<p><span><span>- There have been three certainties in my short life so far: death, taxes, and Willie Nelson<strong> </strong>releasing new music. Now on his eye-watering and properly-staggering seventieth record, Shotgun Willie is still at the top of his game. If you contrast last year’s <em>Ride Me Back Home </em>to what we have on offer here, you cannot help but marvel in awe. While its predecessor was a jovial celebration of a life so far, <em>First Rose of Spring </em>is the equivalent to raiding dusty photo albums, safeguarded at the top of the bookshelf and fondly reminiscing over what has come before. I’m just thankful these memories have been transposed and put to music. </span></span></p>
<p><span><span>I may have only started listening to Willie Nelson because he popped up on an episode of <em>King of The Hill </em>and my lateral-thinking ass couldn’t fathom the crossing of streams but man, am I glad to have finally come around. Gentle pondering upon the years past is the thread running through <em>First Rose of Spring.</em> Everything from the mellow, languid instrumentals to Willie’s soft and intimate delivery to the reflective lyrical content is musing that comes from a place of happiness and content. Swooning harmonica painted throughout creates the scenery of these songs. They're meted out to younger relatives around a campfire on Luck Ranch and those youngsters eagerly lap up such deep yet simple narrative. The album’s title track and opener is a heartstring-tugger, as it swirls, devoid of any percussion. It isn’t all about acquiescing to the passing of time. It is a search for an escape on <em>I’ll Break Out Again Tonight </em>and it is the care that Willie feels for his family that fuels the urge. If death takes him from these duties, <em>Blue Star </em>provides explicit directions on where to find him and the vocal harmonies on this allude to how it will only be the physical form that leaves this earth. True to outlaw country form, there is an injection of cheeky bastard humour cut into an otherwise dulcet record, with <em>Just Bummin’ Around </em>and <em>I’m The Only Hell My Momma Ever Raised. </em>The former has some charming honky-tonk piano tinkled in and there’s playful jostling for the centre of the sound stage between voice, guitar, and vocals. Vocal lines are tailgated by the other instruments, often overlapping in a carefree bliss. When inevitability comes knocking in the of <em>Don’t Let The Old Man</em>, its knell is emotionally overwhelming. Tastefully composed and astutely employed strings add a spiritual subplot to accepting growing old but not growing up. </span></span></p>
<p><span><span>I’m at a loss on how to summarise <em>First Rose of Spring</em>… Endearing tales of a life lived find a balance with a still fiery, outlaw country spirit: this is the stuff of a genuine legend still putting out some of his most memorable work. Yet that word 'memory' hangs over me like the Sword of Damocles. There's a pensive quality to this narrative, as though this cowboy was taking his last ride. What comes next? Is this The First Rose of Spring, or its last blush?</span></span></p>
<p><span><span>- Matt Lynch.</span></span></p>
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