In July 1986, as I have written before, my life changed. I heard the song “You Give Love A Bad Name” on the top 40. We used to sit there taping the best of them, every Sunday night. And that was the best. I am not over-romanticising things when I say, those were the first four minutes when music belonged to me. Not my mum and dad. Me. I was 10 years old.
Fast forward to September 1991, I was a month from my 16th birthday, and about three from my first gig. I was a music geek by now, Jovi had led me on a journey of discovery, a path I still take today when I am still looking for my new favourite thing.
That particular day, I remember, I was outside the record shop near where I lived at 9am (this is absolutely true, by the way) because on September 3 1991, Richie Sambora released his first solo record. “Stranger In This Town” stands today as one of my favourite records still. And when I talk about the “journey” this is what I mean. That was a blues record, basically. So I began investigating. I heard all kinds, and I developed a passion for what I now know to be “Southern Rock”, but back then I just knew I loved it.
I still do.
And I am not exaggerating in any way when I say these words: In the 15 seconds it takes Henry James to play the lead for “Oh Miss Carolina” I was that kid again. The one outside the record shop, and I had the same frisson of excitement.
It’s not that it is the most original song on planet earth in 2020, but that’s to miss the point. It might actually be the best. That might be a stretch, but from the very first line: “All my life’s been wasted, trying to understand, why I am searching for the one that got away” this is basically as perfect as music is going to get this year.
You’ve got Robert Jon Burrison, who basically sounds as though he was born to sing southern rock in a way that Cody Cannon from Whiskey Myers is, you’ve got the gorgeous, understated piano of Steve Maggiora and then there’s James. And my, how the boy can play. There are solos here that are worth buying the record for alone.
It goes on, wherever it wants, and with a genuine and total class. “Work It Out” does a soul thing, the sax solo has got Clarence Clemons beaming down with pride and backing vocals never get better than Mahalia Barnes, Jade McRae, and Juanita Tippins (Bonamassa uses them for a reason, after all).
A little like “Stranger In This Town” (see that waffle did have a point) at times this feels like a homage to their own heroes. “Can’t Stand It” for example recalls The Eagles, or The Allman Brothers, at times both. It is mighty too.
A couple of weeks ago, the band released a new video. Like everyone else in the lockdown age, they had to do something outside the box when they did “Tired Of Drinking Alone”. What they did, was get a load of their mates in other bands (Stevie from Bad Touch still manages to look like a rock star even then) to film themselves singing the song, in a kind of virtual hoedown. It is very much the perfect vibe, when you think about it, there is something warm and convivial about all of this. A welcome for everyone, if you will.
There is more of Warren Hayes in “Do You Remember?” Which looks back on their own dreams and wonders what went wrong. “Do you remember being free?” it questions plaintively, before the guitar sound is one of such pure sunshine that you forget your troubles anyway.
The organ of “This Time Around” makes that one special. There are obvious Chris Robinson comparisons to be had here too, and there’s some of the finest slide guitar around on “Don’t Let Me Go”. One of those that sells the world the American dream. The good ol’ boys, never meaning no harm, and imagery of the “Southern Magnolia” and a similar feel to that of Magpie Salute, say. This is better, however.
“One Last Time” is one you can imagine at the end of the bar, with a drink in its hand while the staff are cleaning around Burrison, as he tries to forget her. “Tonight we’ll be an echo,” he sings, “in the canyon of my mind” and anyone who’s been there, is there with him now.
It’s tempting to think that “Gold” is about the same girl. A bluesy one, but there’s a brilliant line in this: “I want you to go and get married,” it says. “You’ll probably end of up divorced when you’re 30, two kids and on child support.” And I am telling you, Robert Jon Burrison is a hero for all the weird geeky blokes that went to the wedding of a girl they were in love with, or let their mate go out with another instead a few years later (maybe, or I could be making that up…..). Anyone who thinks that he’s being harsh doesn’t get it.
Moving on, as I think we’d better, “Last Light On The Highway” saves its most ambitious thing for last. The title track is a two part thing. A total of eight minutes of wonderful music, it is a bit of a departure, but nothing too severe. What it does show, though, is just how incredibly talented this quartet is.
The name: “Last Light On The Highway”. It signifies hope to me. There you are, alone in the wilderness, but you’ll make it home. In many ways this did that for me. It reminded me of both why I love music in the first place, and of the music I have always loved.
A quite brilliant album. When they hand out the awards for the record of the year, this really shouldn’t be far away.
Rating 10/10
