David Crosby
Lighthouse

Introduction:

Lazy, hedonistic, reckless, toxic, and a drunkard, this Californian hippy with a surprisingly tough skin for all he's put himself and others through, has always needed to lean on someone to put together and publish a bit of musical repertoire in his name. And on this occasion, at 75 years of age (we're in 2016... he's almost eighty now!), he has chosen the right person: Michael League, the leader of the New Yorkers and not too well-known Snarky Puppy, that is, someone with forty-three fewer years on his back.

And so after Roger McGuinn with the Byrds, Stephen Stills with the CSN, half of San Francisco on his first solo album of '71, his friend Graham Nash in their duo, the session pianist Craig Doerge for the second solo album "Yes I Can" from the late eighties, the meddling but munificent Phil Collins (see below) for the third work "Thousand Roads" of 1993, the illegitimate son who doesn't even carry his surname, James Raymond, in the CPR at the turn of the centuries and later for the fourth solo album of 2014 "Croz"... the esteemed Crosby has found once again someone who can take care of his musical ideas, organizing their execution and presenting them in the best light: an operation on this occasion perfectly successful.

Context:

Well, this Michael League works as a bassist in an instrumental group, yet here with Crosby, we can admire him as the main guitarist, arranger, producer, naturally a bassist, and finally as a second, excellent voice! That a guy used to playing jazz and fusion with about fifteen other instrumentalists can manage so well to play the Paul Simon in an acoustic duo with "Garfunkel" David, is a source of great wonder for me.

The Crosby of the 2010s is well cared for here: with all his wrinkles, the few remaining hairs obstinately kept long, the big mustache in place, him being the only one left wearing it in this current world of goatees and beards, his voice clouded by excesses yet still somewhat celestial (only the imperfect snap of the labials sounds a bit deteriorated), the Crosby of whom I was speaking strums something here and there but the bulk of the work is done by the other guy, with his very educated hands and clear ideas. When it comes to voice, the old man holds nothing back with what little is left, and he dominates: great and deep, perfectly pitched multi-layered choruses here and there.

This still functioning elderly hippie is a miracle of nature, a life expectancy dream for each of us! He served jail time in the eighties, smoked, drank, inhaled, snorted all the state-of-the-art so-called drugs, and manages two different kinds of diabetes with daily insulin… He also had cirrhosis, but he resolved it with a liver transplant dating back to a quarter of a century ago, and paid for by… Phil Collins! Yes, the former parsley of rock, who, as long as health supported him, was in everyone's face of just about every musician in the world, English, American, Canadian, and Brazilian, from folkies to metalheads, playing and producing (and ruining quite a few records of his charges in my opinion, like Clapton's). But on that occasion, he generously did the right thing for crazy Croz, as usual without a penny and at death's door, allowing him to reach our days to still offer us some evocative music.

Strengths and flaws:

His voice, along with the golden hands and keen ears of his partner; the crystal-clear sounds; the deep choruses; the minimalist yet lush instrumentation, the beautiful cover (the lighthouse photographed is not in California but in the Atlantic and in Portugal) are the successful elements of this work.

The occasionally less sturdy inspiration, the weariness of our man's vocal emission… nothing else can be noted as minus to this glorious and fulfilling recently-minted Crosby.

Album highlights:

“Things We Do for Love” is tasked with starting the album well, succeeding and surprising almost immediately, with an unexpected and very nourishing third chord crafted by the handful of acoustic guitars in action, particularly League's 12-string. David has his tongue a bit twisted when pronouncing the letter "c" especially, but otherwise flows beautifully.

“The Us Below” is equally suggestive, with the magical, resonant interplays of various acoustics describing an obstinate and suspended riff.

The wonderfully warm choral opening conceived in the refrain of “Look in Their Eyes,” after a tense and bluesy stanza in a seventh-chord, so lovely that the arrangement reiterates it a cappella to close the song.

“Paint You a Picture” is intimate and touching, with a descending melody so melancholic and heartfelt. Crosby seeks forgiveness from someone, imploring him or her to let him paint a picture for them.

The rest:

“Drive Out to the Desert” is the only one composed solely by Crosby and is typical of his style, with that relaxed and full-of-pauses gait. The singing is in bites, one phrase at a time with that elderly yet always familiar voice.

“Somebody Other Than You” enjoys one of those open and tight arpeggios characteristic of our subject. More beautiful is the guitar part (many chords!) than the melodic development of the voice. More than dignified.

The music of “The City” is by Michael League alone and indeed the city in question seems to be his New York. The track is a tad more urban, with its sharp and rhythmic riff and enrichments of electric guitar, bass, and organ.

“Wait Makes It So” has an arpeggio we've already heard and a not very memorable vocal part, while in the concluding “By the Light of Common Day” what stands out is the presence of two female backing singers, for once broadening the timbre of harmonizations and choirs previously the province of Crosby and League's multi-layered work. But there's an explanation: the music is by Becca Stevens, one of the two young singers (the lyrics are by Crosby). This quartet is what carried the content of this album across the USA (they can be admired on YouTube) and continues to churn out albums in David Crosby's name… a grandpa who has started running, in the sense of producing an album every two years, as an almost-octogenarian after not having done so throughout his life until now!

Final verdict:

It is an album of acoustic guitars, with just a touch of piano or organ or electric in a couple of occasions. And no drums, ever! Two beautiful voices (one gorgeous) and choirs, always exquisite and sometimes very rich. Transparent and deep, intimate yet sonorous, Californian as it logically is given the subject but not so predictable since his partner is from the East Coast.

Works like this are priceless in today's world. This meeting between the aged promoter and developer of folk rock in its glorious golden period of the sixties and seventies, with a gentleman who could be his grandson but manages to align with his same "analog" wavelength, is a half miracle… The album has its pauses of inspiration, but is delightful and brilliant, magnificently produced. Four and a half stars from me.