Hasty Takes: Snap Judgments on New Record Releases

[Blogger’s note: This is an occasional series of offhand, highly suspect reviews of current albums. I reserve the right to change my mind. In fact, count on that happening in 3, 2, 1…]

Good Thing – Leon Bridges (Columbia, 10 tracks)

cofI loved the first album by this Texas-born soul revivalist. 2015’s Coming Home was one of the most confident debuts I’d heard in many a moon and it landed at number six on my influential* 10-best list for that year. Harkening back to ‘60s soul pioneers Lee Dorsey and Sam Cooke, the record hummed with vitality. For his sophomore outing, Bridges has broadened his sound to include ‘70s-era slow jams and even a bit of ‘90s new jack swing. The lead-off track “Bet Ain’t Worth the Hand” sounds like a classic Stylistics ballad and “Shy” recalls ‘90s R&B bad boys Jodeci at their let’s-go-to-bed sultriest. Bridges is credible as a Casanova; his honeyed voice effortlessly soars to falsetto heights and plunges to pillow-talk lows.  But overall, the energy level here is waaaaay down. Part of the problem is the production, which layers on the reverb and the synthetic percussion and echo-y handclaps, diluting Bridges’ vocal delivery.  There are enough memorable tracks, such as the jazzy-cool “Bad Bad News,” that Good Thing narrowly escapes the curse of the sophomore slump. But the exuberance of that thrilling debut is sorely missed.

*Not at all influential.


Absolute Beginner: The Adventures of a Middle-Aged U.K. Newbie

[Blogger’s note: I was born and raised in America, moved to Canada for love in the early Aughts, and recently relocated again, in my 50s, with my British-born spouse to the southern coast of his homeland. This is an occasional series about learning new tricks in Merry Old England.]

A Waitrose by Any Other Name: Falling Head over Belly for Britain’s Most Sumptuous Supermarket (While Saving Room for a Side Dish of Marks & Spencer)

IMG_20180430_114131If you’re not a fan of mushy musings on affairs of the heart, I suggest you stop reading now. For the blog post that you are about to peruse positively oozes with sap; it’s fecund with romantic fervor. You see, I am smitten, utterly captivated, moon-in-June besotted. In a word, gaga. All I want to do is loll on a chaise-longue in my dressing gown and pen amorous odes to the object of my affection, but daily I’m driven to get dressed and get out so that I can once again behold my darling’s ample assets. When we’re together, my sweetheart satisfies my every whim and I have truly grown as a person thanks to our union. That’s no metaphor. I’ve literally gained weight by being just a five-minute stroll from all that I desire. It’s the only downside of falling madly in love with a supermarket. Continue reading