Circle Sound/Thirty Tigers

Ladies and gentlemen; boys and girls; children of all ages: I’d like to introduce to you … Rich Robinson.

I’m serious, now – you may know him as a founding member of the Black Crowes, along with his brother Chris, and you may remember his debut solo effort, 2004’s Paper. But his new Through A Crooked Sun is a real, pure Rich Robinson album. These are not his tunes flavored and colored by his fellow Crowes, and this isn’t the work of a solo Rich writing songs that still feel like they’re waiting for brother Chris to add his voice to (which Paper, though it was a good album, did at times). No, Through A Crooked Sun is the sound of an artist content with his place in life and confident with his work. The vibe is good; the lyrics are smart; there’s enough rock to make you roll; and there are a number of reflective pools of sound that’ll give you pause in the nicest of ways.

Robinson chose Applehead Studios in Woodstock, NY to lay down the tracks for Through A Crooked Sun and it was an excellent choice. Levon Helm’s Barn also calls Woodstock home, and by the sound of this album, the two studios not only share similar construction methods (all wood – no metal fastenings) but a sonic quality as well. There’s a purity to the sounds on Through A Crooked Sun – from tube amp crackle to cymbal sizzle – that give you a feeling of right there.

You’ll find an acoustic heart at the center of this album, although I don’t want to give electric guitar worshipers a reason to fret, either: there’s plenty of tube amp crackle and roar to be found here. Robinson is blessed with the ability to capture the best of the early 70s Stones vibe, combining the riff-spewing rhythm talents of Keith Richards with Mick Taylor’s melodic sensibilities. Things start right out with the rumbling lurch of “Gone Away” and glide right into the dreamy mists of “It’s Not Easy” – which snaps itself into a wailing/churning/stomping burn before all is said and done. “All Along The Way” should be mandatory listening for anyone who wants to know how to pull off gentle B-bender Telecaster bends and volume swells; “Standing On The Surface Of The Sun” begins with flurries of stinging blues guitar and ends with a thick-toned, majestic bellow. And Robinson’s cover of “Station Man”, an old – old – Fleetwood Mac tune swaggers from greasy rolling-and-tumbling licks to a bit of sweet, smoky reggae-flavored skanking before crashing face-first into a big ol’ crunchy rock and roll outro – all topped with a multi-layered vocal that feels like the Dead’s “Passenger” slowed down.

No, you’ll find all kinds of amplified six-string work by Robinson throughout Through A Crooked Sun. (And four-string, as well: he covered all the bass parts on the album except for a couple appearances by John Lindberg on upright. And for the record: Rich Robinson is a hell of a bass player, boys and girls.) But his acoustic guitar playing is the tie that binds this album.

Sometimes it provides a path for the rock to roll (the desert highway run of “Falling Again”, all Flying Burrito-ish, thanks to Larry Campbell’s appearance on pedal steel). Other times it’s right out front-and-center as in the lovely wisdom of “Hey Fear”; or “Bye Bye Baby”, feeling like a distant cousin to the Allmans’ “Dreams”, complete with a visit by Warren Haynes on slide, weaving with Campbell on pedal; or the gorgeous cascade of “Follow You Forever”, complemented by Karl Berger’s acoustic piano.

The album’s centerpiece is “I Don’t Hear The Sound Of You”, whose first half is not only smarter than your average “I’m so far away and I miss you” pop tune, but twice as catchy and textured, thanks to Steve Molitz’ keyboards. (Molitz and drummer Joe Magistro formed the album’s core trio with Robinson.) There’s a shapeshift midway through the tune: the main theme’s chorus fades as soft jazzbo drums and upright bass ease into the foreground. Robinson begins to dole out punctuations with his acoustic as Berger lays down a burbling bed of metallophone, finding numerous peaks and valleys, but never overstating any of them. Lindberg’s bass swoops and soars; Robinson’s guitar is a study in gentle percussion, becoming one with Magistro’s drums. It’s a beautiful piece of music – easily one of the best acoustic jams of 2011.

Robinson’s vocals are well done throughout the album’s dozen cuts (again, he sounds confident and happy to be … well … Rich Robinson, actually) and the lyrical content feels like both a shedding of old skin and a celebration of newfound contentment. On the whole, Through A Crooked Sun is jam-packed with good vibes.

Greetings, Rich Robinson – pleased to meet you, sir.