“Croz,” by David Crosby

This album has been universally praised among critics. As well it should be. I did stumble, however, upon an amusing outlier from a student newspaper, The Badger Herald, that reviewed, or rather, eviscerated this album shortly after its release, with the cynical, smart-ass (and likely 19-ish year-old) reviewer asserting, “Croz is not disappointing because of the banal lyrics or the unoriginal music, but because there’s little passion left to give the songs the spice they need to surprise, inspire and move us.” The reviewer went on to reveal a painfully shallow grasp of Crosby’s legacy, among other things confusing a CSN&Y hits compilation with a studio album, confusing authorship of songs, and citing their own “baby-boomer parents” collection of “innumerable” CSN albums (they made exactly 5 studio albums together). And beyond these cringe worthy errors, this young reviewer is stunningly wrong about this remarkable album.

I guess it’s inevitable that new albums from established artists (legendary, in this case) will be compared with their past work, and comparing Croz to Crosby’s ensemble work (e.g., The Byrds, CSN, CSN&Y, Crosby-Nash, CPR) is understandable, as even his solo albums are highly collaborative, but if anything, Croz is more akin to the “hung-over spirituality” of Crosby’s 1971 classic solo debut, If I Could Only Remember My Name. In fact, I suspect the new album’s title and cover photo might be a response to that first solo album from over 40 years ago. Both feature a close up of the artist’s face, the first a dramatic portrait of the artist as a young man, the second portrays a clear and bright headshot of the artist at 72; the first album was meandering, looking for answers to questions, the second is tighter and more focused, offering solutions: an eponymous, bookended artistic statement. The albums work remarkably well together. Speaking about the music on the album, All Music’s, Stephen Thomas Erlewine agrees:

Croz is…the only other solo record of Crosby's that attempts to reckon with similar emotions and sounds. That Croz prefers certainty to the untrammeled melancholy of If I Could Only Remember My Name is a reflection of where he stands in 2014

The music is, with a few modern embellishments from his collaborators, Daniel Garcia, and Crosby’s son, James Raymond, classic, folk-rock: a genre that exists, in no small part, due to Crosby’s own pioneering work. The lyrics on Croz are more instructive than interrogative. The melodies are strong, throughout, but three tracks standout: the lead cut, “What’s Broken,” which features guitar work from Mark Knopfler, “Dangerous Night,” the most contemporary sounding track, and the album closer, “Find A Heart,” a jazz-rock fusion featuring sublime trumpet improvisation by Wynton Marsalis and ethereal vocals by Crosby. It’s 2014, and Crosby still sings like an angel. The album makes me yearn for more from David Crosby, which is probably too much to ask. After all, 11 individual/collaborative solo album’s in 40 years ain’t so bad, plus the CSN/CSN&Y reunions – not too shabby an output for a man who has faced his own fears and lived to tell about it. Time and again. 

"Born And Raised," by John Mayer

For my birthday this year, my partner, Kristina, indulged my inner (and outer) music geek and took me to Laurel Canyon in Hollywood to visit the birthplace of so many classic rock and roll songs. If you’re unfamiliar with its history, Laurel Canyon was to the late 1960’s and early 1970’s what Paris, France was to 1920’s: a denizen of era-defining young artists of the time. Crosby, Stills, and Nash first joined talents there after singing together in a Canyon living room, Mama Cass held court and served as concierge in those sacred hills, Neil Young haunted the Canyon, Carole King paved the way for women singer-songwriters in the storied neighborhood, and comrade-citizen, Joni Mitchell, devoted an entire album to the circuitous Canyon roads in her far-out 1970 effort, Ladies Of The Canyon, which contains some of her finest songs, including “Conversation,” “Big Yellow Taxi,” “The Circle Game,” and perhaps the song that best captured the Zeitgeist of the era, “Woodstock,” a #11 hit for Crosby, Stills, Nash, & Young on their 1970 album, the sublime, Déjà Vu.

