Duff McKagan - Lighthouse (LP) - Silver & Black Marble Vinyl

Duff McKagan’s Lighthouse lands like a handwritten letter from someone you’ve known for years. Released October 20, 2023 through BFD via The Orchard, it’s his third solo album after 1993’s Believe in Me and 2019’s Tenderness, and it shows a songwriter who has traded stadium roar for warm glow. You can still hear the grit from the Guns N’ Roses years, but the edges feel deliberate now. He leans into space, story, and the kind of melodies that settle in your chest instead of your jaw.

The title track sets the tone. Lighthouse opens on a gentle sway, McKagan singing in a lower, lived-in register while acoustic guitars and soft percussion keep the water calm. It’s a love song, but also a survival song, and that mix of tenderness and caution runs through the record. When he sings about finding a signal through the storm, it feels earned. You think about the decades, the touring, the books, the recovery, and you hear a guy who has done the hard work of sticking around.

Then the tempo shifts. Longfeather brings a dusty gallop and a hook that lodges quickly. It has the swagger of classic rock radio, but the arrangement stays lean. Nothing is there just to show off. The same is true of I Saw God on 10th Street, a punchy, street-corner rocker that flashes his punk roots. It’s two and a half minutes of grimy alleyway vision and clipped guitar. The song kicks the door in, then gets out before the cops arrive.

McKagan produced with a clear purpose. The album feels close to the mic, full of small textures and room noise that underline the writing. He plays a lot of the instruments himself, and you can hear the comfort of someone working at his own pace. The guests are perfectly chosen too. There are turns from Slash, Iggy Pop, and Jerry Cantrell, each bringing a flavor that fits the mood without hijacking it. Their appearances feel like friends dropping by the house, not label-mandated cameos.

What makes Lighthouse stick is the way it balances hope and weariness. McKagan has long been open about sobriety and mental health, and you can hear that perspective without any sloganeering. He writes about getting through a day, missing people, paying attention, and being grateful when the light shows up. There is plenty of melody here, but he resists glossy finishes. The choruses bloom, then leave room for the verses to breathe. That restraint gives the record its power.

If you came for bass fireworks, you might be surprised. The low end is supportive rather than showy, which suits these songs. Instead, the highlights are the way lines resolve, the way a harmony peeks out in the second chorus, the way a guitar bend answers a lyric. Lighthouse is a writer’s album, and it rewards a full play from start to finish. Side A feels like a set of postcards from the road. Side B leans into reflection. On Lighthouse vinyl, that flip becomes part of the ritual. You sit with the first half, take a breath while the platter turns, then drop back in for the late-night stuff.

As a follow-up to Tenderness, this one walks its own path. Tenderness had Shooter Jennings in the producer’s chair and a distinct Americana hue. Lighthouse keeps some of that warmth but brings more bite in the guitars and a tighter focus on Duff’s voice. It is leaner, more private, and maybe even more revealing. You get the sense he wrote many of these songs alone, then trusted his circle to color them in.

If you collect Duff McKagan vinyl, Lighthouse deserves a spot between the rowdy early work and the reflective later years. It also makes a strong case for exploring Duff McKagan albums on vinyl in general. These arrangements breathe on a turntable. The cymbals sit just right. The acoustic guitars have that woody thrum that digital tends to sand down. If you are hunting for a copy, you can buy Duff McKagan records online without much trouble, though I always get a kick out of flipping past it in a Melbourne record store. For folks looking for vinyl records Australia wide, it is the kind of title that shows up, disappears, then sneaks back in a new pressing.

Lighthouse is not here to compete with the flash of his day job. It is here to keep you company. Put it on at dusk. Let the title track roll out into Longfeather, wait for the quick jolt of I Saw God on 10th Street, and let the guest spots slide in like old friends. It is another strong step from a musician who keeps finding new ways to tell his story, one steady beam at a time.