Spotify: https://t.ly/8tnXr

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Who knew this was out?

Jackson Browne’s got a great publicist, both the “New York Times” and “Wall Street Journal” had articles about the fiftieth anniversary of “Late For The Sky.”

Now if that doesn’t freak you out, half a century.

I first heard “Fountain of Sorrow” driving my sister’s Pontiac to her graduate school class at USC. It was a gray, nearly rainy day. (Well, this was before I realized it may look like it, but it almost never rains in L.A.) It was wistful. I’d just graduated from college. What did the future hold? I was free, but it’s weird jumping the track, being released, out of the game for the first time in your life, no one looking over your shoulder, telling you who to be, telling me how I was doing it wrong.

I bought the first Jackson Browne album, not entitled “Saturate Before Using,” after seeing him open for Laura Nyro at the Fillmore East. Alone with his guitar, I got it. And that’s rare when you don’t know the material.

It doesn’t get much better than “Rock Me on the Water.” Even though the hit was “Doctor My Eyes.” Listening all these years later that piano part is pretty magical, but it was the quieter numbers like “Song For Adam” that truly sealed the deal.

And, of course, the second album had “These Days” and Jackson’s version of “Take It Easy,” but there were no hits, I wouldn’t say his career had stalled, it just wasn’t moving forward. Jackson was grinding it out on the road, like most acts did in the early seventies, how they do now. Outside New York and L.A. you could get a ticket. For some reason you owned the record and you needed to get closer, you needed to hear these songs live, and it was a magical experience, only for the people in the room, there was no recording device in your pocket, never mind selfie machine.

But then came “Late For The Sky.”

Which also wasn’t a hit.

And FM radio airplay didn’t really gain traction until the next album, 1976’s “The Pretender,” with the title track fitting the Burkhart/Abrams paradigm, jaunty enough for the hinterlands, flyover country, yet still meaningful enough for the coasts.

And then came “Running on Empty.” An album of new material recorded on the bus, in hotel rooms. The rock press was at its peak, the title track was a tear and “The Load-Out/Stay” was ubiquitous.

This was Jackson’s peak. Commercially.

“Hold Out” got some action with “Boulevard.” The title track of “Lawyers in Love” ditto. And although it seems decades later that “In the Shape of a Heart” was a hit, statistics tell us otherwise. But it became one of Jackson’s standards, as he continued to march forward, not quite in obscurity, but not in the MTV mainstream.

And then came 1993’s “I’m Alive.” A complete return to form. Of a piece with the early albums. Quiet, acoustic, meaningful. Very strong. But when the public did not accept it overwhelmingly, Jackson went back to the band, making rock records.

And there are two cuts that stand out for me. “About My Imagination” from 2002’s “Naked Ride Home” and the title track of “Looking East” from 1996. But you have to be a dedicated fan to know them. I’d posit most of the people at the live shows don’t know them.

But they still come out to see Jackson.

And in the early part of the century, Jackson performed a master stroke. He recorded all his well known material acoustically. And released it in two packages. And went on tour with nearly twenty guitars doing the recordings in concert. Truly magical. If you don’t know those albums, you should. And then came the duo record with David Lindley, who used to go out on the road with Jackson in his earliest travels.

And then more studio work. It’s a rock band, it’s not like the first three albums, it’s not like “I’m Alive,” but boomers go out and see him. He doesn’t tour as much as James Taylor, but he’s out there. He appeals to women and men. It’s more than the hits. It’s about getting in touch with an era when music truly had meaning, when it spoke to your soul.

Great. But there’s nothing new.

And then this. 

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Now in truth acts have putting out live albums in Japan forever. And unlike Cheap Trick’s “Budokan” LP, most of them were never released in America, the acts didn’t want them to be, they were marketing efforts to solidify the Asian fan base.

But then along came Napster. And a plethora of live material appeared, It was thrilling. And then this same stuff appeared on YouTube and became less special, there was just too much of it. It’s not the double live album event of the seventies.

But now the “Times” is saying there’s a new live Jackson Browne album? I didn’t believe it. But I pulled out Spotify to look it up, AND THERE IT WAS!