Fast forward over 40 years later, and pop music still draws from this mythical rock and roll neighborhood - as it should. In the last few years, in fact, dozens of albums have paid homage to this remarkable location in popular music. To wit, tribute albums of the eon have been produced by the likes of Josh Rouse, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Wilson Phillips (Admit it. You bought their ear-candied first album, too), and even a not-horrible tribute by actress, Rita Wilson. In addition, up-and-coming British artist (and my current favorite singer), Rumer, is building a career adulating similar artists of the period, most notably echoing Karen Carpenter with her two studio albums and side project, fronting for the retro-pop of “Stereo Venus,” whose debut album, Close To The Sun, is well-worth seeking out if you’re a fan of early 1970’s psychedelic pop.

Following the trend, John Mayer’s latest collection of new songs references this eternal fount of sweet inspiration: Laurel Canyon, 1971. The album’s artwork mirrors Neil Young’s Harvest and gives a hint to what awaits the listener, and “Queen Of California,” the set's opening track, lays the groove for the album, with a note-for-note recreation of the Laurel Canyon vibe. This song, with its unplugged, acoustic setting and laid-back lyric about Joni Mitchell’s heartbreaking album, Blue, could have resided on any 12” vinyl from that great era. In fact, the soft-rock fabric of Born And Raised is powered by Neil Young’s 1971 guitar (and hat and boots), Joni Mitchell’s word poetry, and the letdown from the late-1960’s, when young idealists recovered from a hangover of too much freedom, not enough discipline, and questionable life choices - a botched attempt at hippie utopia. I guess it was just a dream some of them had.

While garnering generally positive reviews, one writer critiqued Born And Raised as Mayer’s unbridled solipsism, but just like my favorite albums from the Canyon in the early 1970’s, that’s my favorite part of this remarkable scrapbook of songs. My philosophy regarding the role of pop music (and art in general), is that it’s the artist’s responsibility to convey the unuttered feelings of the observer, or in Mayer’s words, to “speak for me.” I posit that it’s not only the artist’s job to speak for us, but it’s also what we fans yearn for. It’s why we slide our credit card through the reader at the record store or why we click “download” on iTunes. I think David Gates described it best when he sang, “…you want to get the meaning out of each and every song; then you find yourself a message and some words to call your own and take them home.”

My favorite track is the title song, “Born And Raised,” which features angelic harmonies by David Crosby and Graham Nash (of course!), and finds the tabloid-riddled artist applying balm to his “quarter life crisis” with a dose of thirty-something maturity. In revealing intimate details of his own life (i.e., his parents’ recent divorce, his stupid mouth, his numerous cringe-inducing tweets, etc.) Mayer is giving voice to a generation of emerging adults navigating the coming-of-age process in the era of social media and public meltdowns. Andy Warhol’s notorious 15 minutes of fame prediction brought to life. From this perspective, Mayer’s album is nothing short of a public service. Teenagers, take notes!

"The Sound Inside," by Breaks Co-op

A few years ago, I was reading a magazine article written by the legendary Sir Elton John. He had been asked to host a series of guest editorials. Each month in his column, the pop icon would rant about the demise of the music industry, or he would rave about a new development or rising star in the beleaguered business. One week, he singled-out a New Zealand band, “Breaks Co-op.” In fact, the Rock-and-Roll Hall of Famer actually telephoned the band to tell them just how much he loved their funky, trip-hop influenced debut, The Sound Inside, calling it the best album he had heard that year. He also told Breaks vocalist, Andy Lovegrove, that he is one of his favorite singers. Not a bad endorsement. Well, what’s good enough for Sir Elton John is certainly good enough for me. I downloaded the album that afternoon, and it’s been spinning regularly on my iPod for three years now.

Simply put, The Sound Inside is extraordinary. Within the first few moments, the album grabs the listener by the shirt collar and demands attention – in the nicest possible way. The first thing that strikes the listener is the hypnotic, hopped-up drum loops on the lead-in, title track. The band’s inventive use of random, seemingly found audio clips and outer-space atmospherics draws you in. Beyond this, the album treats the listener to engaging and instantly memorable melodies. In fact, almost every song on this album would make a viable single, not that KISS FM would ever play them. But perhaps the best part of this album, and what I view to be the band's trump card, is the staggering, Crosby, Stills, & Nash-inspired vocal harmonies. Hamish Clark, Zane Lowe, and Andy Lovegrove blend their voices so flawlessly, so pristinely, that you’ll wonder if you’ve ever heard anything so perfect.

