Barnes & Noble
For much of her career, Sheryl Crow has presented herself as the queen of the party, always ready to have fun and get on a good beer buzz. And while C'mon C'mon -- her first studio album in four years -- has its share of upbeat moments, such as the breezy single "Soak Up the Sun," featuring Liz Phair, the album shows a marked emotional shift on Crow's part. Yes, the disc's surface is dominated by easygoing melodies that channel the Angeleno sound of the late-'70s Eagles and Fleetwood Mac (whose Stevie Nicks provides vocal counterpoint on the title track). But dip beneath the thin layer of warmth, and you'll find Crow hinting broadly at a battle with depression on the pensive "Weather Channel" (on which she gets a hand from Emmylou Harris) and suggesting with her tone for "It's Only Love" that the song's title is anything but indicative of what lies within. A few trips into power-ballad territory -- such as "It's So Easy," a duet with Don Henley -- don't pan out quite as well as the rockers. But even in her current understated mode, Crow hasn't entirely forgotten how to kick out the jams: She sails along in open-highway mode on the chugging opener "Steve McQueen" and manages to match guest Lenny Kravitz strut-for-strut on the instantly infectious "You're an Original." More than any of her previous albums, C'mon C'mon shows a side of Sheryl Crow that's vulnerable, if ultimately resilient. The good-time girl has, it seems, grown up, and transformed herself into an artist with something to say. David Sprague
All Music Guide
It's hard to call The Globe Sessions a stumble, but its stripped-down, straightforwardness paled in comparison to the dark pop-culture kaleidoscope of Sheryl Crow's eponymous second album. That's why C'mon, C'mon, Crow's long-delayed fourth album, is such a delight -- it's the sunny flip side of that masterpiece, a skillful synthesis of classic rock and modern sensibilities that's pretty irresistible. Crow has turned into the professional she always acted she was -- she not only crafts songs impeccably, she knows how to record them, filling the record with interesting sonic details, whether it's the Steve Miller-styled "woo hoo"s on "Steve McQueen" or subtle Mellotrons on "Over You." That kind of sly sonic adventure was missing from Globe Sessions, as was her predilection for almost-absurd lyrical asides -- check the digital cable reference on the lead single, "Soak Up the Sun," along with its opening line of "My friend, the communist" -- and the return of both makes C'mon, C'mon a delightful return to form. There's so much to enjoy on the surface of the record, particularly in its unashamed glossy sheen and classically structured hooks, that it's easy to enjoy just on that level, yet it also works as a set of songs nearly as consistent and rich as those on her second album. Where Sheryl Crow was a quintessential fall album -- even at its happiest, there was an undercurrent of melancholy and weariness -- this is a record designed for the sunkissed open road of spring and summer. Even when she's singing about heartache, there's an assured sense of purpose, even a swagger, to this album that shines through. Yet it doesn't just work a mood, it showcases her skills at a peak. It's Sheryl Crow at her best, delivering music that is firmly rooted in the past, yet recorded and performed with a modern feel and flair, something that was absent from The Globe Sessions. It's pretty much what the follow-up to Sheryl Crow, All Music Guide