Years long ago, aka 1985, a pal and I scored excellent 12th-row seats at the legendary Tower Theater for “the 20h Anniversary Celebration of the Byrds,” so named because Gene Clark and Michael Clarke—of the folk-rock group’s classic lineup—were legally barred from billing themselves as “the Byrds.” Accompanying them were Firefall’s Rick Roberts, the Band’s Rick Danko and one-time Beach Boy Blondie Chaplin, perhaps best known for singing lead on “Sail On, Sailor.” The Flying Burrito Brothers and Pure Prairie League opened, with neither featuring many original members. The former, for instance, consisted of pedal steel guitarist Sneaky Pete Kleinow and ex-Byrds Skip Battin and Gene Parsons, both of who joined in the mid-1970s, and a few nondescript sidemen. Yet it was a far better show than one might expect, with one glorious set blending into the next. Most everyone in the audience sang along with “Amie,” stood and cheered during the rousing “Eight Miles High,” and even applauded the out-of-place “Sail On, Sailor.” At one point, and I forget where in the night it fell, the non-Byrds and ex-Byrds gathered together while Rick Roberts—who’d briefly been a Flying Burrito Brother in the early ‘70s—brought down the house with a rousing rendition of “Colorado” (from the Burritos’ under-appreciated third album). Simply phenomenal.
That night came to mind while listening to My Old Self, the new album from a New Jersey band that calls themselves CR & the White Lights. In today’s genre-laden world, they’re labeled Americana, alt.country, indie-this, indie-that but, really, they’re old-school country-rockers who are guaranteed to appeal to anyone who enjoys high lonesome vocals, close-knit harmonies, and rollicking guitars. Their sound is likely best described as part Neil Young (both Stray Gators and Crazy Horse), part Long Ryders, part Bottle Rockets, part Wilco.
The band is led by singer, guitarist and songwriter CR Gennone; backing him are James Abbott on guitar, Liam Bornovski on pedal steel, John Dewitt on bass, and Rich Slurry on drums. (Other friends pop in for select tracks, too.) Phil Connor engineers and produced the sessions, which were recorded live at his In the West studio in New Brunswick, NJ, over a super-hot 4th of July weekend in 2024.
The press release quotes Gennone as saying, “The record captures a period of time in my life when I felt untethered and reflective, focusing on the memories and things in the past that centered me or brought me some sense of calm in the midst of a difficult time.”
“Yearbook,” released as a single a few weeks back, is ample proof of that. It came about when, one night, Gennone’s wife and her sister were flipping through their school yearbooks and wondering what became of various friends and acquaintances; he couldn’t help but ponder the same. As kids, of course, school is the be-all and end-all of life; we can’t imagine a world without our buddies in it. Soon enough, however, the calendar flips, people part ways, and at some point in life we’re left questioning what became of them. Even in the age of Facebook and social media, it’s easy to not know what became of everyone.
As a whole, My Old Self explores the angst that often keeps us up at night. “Tinted Windows,” for instance, delves into the “what if” scenarios that plague middle age; it conjures Crazy Horse circa the mid-1970s, once Poncho joined the fold. “Men of Summer” is another reflective, rock-tinged number that dives headfirst into self-doubt and self-recrimination. In short, and I’m bypassing the other tracks because they’re as good, the album is raw and ragged with country overtones, the kind of guitar-tinged sound that’s as ageless as it is great. Highly recommended.
The Old Grey Cat 