The Black Crowes
Warpaint

ABOUT MUTUAL HOSTILITIES...

The red squirrel (sciurus vulgaris) is an omnivorous rodent that mostly lives in trees. About 25 cm tall, with a long tail and an ideal weight of 290 g, the little mammal is a regular of the bourgeois salons of European woods and forests. Currently, this cute and persistent seed-muncher, a bit of a sly one to be honest, is threatened by the robust gray squirrel (sciurus carolinensis), a muscular fascist and yankee sciuridae. Originally from North America, it was introduced into English territory at the dawn of the 20th century and has practically replaced the poor common squirrel, often with violent headbutts and big nuts planted up its backside. With light gray fur and a flamboyant tail striped with white, like Kylie Minogue in concert, the stubborn brown squirrel is a true scourge of God exported to Piedmont or Ireland, the relentless exterminator of bohemian red squirrels. Now in decline, almost annihilated by the mafia bullying of the gray critters, the nutcracker native to the Old Continent has nothing left but to disappear and live in reserves, like the Native Americans.

Closing the National Geographic parenthesis, the reunion of brothers Chris and Rich Robinson has wisely buried the hatchet in the family garden of their native Georgia. A symbol of mutual hostilities, public brawls during photo sessions, and kicks in the balls on tour buses. "Warpaint" is the vigorous return, after seven years, of the Black Crowes. Freed from the cages of a record industry preyed upon by greedy gray squirrels, and with their own brand new label (the Silver Arrow), the Black Crows soar to new heights. On the carcasses of the old psychedelic dream of Southern rock and hard blues of the nineties, between the splendors of The Southern Harmony And Melody Companion and Amorica. That sacred rock fire still burns, soaked in the torrid Southern momentum of Lynyrd Skynyrd, the swaggering tongue of the Stones, and the folk/country soul of Neil Young, with the addition of new members Luther Dickinson on guitar (from the North Mississippi All Stars) and Adam McDougall, keyboardist, to bolster the historic rhythm section formed by Steve Gorman on drums and Sven Pipien on bass.

The eleven tracks of Warpaint traverse tradition in a vintage classicism that smells of seasoned wood and has the proud taste of good aged bourbon. Goodbye Daughters Of The Revolution looks to the past of the Crows to explain their present, like Kris Kristofferson at the mercy of his fate in Pat Garrett & Billy The Kid by Peckinpah. In the majestic blues Walk Believer Walk the six-string of Rich Robinson bleeds ancient notes from the cotton fields of the South, overflowing with blackness that treacherously emerged from the deep waters of the Mississippi, along with the spirit of Howlin' Wolf. The soulful singing of the now beardy Chris (Jesus Christ meets the John Lennon of '69, which were then the same thing) is a warm and powerful gust in the wind, a clump of passion in the authoritative ballad Oh, Josephine, or the languid and virile support for the killer riff of Evergreen and Wounded Bird, a beautiful page torn from the memory book of Led Zeppelin. The stomp of God's Got It is a joyful homage to Reverend Charlie Jackson. We Who See The Deep, which spreads its wings in a massive Stones-like chorus, is yet another tribute to the adolescent heroes Jagger & Richards. And if light psychedelic watercolors paint the introduction of the lashing Movin' On Down The Line, the nostalgic interlude of Locust Street and Whoa Mule cures heart ailments and torpor among mandolins, folk-gospel choirs, and an organ that sketches endless North American prairies in the finale. Behind the crisis of past years, the searing sound of the Black Crowes vibrates boldly and proudly.

No, it is not time for Indian reservations, or premature escapes into anonymity, for the quarreling Robinson brothers.