By Eleni P. Austin

“We started out as perfect strangers, now we breathe as one, we have become two tragic lovers drunk and on the run.” That’s Luther Russell, playing out a folie a deux on “Sing This Song,” a track off his excellent new album, Happiness For Beginners.

I wish I could say I have had a musical crush on Luther since the late ‘80s, but I only discovered him in 2018, when he released Selective Memories: An Anthology, a career retrospective that spanned nearly 30 years. I quickly discovered his protean sound encompassed an array of styles and influences. It was truly shocking to me, that he hadn’t already achieved world dominion.

Born to a musical family, Luther’s Grandfather, Bob Russell’s career spanned nearly half a century. He wrote hits for everyone from Duke Ellington to The Hollies. His great-uncle, Bud Green wrote standards like “Alabamy Bound” and “Sentimental Journey.”

Per family tradition, Luther displayed an affinity for music as a toddler. His Mickey Mouse record player spun the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper each night to lull him to sleep. He got his first drum kit by age five and pretty soon, he began fooling around on the family piano. He was deeply affected by the landmark records from Van Morrison, Chicago and Stevie Wonder. Before puberty hit, he began toting around Tascam recorder to capture his nascent attempts at songwriting.

He came of age along the central coast of California, in artistic enclaves like Big Sur and Carmel. Both communities were a curious mix of conservative and laid back. As a teen, Luther was drawn to the beach scene which was populated by surfers and burnouts. He was already gaining a reputation as a proficient drummer. His pal Rein’s older brother, Oliver (Ollie for short), took an interest in him and gave him a cheap acoustic guitar, and a crash course in how to play.

Making music with Ollie allowed him entre into an older, cooler crowd. But everything shattered when Ollie was hit by a truck while riding his motorbike at age 19. He lingered 12 days and then he was gone. Heartbroken, he headed to Los Angeles and stayed with relatives. He was barely 17 when he connected with Tobi Miller while buying bass strings at Guitar Center. The duo became fast friends and Luther decided to stay in L.A. permanently to start a band with Tobi. A friend of his mother’s let him rent-out her garage.

Once Tobi completed high school, they began focusing on the band full-time. The puzzle-pieces quickly came together when they enlisted Tobi’s friend, Jakob. Their line-up was complete when drummer Aaron Brooks joined up. As The Bootheels, (a sly nod to Jakob’s dad’s song, “Mr. Tambourine Man”), they managed to play all over town, despite the restrictive “pay-to-play” policy that was adopted by most of the clubs on the Sunset Strip in the late ‘80s. They cultivated a passionate following, and recorded an album’s worth of demos, before other commitments got in the way. First, Jakob left to attend art school in New York. Luther and Tobi were briefly carried on as The 45’s. A few years later, Tobi and Jakob formed The Wallflowers.

After some early solo recordings, Luther teamed with Jason Hiller, a talented bassist he met during The Bootheels days. Along with Dave Sobel and Chris Joyner on keys and Craig Aronson pounding the kit, they became The Freewheelers. Their sound was heavily influenced by the seemingly disparate styles of Gram Parsons, Otis Redding and Randy Newman.

They signed a record deal and released a self-titled debut in 1991 and Waitin’ For George in 1996. Each one a masterpiece, blending rough-hewn Country Rock with the shambolic majesty that recalled Joe Cocker’s epochal Mad Dogs & Englishmen era. Although both efforts were well-received, sales never matched the rave reviews. The band parted ways and Luther embarked on a solo career.

His debut, Lowdown World (And Other Assorted Songs) arrived in 1997. Not long after, Luther found his niche, becoming a sought-after producer and maintaining a solid presence as a solo artist. He continued to release stellar albums like 1999’s Down At Kit’s, 2001’s Spare Change, 2007’s Repair, the 2010 Motorbike EP, 2011’s Invisible Audience and 2019’s Medium Cool.

Somehow, along with togging between production gigs and solo projects, Luther also found time to be half of Those Pretty Wrongs, a collaboration he began with legendary Big Star drummer vocalist, Jody Stephens. For nearly a decade, the duo has released three amazing records, 2016’s self-titled debut, 2019’s Zed For Zulu and last year’s Holiday Camp. If that wasn’t enough, an album’s worth of Bootheels music finally saw the light of day when Omnivore Recordings released The Bootheels 1988: The Original Demo Tapes. Now, he has returned with his eighth solo album, Happiness For Beginners.

The title track kicks things off as spiraling guitars jingle-jangle across rippling piano notes, thumping bass and a clackity backbeat. The melody and arrangement conjure up comparisons to the Byrds, Big Star and The Replacements, but by now, those influences have been baked into Luther’s musical DNA. The lyrics offer a nuanced narrative that explicates that first frisson of instant attraction: “Hitching a ride on the outskirts of town, sun-dappled in gold, as the dusk looms, we’re strewn in our room and our bodies enfold, these are the days when all things amaze and no one gets caught, these are the ways we laze in the daze, neck-deep in a thought.” Just ahead of bridge, guitars idle and the beat drops down to a chunky cadence as this newfound romance goes off the rails: “Buried alive on an all-night drive so late, staring ahead, wearing our tread, we wait, we wait, we wait.”

