The Black Crowes and the groove vs. the rut
The Black Crowes and the groove vs. the rut
The Black Crowes are at the center of 'doing something better than anyone else' and 'doing the same exact thing over and over'
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Way, way, way back in 1990, when I was but a wee pup just trying to break into the writing game, I got a freelance assignment from the Richmond Times-Dispatch to cover a performance by an up-and-coming rock band. Whenever I got these gigs, I’d try to get to the venue many hours early, to listen to the sound check and soak up the vibe1.
On this particular day, as I walked up to the Flood Zone — a converted warehouse-turned-tiny-concert-hall in Richmond’s Shockoe Bottom district — I saw a blade-skinny dude lounging outside the venue’s side door, sporting a long coat, a frilly shirt with sleeves that extended almost to his fingertips, and a wide floppy velvet driver’s cap. The dude was blazing up something fierce; smoke hung around his head like a Christmas wreath, and he had several women lingering on his every word. This was Chris Robinson, lead singer of the Black Crowes, and at that moment he looked like the coolest man alive.
He also looked like a man severely out of place. This was 1990, and Bart Simpson t-shirts and jorts ruled the day. Hair metal bands like Mötley Crüe and Poison still owned rock n’ roll, and the grunge era of Nirvana and Pearl Jam was still months away from breaking big.
But here was Robinson, dressed like some faded English dandy in tax exile. He was trying his best to turn Richmond, Virginia into the south of France, even if nobody outside of him was playing along. The Crowes were just starting to pick up steam off their monumental Shake Your Money Maker debut — you know, the one with “Hard To Handle” and “She Talks To Angels.” Within a few months, they’d be the biggest band on the planet — for a few weeks, anyway — but right at this moment, it looked like Halloween had come a little early to Shockoe Bottom.
The Crowes — who just released a new album, which is why I’m writing this, but we’ll get to that in a bit — formed in Atlanta, and based the entirety of their identity on the turn-of-the-’70s, Exile on Main Street-era Stones. Grimy guitars, train-kept-a-rollin’ rhythm section, yelped lyrics of celebration and regret, barroom piano, a mournful Hammond B-3 organ … the Crowes mainlined a kind of blues rock that was dead and gone after the synth-laden ‘80s blew through.
Here’s the mindblowing thing: The Crowes, in 1990, were biting off a culture that reached its apex in about 1970. Back then, the era of the Stones/Faces/Zeppelin seemed like another era. But if it were today, the 2024 equivalent of the Black Crowes would be ripping off the early-2000s pop punk of Fall Out Boy and Panic! at the Disco. (Related: We are all old.)
The Crowes released one magnificent album (Shake Your Money Maker), one epic (The Southern Harmony and Musical Companion, which has their best song, “Hotel Illness”) … and then things started to go sideways. The Crowes were right there on the verge of becoming one of the greatest American rock n’ roll bands in history … right up until everything fell apart. No, wait, that passive-voice construction doesn’t quite hit the mark. Right up until they blew everything apart.
Fronted by the Robinson brothers — the aforementioned Chris, and also Rich — the Crowes went through the typical lead singer-lead guitarist who’s-running-the-show drama … but unlike the Stones, the Crowes weren’t able to see the bigger picture. For their next album, Amorica (which features their second-best song, “Descending”), Chris demanded a cover taken straight from an old Hustler magazine featuring a closeup of a woman’s American-flag bikini with pubic hair clearly visible around the edges. Not exactly the most commercially viable record cover, as you can imagine.
Matters devolved from there, as best recounted by former drummer Steve Gorman in his exceptional autobiography “Hard to Handle.” Short version: the Robinson brothers had a golden goose in their hands and they somehow managed to strangle it and stomp it into feathers. Granted, they did step onto the tracks right as the grunge train was bearing down on them, but still … you’ll want to throw the book across the room at all the Crowes’ missed opportunities — like the time Jimmy Page, of all people, wanted to help the Crowes get back on track toward immortality, and they basically spit on his offer.
Anyway, now that they’ve pretty much exhausted every other option — and everyone else in their lives, probably — the Robinson brothers are back together, and they’ve just released Happiness Bastards, their first album together in well over a decade. They’re the only two left over from the original band, which is both appropriate and tragic.
