A series of solo acoustic albums only seems natural for a guy like Jackson Browne. The darkly boyish California singer-songwriter was taking it easy in ramshackle coffee houses across the nation back when Starbuck was merely Captain Ahab’s first mate. Solo Acoustic, Vol. 1, released in 2005, was a restrained, introspective look into some classic cuts from these formidable years, plus a few late career highlights. On all of those gently crackling tracks, Browne sounded more than at home with only a guitar, piano, and, of course, his crystallized tenor as his musical tools. Featuring interludes of Browne riffing to the audience with a story behind each song, Vol. 1 was an appropriate tip of the hat to a career characterized by a laid back approach to the rather weighty issues of love, death, and change. Simply put, Browne remains a born storyteller.

While Vol. 2 follows the exact same format as its predecessor, several songs feel slightly congealed. This has nothing to do with Browne’s playing (his finger plucking and pipes are as resonant as ever), but with the selection from his catalogue.  Where Vol. 1 used more somber opuses that melted right into the strings of Browne’s piano and guitar (”For A Dancer,” “These Days”), Vol. 2 retools some of his more pop-oriented hits, stripping away their bittersweet momentum, the very thing that made them so remarkable in the first place. Milestone highlights like “Redneck Friend” and “Somebody’s Baby” lose their bounce under Browne’s bare bones vigil, making them sound flat and empty.

This isn’t the case with all of the tracks. Most of the material from 2002’s The Naked Ride Home fares better here than it did in its original format. Opener “Never Stop,” once an overproduced eruption of bubbly guitar noodling and cheesy background vocals, becomes a stripped down reflection on an unnamed woman who has stood by Browne through all of his rough spots. Against his haunting acoustic creak, Browne sounds a little regretful, faintly apologetic of the things he has done, but satisfied with the person he has chosen to spend his life. The song feels as honest and soul baring as it should have felt in the first place. The same goes for “Casino Nation,” a poetic lament of the damage mankind has done to the natural world. Exhumed from its original reggae guitar and plodding bass line, the song sounds more like a b-side of Springsteen’s Nebraska than the closer of a Sublime album. Ghostly lyrics like “entertainment shapes the land the way the hammer shapes the hand” finally get the stark treatment they deserve.

Unlike most live albums, it’s actually satisfying to hear Brown talk about his songs. It never feels forced because…well because it’s not. This isn’t Jay-Z being held at gunpoint by VH1 on Storytellers to reveal the secrets of American Gangster. Browne recorded a pair of intimate, revealing concert albums because he wanted to.  Whether it be an amusing encounter with a guitar shop owner (”The Night Inside Me”), a heartfelt tribute to his sister (”Enough of the Night”), or a chronicle of a brief romance in England (”Something Fine”), Browne’s stories and anecdotes behind the songs are just as much a part of the album as the songs themselves. When coupled together, they are a testament to the passion, sincerity, and relevance of his music — even when played in a coffee shop with a behemoth mermaid as its logo.

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Categories: On Second Listen
Tags: Jackson Browne