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Rating: All Jackson Browne albums deserve respect, almost all merit a purchase, some deserve praise, and a couple even enthusiasm. He is a good man, and his place among top-notch American singer-songwriters was earned early and deservedly. He is a lovely person: honest, modest, idealistic yet determined, activist and generous for just causes, and... quite handsome, which has no musical or human significance but certainly doesn't hurt.
Despite these premises, prolonged listening to his music, in my opinion, induces a certain tedium: the problem lies in the accentuated repetitiveness, and thus predictability, of his melodies... in plain terms, Jackson resorts to musical phrases that are very, too recurrent; he develops his singing style in a personal but confined manner, thus prone to easy taste saturation, like ice cream that's too sweet, like a Woody Allen film, like an Ac/Dc album.
His adopted homeland also plays a role in this (Jackson was born on this side of the world, in Germany), that California birthplace of sounds, interpretations, arrangements that are almost always balanced, correct, and classy, eventually ending up with something too clean and mannered... The solution is to approach this artist sporadically, savor his sincere and melancholic voice in small doses, one album at a time, making an effort to follow his lyrics that are intelligent and incisive, important.
This is his sixth album of his career, at the dawn of the eighties. In the accompanying band, the guitars and violin of David Lindley still stand out, a superb musician and true icon of the virtuosic Californian sound. His incredible sensitivity on string instruments reaches its peak in the masterpiece "Call It A Loan", a ballad literally painted by an enveloping and harmonious electric guitar arpeggio, with a wonderful sound.
The album opens with Browne's personal, calm adaptation to the prevailing trend in those years (which certainly wasn't punk, although many believe it or are led to believe it). "Disco Apocalypse" showcases the four-to-the-floor beat and chromed synthesizer riffs, in a timid but not clumsy attempt to make (for once) the candidly intimate and reflective universe of our musician danceable and carefree.
It's only an episodic concession... from the second song onward, he resumes with the usual, twilight, politically correct tirades of Jackson about love, war, preserving nature, cultivating friendships, defending affections, loving and practicing music. The lead instruments are, as usual, the acoustic guitar or alternatively the piano, never accelerating too much, never getting rough, always crafting notes, words, and arrangements, aided by the best performers on the Los Angeles scene, people who wall themselves in its numerous studios for eleven months a year and contribute to hundreds of globally successful productions.
The text of the lengthy "Of Missing Persons" is touching, addressed to Inara George, the young daughter of his friend Lowell, the leader of the Dixie Dregs, who passed away the previous year. Even longer and more emotional is the concluding "Hold On Hold Out", a declaration of love to his future wife Lynne, a ballad musically created by his pianist Craig Doerge and characterized by a double and captivating finale: just when it seems the piece fades, a glorious timpani gallop arrives in resolution, expanding the piece into an intense, original, and lyrical coda, a worthy closure of an honest and estimable work.
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