The latest from Sr. Cline gets another review.
It’s tempting to describe the album as an identity crisis commited to tape, but that would involve delving into the fact that I’ve never quite understood what Cline was doing playing guitar for Wilco in the first place, even though the choice also seems perversely satisfying. Coward feels less like the jazz-reared guitarist is blowing off steam from his day job and recalibrating his personal goals, and more like he’s picking back up on a solo and collaborative career that has precious little commercial potential and an embarrassment of merit.
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