#tonky

As in his previous album, Holley holds the center, while the celebrated producer Jacknife Lee (U2, R.E.M., the Cars, the Killers, etc.) builds out instrumental frameworks, some eerie and minimal like the dub pulse of “Seeds,” others shambolically soulful and celebratory as in “Protest for Love” with its horn like and choir of back-up singers. Guests turn up, primarily for vocals, though Mary Lattimore plays ethereal harp patterns through “Life” and Angel Bat Dawid weaves a dizzying clarinet through the hustle and shuffle of “The Burden.” Though Holley evidently has strong opinions on contemporary pop (see “That’s Not Art, That’s Not Music”), his collaborators span multiple eras—the afro-futurist Saul Williams speaks poetry against a looming background of angels in “Those Stars are Still Shining.” Billy Woods joins in woozy, searching “I Looked Over My Shoulder,” while Open Eagle Mike shares verses with Holley and the outsider sculptor Joe Minter in “The Same Stars.” Less famous, but equally able musicians form a regular ensemble. Davide Rossi’s string arrangements are particularly effective.

No track is more harrowing than “Seeds,” the nine-minute memory piece that delves into Holley’s violent, unprotected youth. As a young child, he was committed to the hellish Alabama Industrial School for Negro Children, starved and beaten and made to work long days picking cotton. The song’s driving beat is like the heartbeat of a young boy in flight. It rushes from measure to measure, never staying too long in one place. Lush swoops and caroms of string sound embellish this rhythm but give it no cushion or comfort. The music serves mostly to frame lucid verses about brutality. Says Holley, “Get to see the children being beat every day the same way/For the same damn thing/Because it was a repeat action/As you looked at the old man sitting there/Whipping and whipping and whipping and whipping/Whipping the bodies that passed along his way/Lines of boy and cries of girls.”

Holley finds the direct line between his own, relatively recent suffering and the longer narrative of black people in America. Funky, percussion driven “We Was Kings in the Jungle, Slaves in the Field,” is one of the album’s best cuts, rumbling forward on syncopated drumming, fired by blares of brass and winds, lit by ghostly patterns of marimba. The song weaves through history, deftly linking the slave crossings with the Oklahoma City massacre, but while its lyrics touch on tragedy, the music bubbles with joyful, gospel choir euphoria.

And indeed, that’s one of the surprising things about Lonnie Holley. After a truly soul-scarring childhood and a lifetime of struggle, he and his music are still full of love and hope. The gorgeous, shapeshifting “Did I Do Enough” (with Jessca Hoop on auxiliary vocals) blossoms in positivity, as Holley considers whether he’s transformed his own dire experiences into progress by touching and inspiring other people. The song is quite uplifting. You can literally feel it pulling you out of despondence into resilience and celebration. And I’d say, yes, Lonnie Holley. You’ve done plenty, and you’ll likely do some more.