New Earth Mud
Oh boy, does this ever stink. The Black Crowes were a marginally interesting bar band when they kept the songs under five minutes or so, but as their career progressed, they kept edging closer to the dreaded “jam band” status, ending up as pale Allman Brothers wannabes. Thankfully, The Crowes have packed it in (for now, anyway), but if that means we’re gonna be subjected to wimpy self-indulgent crap like this, I say reform the band.
12 songs of love, delivered with all the passion and commitment of a baked pizza delivery driver on a rainy night. Electric piano, soft acoustic guitars and barely awake vocals add up to a record that The Eagles would be embarrassed to claim. Songs such as “Katie Dear” are so sweet, they make you wanna spit. Really, I can’t imagine any Crowes fan is going to like this, and if you weren’t a fan before, this sort of music is done far better elsewhere. In fact, if Robinson weren’t married to a Hollywood film star and didn’t have somewhat of a rep from The Crowes, he’d be trying to sell CDs he made at home at open-mic nights — without much luck. No way he’d get signed to a major. Bottom line, Chris Robinson is attempting to pass off a dearth of ideas and energy on ya, and he should be ashamed. Come back when you have something to say — and care enough about it to give a damn about its presentation. This record is crap.
Chris Robinson: http://www.newearthmud.com