On April 29th, the CHRIS
ROBINSON BROTHERHOOD returns from gathering the ineffable with PHOSPHORESCENT
HARVEST, their third long playing album for Silver Arrow Records. Having
first unshackled the air with Big Moon Ritual (June 1012) and The Magic
Door (September 2012), the band--Robinson (Lead vocals, guitar), Neal Casal
(guitar, vocals), Adam Macdougall (keys, vocals), George Sluppick (drums), and
Mark Dutton (bass, vocals)--trucked the realms relentlessly, including a
118-show stretch that never failed to illuminate blank nights to just this side
of clarity. Late 2013 saw the fruits of that labor forever captured in the
proverbial amber by legendary tape priestess, Betty Cantor-Jackson (Grateful
Dead), on the eight-sided limited-edition vinyl release Betty’s S.F. Blends
Volume 1, which documented a glorious five night run at San Francisco’s
famed American Music Hall.
Momentarily content with dusting the
globe and turning the sun out at its scattered dances, the BROTHERHOOD
reconvened with producer Thom Monahan (Vetiver, Devendra Banhart, Papercuts) to
materialize a new set of sounds unseen to lean on ceilings, a music of the
spheres not content to just envelop rafters. The writing partnership and
dialogue between Robinson and Casal has never been as closely woven as it is on
PHOSPHORESCENT HARVEST, almost akin to the conversation you hear murmuring
out of the mouths of the moon and the stars as they glide the celestial track.
This isn’t a range they ride alone though, and as strong as the songwriting
gets does too the rest of the band’s willingness to seek company in chaos’ warm
embrace, discovering that in familiar forms there can glow a vastness.
PHOSPHORESCENT HARVEST features ten new songs that build on
the California group’s impressively growing repertoire by combining the direct
and immediate songwriting Robinson has long been known for with an expansive
sense of space and texture that has never been so fully realized until now. In
an age when so many put their beliefs in trends, the volumes have all collapsed
and rooms are filled with tiny rock and dampened lamps, the CHRIS ROBINSON
BROTHERHOOD rolls on to sharpen the blur at your brow and wind like smoke
through your mind.