And vying for the best song on the album is the arresting, “A Place For You.” The song describes in flawless detail the rapture, uncertainty, and perpetual butterflies that come with negotiating a new relationship. “Should I place all my faith in you?” Lovegrove sings, “Should I open up and let you in?” The single acoustic guitar on the song is perfectly surrounded by lush strings and a surprisingly fitting bongo drum to provide pulse for the music. But what I most appreciate about this song (and this band) is the testicular fortitude to bravely reveal a startlingly tender male perspective, rarely heard in pop music (or anywhere else): “I have this place for you. I’ll make it safe for you. Don’t make me wait for you now; just come right next to me.”

Another contender for best song, and my personal favorite, is “LMA (little miss anonymous).” This bouncy, skip-along song is essentially a variation on the same theme of “A Place For You” and contains one of the most exquisite vocal harmonies I’ve ever heard. Ever. Especially when they sing in the second verse, “I don’t know if you think of me, but, I’m the one who wants to be there – close to you. If you were mine…” It’s a perfect pop moment.

But I’m just focusing on the love songs. The overarching theme of the entire album revolves around what feeds you - the inner world that guides how you live. The songs on The Sound Inside are about understanding and protecting your heart as it relates to the world around you: owning up to and challenging your own ideas and prejudices, expressing your love and your hate, taking care of your friends, your family, and yourself. This album perfectly explains the joy and stress of living each day and celebrates all of it. C.S. Lewis once said that love isn’t made complete until it’s expressed in some manner. This album does just that – expresses delight in the world around us, the jubilation and the agony, from the perspective and the capacities of the human heart. The Sound Inside is, therefore, a perfect soundtrack to life: completely engrossing, wonderfully validating, and wholly reassuring.

"Court and Spark," by Joni Mitchell

I think I’ve listened to this album for days. In fact, I listened to it again just this morning. Like most others, my introduction to this highly acclaimed 1974 album was through its two hit singles, “Help Me,” and “Free Man In Paris.” And while the hits remain classics, they aren’t even the best part of Joni Mitchell’s commercial zenith, Court and Spark.

Before “Help Me” bounced onto top 40 radio in the spring of that year, Joni Mitchell was best-known as the hippie chick who wrote hits for other artists, like “Both Sides Now,” for Judy Collins, and “Woodstock,” for Crosby, Stills, Nash, & Young (and true story: Chelsea Clinton was named after Mitchell’s classic track, “Chelsea Morning,” from her 1969 album, Clouds). Mitchell’s albums up to that point were Joan Baez-influenced folk music, with Mitchell’s cold water vocals and alternately tuned acoustic guitar strumming, singing about mornings, ladies of the canyon, and feeling blue. But, never one to linger on any, one topic or sound, Mitchell craved fresh musical terrain. So with Court and Spark, she enlisted a world-class lineup of musicians to back her and embarked on an aural journey that was…Completely. Friggin’. Transcendent.

The album describes the excitement, hopes, insecurities, and doubts that come from budding romance or lack thereof. Court and Spark builds quietly, with the hushed and conversational title track that reveals the author’s timidity and self-doubt about a fleeting, romantic near miss: “It seems like he read my mind; he saw me mistrusting and still acting kind; he saw how I worry sometimes…I worry sometimes…” Next come the hit singles, followed by the heart of the album: a quintet of dead-on relationship songs that examine the human coupling ritual in startling detail and sometimes cringe-inducing scrutiny.

Mitchell encapsulates the emotional arc of this heartfelt, introspective, and stirring album with a line from “People’s Parties,” where she sings, “I wish I had more sense of humor, keeping all the sadness at bay - throwing the lightness on these things, and laughing it all away…laughing it all away…laughing it all away…” The album flows in said manner from beginning to end, moving from heartbreak to humor and ending on a surprisingly comedic note with a cover of “Twisted,” where Mitchell trades debauched lines with “Cheech” Marin and Tommy “Chong,” kicking around about just how mixed-up Mitchell might really be. But she’s far from mixed up, and as Q-Tip so aptly reminded us a few years back, “Joni Mitchell never lies.”