The Black Crowes: Gearing Up for a New Kind of Revolution

“Paul brought everyone’s strengths,” agrees drummer Steve Gorman. “As someone who’s seen us from a distance over the years, Paul had a simple view of the band. It was like, ‘This is what you guys are best at; this is where you’re happiest. You have a certain set of strengths, and maybe sometimes you haven’t played to those.’

“Our band has been very adventurous. In the past, we’ve explored different areas with mixed results, always learning along the way. I like all of our albums, but I wouldn’t say all of them are great examples of what we’re best at. But Paul was able to nudge everyone toward their natural wheelhouse—as players, as writers, as singers. A big part of that was the band was all in one room playing live without separation. We weren’t in a studio setup where everyone was in a different booth looking through glass at each other. We were set up like you would be in rehearsal where you’re in a semi-circle and everyone’s right in each other’s face. The feel of the album is very live. There are few overdubs. ... Paul was able to help us get that without any pressure, because he spent the better part of a year playing shows with us. There was such a comfort level with him, it was as if he were a member of the band.”

With Stacey at the helm, and the lineup rounded out by bassist Sven Pipien, plus new guitarist Luther Dickinson of the North Mississippi All-Stars and keyboardist Adam MacDougal (both of whom are now official members of the Crowes), the band headed to Allaire studios near Woodstock, N.Y. “We wanted to be out of the city,” Rich explains, “to go somewhere we could just sort of be, and really focus on an album. After going up there, it was just beautiful. It had great equipment, a great setting, and when you’re there, you’re there.

“Luther brought such a refreshing energy, and Adam was cool, too. It was really spontaneous. Having everyone in that studio meshed so well together, musically. And being up on that mountain, you can’t really discount that. You wake up every day and you look out and there’s just so much beauty—there are bears running around. It was just a really cool thing.”

A secluded slice of studio utopia isn’t a strange place for this album to be born, even with a seemingly violent name like Warpaint. To lyricist Chris and the rest of the band, the title has more to do with the revolution that could take place in a person’s soul; an inner awakening as opposed to an outward political struggle. Like a lot of artists since 9/11 and Iraq, the Crowes see a problem with where America and our world are heading, but—as could be expected—their reaction is quite different than the hordes of modern protest-song writers. “If we all wanted to get together and hit the streets, could we stop an unjust corporate war?” ponders Chris a few days before his 41st birthday, his flowing hair and beard starting to sprout subtle hints of grey. “I don’t know. Does the trance run so deep that people have forgotten about humanity? I don’t know. But I tell you this—I can take responsibility for me and what I’m putting out there. And you can call it whatever you want. I don’t have to wear a button. And you know what else I don’t have to do? I don’t have to give soundbites on every fucking little thing, ’cause I think that’s debasing all of us and how we feel.”

“[The idea of Warpaint represents] a consciousness that I think is coming,” Rich says. “I think humanity really needs to change where it’s going. And I think that all the signs are there—getting back to what’s important. Getting back to the soul, in whatever it is. Taking craft seriously again. Everything has become so disposable; everything is about quantity instead of quality. And that goes for music, too. In the pursuit of perfection, the humanity falls by the wayside. Music has become so computerized. It’s like, ‘Let’s take this one note and have 10 guys tweak it.’ It’s just so laborious and it takes away all the humanity and the soul of everything. A lot of what was great about music back in the day was the imperfections, the unexpected. And you can apply that across the board, to anything—is there craft anymore? Is there pride in what you do? Is there care for other people? Is there less greed? All these things that really matter, people have lost focus on.”

But the album isn’t so much an angry statement, like some of the Crowes’ middle-period records. It has intense moments, to be sure, but its greatest assets are contemplative ballads like “O, Josephine,” “Locust Street” and “There’s Gold in Them Hills.” “There’s more clarity, in a sense, and less angst on this record,” Chris, who’s become a father since the last Crowes album, explains. “I think that has a lot to do with leaving your adolescence behind. I think—especially mid-’90s Black Crowes is very angry. Amorica was a really angry record—we were angry about a lot of cultural and political things, but we chose to speak about them in rock ’n’ roll terms.”

As “Whoa Mule”—a blend of downhome gospel and laidback raga—brings Warpaint home, Chris pleads hopefully, “We’re dirty but we’re dreaming / We’ll both get there someday.” “So what about the great unwashed, man?” Chris asks, speaking of the people left behind by politics. “Now, I’m never going to fucking pretend that I’m Merle Haggard, singing workingman songs. I can appreciate that and I love those songs. I love Woody Guthrie. I mean, we’re not that, but we sort of are in our own neo-baroque way, we’re representative of what it feels like to us [and our generation]. …

“And we’re super humble to work in this tradition. It’s amazing. I mean, opinionated about stuff? Yes. Humble to be here? Happy to be here? Totally. We’re sincerely moved that, after all this time, we still get to go out and play music and do what we wanna do.”

[The Black Crowes: A Guide to the Studio Recordings]