Happiness Bastards

Album review

Nearly a quarter decade after they shook up radio with their Southern-fried Faces revival, Shake Your Moneymaker, the Black Crowes—that is, let's be honest, brothers Chris and Rich Robinson—are back with a ninth album that embraces their crushed velvet and cracked leather roots. Happiness Bastards could've come out in 1990 or, more aptly, 1970 or '71, filed next to the Stones and the Faces and James Gang. "Dirty Cold Sun" nods to the latter: blistering funk with deep-fried Southern rock guitar and piston rhythm, leaving nothing on the table. The guitar riffs, of course, come from the great Rich Robinson, king of open tuning, who had fallen into a rut during the late aughts (the less said about those albums, the better) but sounds rejuvenated on tracks like the urgent "Rats and Clowns." His brother, meanwhile, seems like no decades have passed, that signature rasp honed to a fine point. "Bedside Manners" tears it up with greasy guitar and boogie piano frills, then slows its roll, as Chris does his usual motormouth riffing—spray-painting every corner with "huh" and "oh!"

The brothers did well by choosing Jay Joyce to produce; he's excellent at pushing artists with a dark outlaw edge (Eric Church, Miranda Lambert, Cage the Elephant) toward a multi-hued palette. "Cross Your Fingers" starts out as a ballad, then kicks into a confident, liquid-bass strut accented by Merry Clayton-style backing vocals. "Well, I stand accused on the shore of a stormy sea … And I survived the bullet you shot right through my heart/ And in this crime, I have surely taken part," Chris sings in what could be an omission of the vainglory and rivalry that drove a wedge between the brothers for years. There are other nods to their shared history. Stomping "Follow the Moon" could be an outtake from their Amorica album, and the vocal melody of "Wanting and Waiting"'s verses sound a lot like "Jealous Again" from 1990. But there are also a couple of left turns. "Flesh Wound" is a shit-kicker, its pop-punk beat and revved-up rockabilly guitar offering levity amidst the Stonesy shadows; you wouldn't want a whole album of it, and it's probably going to piss off some fans, but it's a fun novelty. And "Kindred Friend" is a beautiful break from the regular programming; there is no juke-joint bite to this Lennon-esque ballad. There is one wasted moment on Happiness Bastards. Country star Lainey Wilson signs up for harmony on swampy, gospel-tinged "Wilted Rose," but her powerhouse is too low in the mix to matter. Wilson is a master at duets (see: Jelly Roll, Hardy, Cole Swindell); too bad the Crowes couldn't make room for her.  © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz