The pantheon of great American singer-songwriters is a broad and inspiring pool. From the poignant commentary of Bob Dylan to the howling anthems of Bruce Springsteen, the bright-eyed optimism of Tom Petty to the jaded sentimentality of Bob Seger, the full depths are nearly impossible to plumb.

One of the icons that I have, until recently, overlooked is one Jackson Browne. 

I have previously mourned my ignorance in my posts reviewing For Everyman and Running on Empty, both of which were magnificently crafted and universally emotive.  So when I came across this copy of The Pretender, I picked it up without a second thought.

And I’m glad I did, because this album is just as rich and rewarding as the other two records in my collection. Opener “The Fuse” is a patient epic to missed opportunity. Its six minutes feature some of the freshest composition work in Americana—the band rises and falls with purpose, taking no cheap shots or predictable builds. “Daddy’s Tune” sets a father’s regret against blasting horns and rocking guitar. The title track starts as a piano ballad, augmented by twinkling lead guitar and a shuffling hi-hat, then reaches theater-ready dramatic heights with huge harmonies, limber bass lines, and pounding chords.

Looking through the liner notes though, I’m shocked to see that Jackson himself only played an instrument on one track. Now, I’m not saying it’s a rarity in pop music for the billed artist to perform primarily as a vocalist. But in songs where the band is so perfectly attuned to the heart and soul of the lyrics, it’s surprising that the singer isn’t actually part of the band.

But that speaks volumes to the mastery of the musicians, which is where the record gets most of its power. They shift moods on a dime, twisting and turning with all of the nuance of Browne’s own bittersweet sentiments. It’s a rare sort of symbiosis, but it’s part of what makes Jackson Browne’s catalogue—and this record in particular—so special.