You probably know already whether you're going to be moved by this, the final instalment of Rick Rubin's recordings of the most sentimentalised cultural figure of the past decade.
Your decision will depend on whether you hear in an old man's voice the ruins of a body or the rubble of a mountain. Perhaps you hear both. Rubin exhibits folk-gothic restraint, as ever, and if the choice and delivery of songs aren't always all that – JC can sound very blank – it's hard not to be involved, given what we know.
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