METTLE

Review by Richard Merick · NYC, 2021

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Independent artist and producer Gregg Burns has always been something of a chameleon. Throughout a catalog that ranges from hard rock solo records to quieter, more collaborative projects, he’s effectively blended styles and genres, folding unexpected influences into familiar song shapes. Mettle, his latest album, leans into that impulse with renewed focus. Drawing from cinematic atmosphere as much as hard rock muscle, the album feels both heavier and more expansive than much of his earlier work.

Burns’s previous release (2016’s multi-nominated In Broad Daylight) offered glimpses of light amid the noise; Mettle is more comfortable sitting in the shadows. The darker themes and minor-key weight aren’t unusual for the genre, but even in the album’s most aggressive moments there is a tangible sophistication in the way the songs are crafted. As the dramatic album art suggests, there’s a tempered smoothness to accompany the impending heat.

The album kicks off with “Broken,” a straight-ahead rocker with a provocative twist in the well-traveled road of love and wreckage. The brooding, baritone march of “Sleepwalker” follows, straining to keep the onslaught of social intrusion at arm’s length, while the song’s heart-stopping breakdown utilizes restraint as emphasis rather than absence.

“Disintegration” feels like a dark, heavy, and inescapably singable pop tune, aided by one of the album’s handful of Beatles-esque elements. Across three albums now, Burns has consistently displayed an instinct for brilliant wordplay; here, he laments the fallout of a familiar but unfulfilling liaison with taut irony: “So I’ll wash it all off, live with the loss / Try to learn how to land on the beat.”

The record’s second act opens with back-to-back bangers, and affords the band plenty of opportunity to fully stretch. “Thieves” serves up a healthy dose of smoking Texas blues before the tune gets turned on its head, evolving into a righteous Zeppelin-inspired groove courtesy of drummer Eric Hurwit, who creates the textured foundation for Burns’s incandescent fretwork.

“Only One” follows a similar arc, building patiently through soul-inflected vocals and interlocking guitars to a tantalizing wait-for-it moment, before plunging into a blistering coda, where Hurwit’s masterful performance gets full focus. “Sleepwalker (Embers)” is a welcome surprise: far from a simplistic retread, it’s a genuine reinvention of the album’s brawny second cut, transposed for acoustic guitar and a super-slinky pocket.

Longtime fans will also be happy with the inclusion of “Give Me the Love,” one of Burns’s earliest recordings, featuring The Band from Hell and the high-octane guitar of Curt Mitchell. It’s a bit of a full-circle moment, evoking Burns’s primal hard rock/funk roots, and stands as an adrenaline-fueled testament that home is truly where the heart is. But ultimately, this album’s progression suggests an artist less interested in rediscovery than in refinement, and firmly reclaiming his place at the table.