Montgomery has spent twenty-six years quietly building a catalogue that trades in honesty over spectacle. From the debut *Better Late Than Never* through the melodic detours of *Alone In A Room* and *Hwy 3A*, and on into the amplifier-shredding swagger of *Shut Up And Rock*, the throughline has always been the same: real songs, real guitars, no smoke, no mirrors. This new record doesn't abandon that formula so much as sand off its rough edges and paint it a brighter colour.

Opener "Crazy Town" wastes no time setting the tone, a riff that kicks the door in before the vocal has even cleared its throat. It's a statement of intent dressed up as a party anthem, and it works because Montgomery sings it like a man who's genuinely relieved to be making noise again. What follows across nine tracks is a record less interested in reinvention than in refinement — power-pop hooks bolted onto classic-rock chassis, choruses built for shouting along in a crowded room rather than dissecting in a lecture hall.

That's not a knock. Montgomery's gift has always been architectural rather than academic: he knows where the bridge goes, when to let the guitar breathe, and how long a hook can sustain a listener's attention before it needs a twist. On *Living the Dream Right Now*, that instinct feels sharper than ever, buoyed by a production that favours warmth over polish. Nothing here sounds quantised into submission; the drums thump like they were played by a human being who occasionally missed a fill and didn't bother fixing it. Refreshing, frankly, in a landscape stuffed with digital perfectionism.

The record's title feels less like marketing copy and more like a mission statement. This is music made by someone who has stopped waiting for permission to enjoy himself, and that unforced joy seeps into every corner of the arrangement. Compare it to the more reflective, slow-burning textures of *Hwy 3A* two decades prior, and the contrast is instructive — this is Montgomery loosened up, sleeves rolled, unconcerned with proving anything to anyone.

Closer "I Gotta Rock!" earns its exclamation mark honestly. It's a big, dumb, glorious statement of purpose, the kind of song that exists purely to remind you why you fell for guitar music to begin with. As a closing argument, it's about as persuasive as they come — no cynicism, no ironic distance, just volume and conviction.

This is a record for people who still believe a great riff can fix a bad week, played by someone who clearly believes it too. Loud, unpretentious, and thoroughly alive — SkipRock Music has delivered another keeper.