creeps into view, its titular opening track slithering by on a blues riff adorns with a falsetto that feels familiar yet weathered. Similarly, the groove lays doesn't quite follow a straight line -- drummer and bassist emphasize the places where the group strays from a well-trod path. Nearly three decades into their career, the three remaining founding members of the are seasoned pros who understand that deviations from the norm are meaningful and that's the key to , the group's tenth album. Like many 2023 albums, it was born in part from pandemic isolation, a period of reflection where managed to avoid the melancholy that hung over him during the early years of the 2000s. Some of the brighter outlook of can be attributed to the inclusion of deliberate jolts of positivity on the album yet those moments aren't as exuberant as prime '90s , all due to the absence of the late and violinist . Where made sure to replace with another horn player, 's vacancy was filled by keyboard player , a decision that helps shift the band's core sound to something sinewy and rhythmic. While has moments that float in the ether, such as the airless "Something to Tell My Baby" and the sweet denouement "Singing from the Windows," most of the album carries a definite rhythmic punch, a weight that's evident even in softer numbers like "The Ocean and the Butterfly" and "Monsters." A similar sense of gravel has carried over to ' voice, an evolution that softens and deepens his phrasing eccentricities, another element of earthiness that gives a sense of weight and immediacy that's rare in the catalog. ~ Stephen Thomas Erlewine