Last March, two lanky, hirsute brothers with a Cain and Abel-like history holed up for eight days and nights at Neon Cross, an old Southern Baptist church-turned-recording studio in Nashville. Conjuring sound and fury, light and shadow, they emerged with an age-defying, high-spirited album, their ninth.
If that sounds a bit Biblical, well, Chris and Rich Robinson of The Black Crowes have always lived by Old Testament extremes. They’ve pushed themselves through every Job-like trial and tribulation, every weirdness, drug and ego trip known to rock bands. Not only did they survive it all, but they’re stronger for it.
