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Good old Len. At a time when too many of our aging heroes are shuffling off this mortal coil, he's actually upping his workrate. Dear Heather, like the ten new songs of its predecessor, is a collection of slow paced jazz-rock lifted into the stratosphere by the great man's sombre and grizzled tones. With his bittersweet and sardonically romantic, outlook intact he puts all manner of upstarts to shame. While there are some odder morsels, like the Barry Adamsonesque Morning Glory, mostly he's firmly reclaiming his territory from battered ironic crooners like Lambchop and [smog].
There's always going to be a place for someone who can view the events of 9/11 with real perspective as he does in On That Day. But beyond that, even when mocking his own status as an elder statesman, all his songs are imbued with an unimpeachable authority. Here's hoping that he keeps going for a few more years yet to keep the (relative) youngsters on their toes.
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