Now this music works best when you’re doing nothing else, when you’re relaxed, when you can focus and own it. Today music is background, the soundtrack of your life that you’re documenting via your smartphone. whereas yesterday we were nothing and the acts were everything, heroes, gods.

And I’m digging the music, researching the album, seeing if I missed the hype. But there was none. It’s almost like this “Live in Japan” album was a stealth release. Were there more?

And that’s when I found “Running Down the Road (Live 1972).”

No, this can’t be, this must be a mistake.

Now in the old days, back before Spotify was in America, when Tidal was named WiMP and based in Norway, there were all kinds of albums like these on those services. But once streaming gained traction, the artists and labels cracked down, they didn’t want this stuff out. BUT HERE IT IS!

Spotify link: https://rb.gy/tmlmmb

Now this is like a Dead Sea Scroll. If you’re a member of the Browne cult, you must listen to this. You’ll be stunned. This was Jackson in his nascent days, sans even David Lindley, far from smug and satisfied, just doing his act and trying to win over the audience. There’s a vibrancy.

And speaking of the piano in “Doctor My Eyes,” when you hear it played by Jackson as he accompanies himself the song breathes, is alive in a way no studio recording could ever be. Listen to the piano playing at the end most especially.

And Jackson even plays “Peaceful Easy Feeling,” which is astounding if you know the “Solo Acoustic” records. There someone in the crowd calls out for it, Jackson says he didn’t write it, tries singing it and has a problem with the lyrics, as in he doesn’t believe in them, and stops. I thought the audience member was just confused, but it turns out Jackson really did do “Peaceful Easy Feeling.”

But I’m writing about “Live in Japan.”

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Well, the first track I had to listen to was “Looking East.” I love the studio take, but the “Solo Acoustic” version is a twisting, turning gem. I’ve listened to it a zillion times.

The take on “Live in Japan” is closer to the studio take. Faster, but Jackson’s right out front, the band doesn’t overshadow him, which in the recent shows I’ve seen has been a bit of the case. Jackson blends in, he’s a member of the band, whereas here he’s the complete act, he’s the one.

“The Barricades of Heaven,” also from “Looking East,” has become a live staple. It’s kind of a sequel to “Running on Empty,” or more accurately, a prequel.

“Running down around the towns along the shore

When I was sixteen and on my own

No, I couldn’t tell you what the hell those brakes were for

I was just trying to hear my song.”

This was 1964. Before Laurel Canyon. When California was still a dream, when people were living freely out there while we were still playing by the rules on the east coast.

And this take opens the album, and the band is there but it’s just perfect, it’s the best live recording of Jackson with backup that I’ve ever heard.

Of course there’s “These Days.” Which we heard from Jackson and Gregg Allman in the fall of ’73, before the song became a staple. Actually, Allman’s take made it one.

And this live album is not a traditional greatest hits set, which is part of what makes it so interesting. There’s a great take of “Call It a Loan,” from 1980’s “Hold Out” and it’s richer, with more meaning than the studio version. It comes alive.

And “I’m Alive” is there too.

And more.

But really, it’s the listening experience. Old, but new. New, but old. Sure, the songs are not brand new, but nor are our old friends from way back when, we knew them so well, even if we no longer talk to them every day.

And Jackson has not been embraced by the younger generations like Joni Mitchell, then again there’s still time. Jackson did get Covid, but he’s not had a near-death experience. And as much as I love “Blue,” I’d also take “Late For the Sky” to that desert island, along with AC/DC’s “Back in Black.”

So pull up “Live in Japan” on your streaming service. When it’s quiet, when you can concentrate. In your living room on a lazy Saturday afternoon, or blasting alone in the chamber of your car on a longish drive.

It’s in the music, it’s a feeling. It’s captured, it’s there.

It’s hard to describe.

But it’s not much different from that day in 1974 when I heard “Fountain of Sorrow” on Western Avenue.

My life story has been mostly written. But I’m still the same alienated f*ck looking for music to complete me. The sun is setting, but I’m alive.

The music changed me. It still changes me.

I’m running with too much baggage, but I’m still running.

And I don’t run alone, but with a tune in my head.

And that tune in my head sounds like this.