Standing In The Breach

On Jackson Browne's first studio recording since 2008, the man who defined the '70s singer/songwriter generation finds a fresh way of dealing with the world as it is both personally and politically -- by going back to his own roots. Lyrically, Browne is inspired in a way he hasn't been since 1976's The Pretender, and this recording's production aesthetic adheres closer to that of even earlier records. His core accompanists are guitarists Greg Leisz and Val McCallum, with an all-star cast. Socio-political songs are plentiful, but these come from an intimate -- and therefore more appealing -- perspective; he often uses personal memory to frame his concerns. The opener is a (finally) finished version of "The Birds of St. Marks," a song begun in 1967 and performed live intermittently but never recorded in a studio. Its sound harkens back to the the Byrds. Jangly guitars and an electric 12-string solo frame its introspective lyrics. "Yeah Yeah" borrows the changes from Lou Reed's "Sweet Jane" and pulls them off anew in a love song: "And you paid for the love that we've got, you paid/And you made for the heart when we fought and you stayed…" "Leaving Winslow" is a West Coast country song whose locale was namechecked in "Take It Easy," yet this isn't an exercise in nostalgia but a solid, and sometimes humorous, paean to acceptance and the desire to disappear.

Few writers could deliver a poignant song where surfing transitions to environmentalism and the historical consequences of empire. Browne can, and does -- with obvious melodic inspiration from Paul McCartney -- on "If I Could Be Anywhere," where step by step, the political is equated with personal responsibility. There are two exceptional covers that introduce the record's latter half. Both are stellar love songs that are nonetheless topical, and both are by true song poets. The first is a stunning folk-rock arrangement of Woody Guthrie's "You Know the Night," while "Walls and Doors" is a translation of Cuban songwriter/guitarist Carlos Varela's "Las Paredes y Puertas," and features him and his trio. The latter is a lilting romantic ballad, arranged to underscore both the composer's and Browne's personas. Only "Which Side Are You On" sounds "preachy," but that's because it is; it employs the same gospel-blues lyric scheme Bob Dylan did on "You Gotta Serve Somebody" but to secular ends. The title track, led by the songwriter and his piano, is a testament to the power of irrepressible hope and resilience: "Though the world may tremble and our foundations crack/We will all assemble and we will build them back." Closer "Here" is one of Browne's classic broken love songs; its sadness echoes long after the album whispers to a close. Standing in the Breach is a back to the basics Browne album, and is all the better for it. He's no longer speaking at anyone, but conversing from the well of his own experience.

—Thom Jurek

"It's never been that hard to buy a gun/Now they'll sell a Glock 19 to just about anyone," muses Jackson Browne midway through "The Long Way Around," balancing America's pursuit of freedom with the notion of consequence. Even in what the singer/songwriter can't embrace, he seeks compassion as piano chords fall like soft rain, ultimately offering, "With all we disagree about/The passions burn, the heart goes out…"

Browne has always led a double life: sensitive singer/songwriter and committed activist. During his 40-year career, there's been a tug of war between the romantic poet and the surging outcry. On Standing In The Breach, his first album since 2008's Time The Conqueror, the Southern California soft rock icon seamlessly reconciles the two.

Drawing on touchstones from his past, most notably The Pretender, Late for the Sky and For Everyman, he embraces his past without getting mired in the temple of who he used to be. His past is vibrant, but the shimmering melodies and tracks' spaciousness lends Breach immediacy.

Browne also reinvents Lou Reed—taking the changes of "Sweet Jane" and writing a forged-by-mingled-lives love song "Yeah Yeah"—and Bob Dylan—recasting the churning "Gotta Serve Somebody" in a more personal reckoning/invitation "Which Side?"—in far more hopeful terms. He even invokes "Take It Easy," Browne's co-written '70s Eagles anthem, with the train-beat rootlessness of "Leaving Winslow."

He understands the chambers and echoes of the heart. The haunted "Here" embodies the numb vertigo of a lover's absence, while the mythic "The Birds of St Marks," begun in 1967 and played sporadically live but never recorded, weighs the costs and loss in love from a young man's eye.

That idealism permeates the twang of "You Know The Night," a song of desire realized through the prism of awareness—drawn from 15 pages of Woody Guthrie's journals. The same ardor infused with seeking a higher world entwines Carlos Varela's "Windows + Doors," Varela providing plangent echo vocals as the song finds a hushed climax.

Unlike Pete Seeger, Browne's activism never drowned the lover inside. For Breach, the two merge with an intoxicating sense; the personal elevates the political. "Breach" delicately offers optimism beneath its reckoning, while "If I Could Be Anywhere" tackles hard truth, love and the notion this is where he chooses to make his stand.

But it's "The Long Way Around," where his misspent youth and our cultural mandates merge in a wake-up call as he name-checks Citizens United and the Gulf oil spill. Here acceptance isn't acquiescence, but the suggestion coming together is the only chance we have. For Browne, Breach is the best of all worlds.

—Holly Gleason