The scent of mythologisation pervades RB's airspace like some pongy Texan cactus.
Here be bittersweetness and gravelliness, plus the romanticism of the down at heel, and wind metaphors and wailing harmonicas. Plus the lingering swoosh of an Oscar for that Crazy Heart song. And yet, for all its self-consciousness, there's something solidly appealing about Junky Star. T-Bone Burnett's production has chunk and Bingham's Dylan-meets-Fogerty-round-at-Bruce's vocals are in no sense autotuned.
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