“This album, like everything I do, is made to try and impress Jason Bruce Rae.” Such is what British songstress Corinne Bailey Rae pens in dedication to her late husband in the liner notes of her current work, The Sea, underscoring how much its songs are shaped by circumstances that made her a widow before she turned thirty.
As she first exhibited on her eponymous debut in 2006, Bailey Rae naturally betrays a certain amount of pathos and fragility in her voice. On The Sea, she now resonates with those qualities all the more. Still throughout, she does so with serenity and resilience, never coming across as dour or self-pitying.
To the contrary, she is enchanting and at times zestful, personifying the latter especially well on “Paris Nights/New York Mornings” and “Paper Dolls,” both cuts benefiting from rich, irresistible grooves. The same can be said (and then some) for “Feels Like The First Time,” during which she echoes Marvin Gaye’s spiraling, layered arrangements on I Want You, rivaling its musical sophistication while asserting her own sensuous semblance of soul.
Alas, she is at her most resonant when she slows the music down as if retreating to her innermost reflections, summoning moments of breathtaking poignancy from the grief of her experience. “So young for death/We walk in shoes too big,” she sings on “I Would Like To Call it Beauty,” almost trembling in a whisper above a subtle, acoustic guitar. It takes no small amount of courage to confront such mournful, mortal concerns—some people never come to terms at all with the loss they’ve endured in their lives—and by no means does Corinne Bailey Rae come across as if she's overcome her own. Yet in expressing her sorrow with such honesty and grace, she’s rendered an exquisite album that ultimately transcends its subtext to inspire solace.
Ever since Al Green returned to secular music in the mid-‘90s, he never quite regained his footing as his recordings lacked the visceral grit of his ‘70s classics. However, with the right elements in place on his latest effort, Lay It Down, he delivers his most fluid, funky, from-the-gut-soulful album since the halcyon days of Call Me, I’m Still In Love With You, and Al Green Explores Your Mind.
With production and percussion duties manned by Ahmir “?uestlove” Thompson of the Roots, the album achieves an old-school, down-home vibe, yielding songs that come off as satisfyingly unrushed, natural, and — dare one think it — dirty. Green thrives in such conditions and his doing so underscores the essence of this album’s success: For the first time in a long time, Al Green sounds thoroughly at ease in the role of a seductive soul man.
Full of swagger and self-assurance, he comes on strong through an effusion of thick, throbbing rhythms and horns. His voice is still an intoxicating instrument, suggesting more than it says, aching in ways that blur the distinction between deliberate and carnal expression. He summons something intense on cuts like “I’m Wild About You” and “All I Need,” grumbling low and moaning in falsetto as the grooves inspire. He enlivens “Wanna Say” and “No One Like You” with gospel euphoria. And, driven by a different power altogether, he gets hot and heavy with Corrine Bailey Rae on “Take Your Time,” the album’s smokiest, most erotic performance.
John Legend and Anthony Hamilton also contribute their talents, yet their involvement thankfully doesn’t seem like a means to acclimatize Green to a broader (perhaps younger) audience. To the contrary, these artists have come to Al Green, not the other way around.
Such is what makes for a sensational album by one of the last great soul men. A synergistic coming together of talent — from production to performance — has not only encouraged Al Green to create his finest album in decades, but one of this year’s best as well.
One could trace Joni Mitchell’s jazz sensibilities perhaps as far back as Court and Spark, certainly by the time of The Hissing of Summer Lawns. In the mid-to-late 1970s, many of Mitchell’s compositions utilized jazz musicians due, in large part, to the instrumental dexterity required to play them. One such musician, Herbie Hancock, now leads a brilliant tribute to Mitchell on his latest release, River: The Joni Letters.
The album features an impressive guest list, including Leonard Cohen, Luciana Souza, Norah Jones, and Corinne Bailey Rae. Also involved is saxophonist Wayne Shorter, who, in addition to having played with Hancock as far back as in the Miles Davis Quintet, has also lent his talents to some of Mitchell’s recordings. Mitchell herself even makes an appearance, reinterpreting one her past works, “The Tea Leaf Prophecy (Lay Down Your Arms).”
Rather than presenting literal translations, Hancock takes liberties in spacing out the sound of each song, giving the musicians license to improvise or perhaps to allow a vocalist to slip into a groove. A prime example of this occurs on “Court and Spark,” during which Norah Jones sings in a sparing yet sultry manner while the music sprawls on for nearly eight minutes.
Another facet of this album is how the music, even in its more liberal variations, arcs to the sonic contours of Mitchell’s lyrics. On “Amelia,” for instance, Luciana Souza’s voice, which sounds eerily like Mitchell’s on the original track, serves as a through line for Shorter, particularly, to play around. As well, Tina Turner’s refined performance on “Edith and the Kingpin” is the centerpiece of the song, while the musicians deftly compliment its sophisticated phrasings.
No one song on this album signifies Mitchell’s command with language better than “The Jungle Line.” Lyrics once buried by Burundi drums now resonate in lucid and striking fashion, as Hancock’s lone piano accompanies Leonard Cohen’s cadenced recitation.
Lyrical in their own right by way of their musical structure and sound, four instrumentals fill out the album. Although not written by Mitchell, two of those compositions, Duke Ellington’s “Solitude” and Miles Davis’ “Nefertiti,” were included because they influenced her as an artist. Incidentally, Hancock and Shorter played on the Miles Davis original, from the album of the same name.
On each song, Herbie Hancock conducts a compelling rendering of Joni Mitchell’s music and muse. River: The Joni Letters not only represents an exceptional album, but also an appropriate tribute to the most influential female singer/songwriter of the 20th century, the quintessential Lady of the Canyon.
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