When the Black Crowes first went national, around 1990, the band became a walking/talking critical argument. Were Chris and Rich Robinson inspired revivalists, introducing rock and blues verities rendered with credibility and conviction to a new generation? Or were they figurative grave defilers, cynically cornholing the corpse of rock glories past for the entertainment of aging fans who loved claiming they dug a new band and didn't care that it didn't actually sound new? Back then, I sided with the latter line of reasoning, and in general, I still do. With so many fresh and exciting sounds to hear, why bother listening to a group that replicates timeworn ones? But those who prefer musical comfort food rather than unique flavors could do worse. The Crowes aren't dilettantes — they've devoted decades to favorite styles — and their latest album, Warpaint, is solid and substantial. I won't be at the Fillmore to see them, but I can understand why you might.
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