Within the retro-rockin' confines of The Black Crowes, Chris Robinson's bluesy Rod Stewart-isms made perfect sense. On his own, however, he sounds like a man lost amid his own vast record collection. Rather than break free from group restraints and explore virgin musical territory, the solo Robinson merely waters down the Crowes formula to an irredeemably backward-looking soft country rock. New Earth Mud is a muddled debut, suggesting that the singer has yet to find comfort in his own artistic skin. The psychedelic soul of "Fables" and "Sunday Sound" indicate fruitful new directions, but even the best tunes here cry out to be fucked with in the style of Big Star's Third Album. Failing that, perhaps someone should slip him Jim O' Rourke's digits for the follow-up...
Within the retro-rockin’ confines of The Black Crowes, Chris Robinson’s bluesy Rod Stewart-isms made perfect sense. On his own, however, he sounds like a man lost amid his own vast record collection. Rather than break free from group restraints and explore virgin musical territory, the solo Robinson merely waters down the Crowes formula to an irredeemably backward-looking soft country rock. New Earth Mud is a muddled debut, suggesting that the singer has yet to find comfort in his own artistic skin.
The psychedelic soul of “Fables” and “Sunday Sound” indicate fruitful new directions, but even the best tunes here cry out to be fucked with in the style of Big Star’s Third Album. Failing that, perhaps someone should slip him Jim O’ Rourke’s digits for the follow-up…