There’s an easy familiarity to the Crowes’ music, particularly if you grew up on rock n’ roll. Check out “Wanting and Waiting,” the first single off the album, which locks into a recognizable groove and doesn’t let go for four minutes. The group-sung chorus, “I’m nothing but lonely, waiting and wanting, wanting and waiting for you,” would sound just fine pretty much any year from 1969 to today:
And that might be the whole issue right there. The Crowes found a style and a groove that fits them, and they’ve largely stuck to that pretty much ever since. Even the Stones, who also just released an album of new material last year2, brought in a thirtysomething producer to give their songs a present-day feel. Happiness Bastards would give you the same feel whether it was played on an LP in 1974, a cassette tape in 1984, a CD in 1994, an MP3 ripped off Napster in 2004, or Spotify in 2024. They’ve been around long enough that the style of music they were aping in 1990 has come and gone a couple times now.
It’s a fascinating question for any artist, how much to change with the times and how much to stick with your own original vision. Try to keep up with the trends, and you risk coming off as inauthentic, try-hard and goofy, losing your audience in the process. Try to stick with a proven formula, though, and you’ll find yourself appealing to the same, ever-dwindling group of diehards.
If those diehards are a large enough cohort — for, say, Phish or Grateful Dead-adjacent bands — you can get away with playing the same tune, rearranged. But the worst-case scenario is that you end up with an audience that only wants to hear your old stuff, no matter how much you’d like to do something new.
The Crowes had a chance to come out from under the shadow of the Stones and chart the course of rock music for the ‘90s — the solo that starts at the 3:54 mark of “Jealous Again,” for instance, is one of my favorite guitar breaks ever, and it hits heights the Stones never even attempted. But the Crowes self-destructed, not just shooting themselves in the feet but sawing them off just to spite each other. I’m glad they’re back, but man, what could’ve been.
So if you happen to be fortunate enough to have created something beautiful, for the love of God, don’t screw it up. That magic doesn’t come along often.
Crowdsourcing: Who’s your ride-or-die band? The one you’ll always follow no matter how badly they screw up? Let us know.
Dig on “Wanting and Waiting” and everything else we’ve highlighted in here in the official Flashlight & A Biscuit Spotify playlist right here:
Stunt food of the week: The Texas Monster Dog
You know what goes with a high-energy, constant-movement sport like soccer? That’s right: a hot dog loaded down with an oil drum’s worth of condiments! Meet the Texas Monster Dog … and I do mean meet, you better stand up straight and look this dog in the eye when it’s approaching you. Don’t show fear. A product of FC Dallas, this beast consists of a “grilled Texas-style footlong beef hot dog topped with house-smoked BBQ brisket, Texas chili, cheddar cheese, pickled jalapeños and crispy onions.”
Mmmm. Looks delicious! You’re gonna need some of that wacky magic soccer spray for your stomach after this one:
As always, hit me with your stunt food findings for use in a future dispatch. Not quite sure where this “Message Jay Busbee” message will end up, but tap it and find out!
As Florida as it gets
Courtesy of reader Daryl Ward, this gem. No better place to advertise for crawfish than on a dumpster, right?
That’ll do it for this week, friends. Have yourself a fine week, and we’ll see you right back here soon!
—Jay
Land Cat, Georgia
This is issue #116 of Flashlight & A Biscuit. Check out all the past issues right here. Feel free to email me with your thoughts, tips and advice. If you’re new around here, jump right to our most-read stories, or check out some of our recent hits:
Our first documentary, on the famous Rama Jama’s diner in Tuscaloosa, Alabama:
All hail the Luther Burger
“Until I see God or the checkered flag”: The greatest NASCAR quote of the decade
The “you” in “All I Want For Christmas Is You” tries to explain himself on Christmas morning
A requiem for one of the truly great chroniclers of Florida Man
What does “Flashlight & A Biscuit” mean, anyway?
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Yes, in those days I would go full-on William Miller … minus Penny Lane, alas.
Imagine telling someone in 1972 that the Stones would still be releasing albums in 2023. That would literally be like Taylor Swift releasing an album in 2075.
Panic, Gov’t Mule and DBT!
its the Robinson brothers at this point, the Crowes are done