Although Luther’s feet are firmly planted in the 21st century, he spent his childhood soaking up the music of ‘60s and ‘70s. So, it’s no surprise that a couple of tracks here draft off a blueprint created by L.A. bands like Love, The Merry-Go-Round and The Byrds. “Downtown Girls,” which is also the album’s first single, is simply irresistible (but not in a louche, Robert Palmer way). Jangly, 12-string guitar partners with boinging bass and a cantilevered beat. Lyrics spin the familiar yarn of the outsider longing to sit at the cool kids’ table: “I stumble up to the busy street, the locals reek of cheap-cut meat, neon strangers pass in a dance, the downtown girls just laugh and dance. The sunny melody belies the lyrics’ diffidence. By the break, bendy guitar chords uncoil, bordered by stinging electric riffs that mirror the the lyrics’ angsty leitmotif.

If The Byrds and The Kinks ever collaborated on a song, it might sound something like “Right Way.” Ringing guitars chime atop spidery bass and a rat-a-tat beat. Sagacious lyrics explore the emotional duality, that see-sawing sensation that charts the highs and lows of love: “It’s the light of the door that opens on you like a grin, and there is nothing more than to be consumed from within,” versus “It’s the death of a dream that startles your heart in the night, and the breath of a scream will fill you as you wake in fright.”

This record is magnificent front to back, but the best tracks hopscotch across both sides. On “All The Ways,” querulous guitars are tethered to loping bass lines and a galloping backbeat. Lyrics offer a bitter treatise on infidelity: “A broken vase, a broken vase of rain, and a broken vow, Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ himself couldn’t save you now.” But by the chorus it’s unclear as to who is at fault: “All The Ways I might have loved you can’t save me now.” Willowy acoustic notes dovetail with caustic electric riffs on the break underscoring what Jimi Hendrix once labelled “Love Or Confusion.”

Then, there’s shimmery “Wanna Be Your Lover.” Pealing guitars repeat a magical cluster of chords, bookended by buoyant bass lines and brawny backbeat. Sharp and succinct lyrics cut to the chase: “It’s the way you look when you’re not alone, it’s the kind of thing where you know it’s wrong, oh I wanna be your lover.” Beatific harmonies ahh-ing and sighing behind each verse, coupled with a sunshiny early ‘70s guitar solo, manages to downplay the lyrics’ licentious intent.

Modal guitars intwine, lining up with wily bass lines and a tambourine shake on “The Midnight Flame.” Intricate lyrics paint a vivid portrait of a chance encounter: “I caught your eye in the madding crowd, the clouds were draped in danger, the scream in our hearts couldn’t cry out loud, we were like one perfect stranger/An owl in the eves watched over the scene, the Chinese lanterns gently swayed drunk on love that punctures the spleen, I started to dance as the requiem played.” As serpentine guitars snake around lilting, Parisian accordion runs, it’s immediately apparent that this chance encounter has forged a symbiotic connection: “For all that is light in the sun, and all that is right on the run, I built up the will to taste a tear, and you, you responded in kind, with your soul, body and mind, and we beat back the fear to dream our days and burn the midnight flame.”

Finally, the aforementioned “Sing This Song” is equal parts Punky and melodic. Cascading guitars are anchored by stuttery bass lines and a speed-shifting beat. Even as this shared madness threatens to get out of control, the bond remains unbreakable: “We’ve got a poem in our hearts, let the words resound, we’ve got a ballad in our souls keeping us spellbound.” Luther’s vocals phase and shudder on the chorus as fluttery guitars accelerate through the arrangement’s hairpin turns.

The record takes a Psychedelic trip on both “And Ever” and “Tu Es Donc Je Suis.” The former is a drowsy dirge powered by lysergic guitars, murmuring keys, whirring bass and a peevish beat. Luther shares vocal duties with SBT (the artist formerly known as Sara Beth Tucek). Their blend is by turns, moody, melancholy and evocative as lyrics long for an extinguished relationship: “Smoke curling through the stale air from a single crushed cigarette, music lingers while there’s no one there, in minor keys from an old cassette.” Sidewinding guitars meander as the song winds to a close.

On the latter, wobbly wah-wah riffs lattice tensile bass, gauzy keys and a tabla-esque beat. Roughly translated, the French title means “You are, therefore I am.” Lyrics like “I wanna see, see things through the lens of your eyes, Girl, the dream that paints over all the debris.” sketch out a tableau of obsessive love. A kaleidoscopic guitar solo wraps around the break as cryptic dialogue pays homage to the French New Wave classic, “Breathless.” The final solo splits the difference between the reverse guitar loops featured on The Beatles’ “Tomorrow Never Knows,” and the subtle sitar-riffic fills that licked the margins of “Norwegian Wood.”

The record ends on a dissonant note with “Your Reckless Heart.” Splayed guitar chords are matched with downcast bass and a tumble-down beat. Despite the lyrical sturm und drang on the verse, the romantic regret washes away by the chorus, which offers an oath of allegiance: “You believe and I will follow, your darkest dreams, my saving grace, like a pill that I must swallow, your reckless heart leaves no trace.” An incandescent guitar solo shivers and aches on the break, just ahead of piercing electric riffs. It’s a quiescent finish to a glorious album.

This is a solo record in name only, Luther, of course sang and played guitar. But he was aided and abetted by longtime compadres Jason Hiller who played bass, as well as Chris Joyner on accordion and organ. Jason Falkner (a talented singer-songwriter in his own right) also chimes in, adding synth, lead guitars and vocals.

To quote Nick Lowe, this record is Pure Pop For Now People. It is a perfect distillation of Luther Russell’s myriad influences. Glimmers of Italian Neo-Realism and French New Wave Cinema dot the lyrics. Melodies and arrangements alternate between dark and light, Noirish and effervescent. This record aches in all the right ways. Happiness For Beginners is the first great record of 2025.