This week, in late January 2024, brothers Chris and Rich Robinson are as far apart as they ever were. Geographically speaking at least – 2,000 miles to be precise. Chris, the elder Robinson, sits in the winter sun-dappled backyard of his home in Laurel Canyon, Los Angeles, Rich in the music room of his place in Nashville, Tennessee. Their most obvious common bond just now is intermittent dog trouble. Chris bolts from his seat at one point to stop his dog, Benny, from escaping through his garden gate and onto the road. Rich begs pause to scurry away his seven-month-old puppy.
Differences between the two brothers are as immediately apparent as they have been since they first stepped out at the forefront of The Black Crowes. Chris has his Zoom camera turned on. His sharp-angled face looms in and out of the frame with all his fidgeting. He’s baggier under the eyes and with pepper-flecked hair these days. Rich keeps his camera off. Both are good talkers, but Rich remains on point while Chris more often than not gets to it eventually but with sundry twists, turns and abrupt diversions en route.
