Robert Plant and Alison Krauss - Raising Sand

When Led Zeppelin frontman Robert Plant and bluegrass goddess Alison Krauss decided to come together and make a duet album, what ensues is pure MAGIC. I only got wind of the news a couple of days ago and immediately jumped at it, but had I known the news long enough to sit back and muse through the months about what kind of a music-child this might turn out to be, I'd scratch my head, bad. Admittedly I knew nothing about the works of post-Led Zep Plant, who famously and admirably dabbled in a wide range of genres, so collaboration with artists outside of classic rock wouldn't be a first, still, to juxtapose the jangly, howling Led Zep passion alongside Krauss's lightly hopping banjo notes and angelic, crystalline honey of a voice is a strange, if not downright bizarre picture.

Yet. The titans did not clash. They complemented each other so perfectly you wonder why they hadn't thought of doing this earlier, more often, and (if possible) for life. I'll quote Alanna Nash's in-depth review here--

No matter that Plant seems so subdued as to be on downers, for that's one of the keys to this most improbable meeting of musical galaxies--almost all of it seems slowed down, out of time, otherworldly, and at times downright David Lynch-ian, the product of an altered consciousness. Yet probably the main reason it all works so well is the choice of producer T Bone Burnette, the third star of the album, who culled mostly lesser-known material from some of the great writers of blues, country, folk, gospel, and R&B, including Tom Waits, Townes Van Zandt, Milt Campbell, the Everly Brothers, Sam Phillips, and A.D. and Rosa Lee Watson. At times, Burnette's spare and deliberate soundscape--incisively crafted by guitarists Marc Ribot and Norman Blake, bassist Dennis Crouch, drummer Jay Bellerose, and multi-instrumentalist Mike Seeger, among others--is nearly as dreamy and subterranean as Daniel Lanois's work with Emmylou Harris (Wrecking Ball). Occasionally, Burnette opts for a fairly straightforward production while still reworking the original song (Plant's own "Please Read the Letter," Mel Tillis's "Stick with Me, Baby"). But much of the new flesh on these old bones is oddly unsettling, if not nightmarish. On the opening track of "Rich Woman," the soft-as-clouds vocals strike an optimistic mood, while the instrumental backing--loose snare, ominous bass line, and insinuating electric guitar lines--create a spooky, sinister undertow. Plant and Krauss trade out the solo and harmony vocals, and while they both venture into new waters here (Krauss as a mainstream blues mama, Plant as a gospel singer and honkytonker), she steals the show in Sam Phillips' new "Sister Rosetta Goes Before Us," where a dramatic violin and tremulous banjo strike a foreboding gypsy tone. When Krauss begins this strange, seductive song in a voice so ethereal that angels will take note, you may stop breathing. That, among other reasons, makes Raising Sand an album to die for.

And an interview clip (with segments of songs) with Plant, Krauss and producer Burnette that's well worth checking out.


'nuff said. Grab the album here, and enjoy. B-)

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