enough, I can imagine them doing that”, but then there’s the others.

I mean really did you imagine Phil Mogg and the boys covering Mad Season’s “River Of Deceit”? No, me neither. They do a wonderful job of it though and there is real feeling here when Mogg mutters – he has a way of forcing words out that means he doesn’t sing quite like anyone else – “my pain is self-chosen”.

Likewise, UFO weren’t the type of band you could see turning Bill Withers’ “Ain’t No Sunshine” into a laid back, late night bluesy tour de force. On the “Salentino Cuts” they do just that.

Elsewhere, Steppenwolf’s “The Pusher” is delivered with a real dirty glee, and there is a kind of knowing wink about the opening lines: “You know I smoked a lot of grass, you know I popped a lot of pills” as Mogg is in fine form, while the blue-collar stylings of Mellencamp’s “Paper In Fire” are a real high spot and “Just Got Paid” is merely proof that however you cut it, ZZ Top rule. UFO realise this too, and as such don’t play it like Billy, Dusty and Frank, instead they turn it into one of their own.

Which is precisely why “…Cuts” is a fine example of the genre. These are not copies, rather they are interpretations – as to be fair you’d expect from a band as storied as this.

Opening with “Heartful Of Soul” proves the point. If you don’t know The Yardbirds version it doesn’t really matter, and if “Break On Through” does perhaps stray too close to the original, then “Rock Candy” finds something a little monolithic in the groove.

“Mississippi Queen” gives Mogg the chance to do what he does over a filthy riff from the brilliant Vinnie Moore, who excels again on the take on “Honey Bee”, which sounds positively primal here.

“Too Rolling Stoned” has a fuzzy Hendrix like quality that Robin Trower himself would approve of, and the closing with The Animals “It’s My Life” is instructive. A brilliant song – everyone knows this – it has been covered by every rock band worth their salt at some point. Yet it sounds extra defiant here.

“It’s my life, I’ll do what I want” may well have been the mission statement here, because this is the sound of gifted band having fun. It’s more than that though and shows that even after nearly 50 years they can still surprise.

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From pastemagazine.com on Sky Trails:

With all of his controversial, headline-garnering Twitter trolling, it’s easy to forget that David Crosby still makes music. But these days, he’s actually one of the more prolific artists of his generation. Crosby returned from a twenty year-long hiatus in 2014 with his fourth solo album, Croz—an impressive comeback and counterargument to the suggestion that creativity is a finite force.

That record was succeeded by 2016’s Lighthouse, and less than a year later, Crosby is back with Sky Trails, arguably the darkest and most adventurous work in the songwriter’s recent streak.

That shift in atmosphere is best exemplified by Sky Trails’ lead single, “Sell Me A Diamond”—a chilly vignette in which a jeweler’s assurance that his product is “conflict-free” sends him into an introspective tailspin. From a songwriting perspective, this is typical Crosby fare: caressing vocals, a melancholic chord progression and lyrics that manage to be both esoteric and evocative. But sonically, “Diamond” finds the artist in some unfamiliar territory: The song is grounded by a looping, electronic beat, and when the chorus kicks in, Crosby’s voice is lathered in a heavy vocoder-like effect.

These decidedly modern flourishes are all the more surprising given that Crosby himself is a vociferous critic of the mainstream pop landscape. In 2015, he notoriously tweeted that rap “isn’t music,” and this past summer he appeared in a Twitter ad with Chance The Rapper, suggesting—in the form of a tweet—that the rapper perform “a song with real instruments” at his shows. That might have been good, clean, scripted fun, but it’s also consistent with Crosby’s very real reputation as the quintessential rockist grouch.

At certain points, Sky Trails seems like Crosby’s attempt at making a more contemporary sounding record on his own terms. It’s an ambitious move, to be sure, but it doesn’t always work. On the seven minute-long “Capitol”, Crosby grumbles about the state of the union over a stock smooth jazz groove. With a different arrangement, “Capitol” could be a vital and provocative protest song from one of the hippie movement’s wizened progenitors—but in its recorded form, it sounds like something you might hear over the speakers at Nordstrom. Similarly, there are moments during Sky Trails’ mostly pretty closer “Home Free” where such an excessive amount of AutoTune is applied to Crosby’s vocals—seemingly for emphasis—that the whole song becomes impossible to take seriously.

Crosby’s dabbling in digital artifice sometimes pays off—the processed vocals in the chorus to “Sell Me A Diamond”, for example, charge the song with an energy it might otherwise lack. But Sky Trails’ most noteworthy moments are those that recall the veteran songwriter’s best work. The title track—a sparsely arranged duet between Crosby and the song’s co-writer Becca Stevens—is a highlight from this era of Crosby’s career, as is the Fender Rhodes-heavy, Steely Dan soundalike “She’s Got To Be Somewhere”.

Caught between preserving his sound and experimenting with new ones, David Crosby lacks a firm musical identity on this new album. Hopefully, he finds a way to incorporate modern elements into his songs more effectively. After all, if Crosby is as inspired as he claims to be, then Sky Trails is a taste of even more to come.

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