Sometimes love means having your heart wrenched from your chest and stomped on like a vat of grapes in wine country. The most visceral way to vent this sort of agony is to wail it from the rooftops, and many great soul singers have built their careers on this unbridled brand of emotional expression. Aretha? Her scream's a gut punch that commands respect. Mary J? Her scream keeps it real, homes. When the subject is a broken heart, sometimes pumping up the drama and the volume is the best way to go.
But it's not the only way. Some singers take a more dialed-down approach and achieve just as much impact using phrasing and nuance. On the often-noisy boulevard that is modern R&B, this quiet high road is all too often forgotten. Sade, that timeless smooth operator, draws you into her dark room without raising her voice or breaking a sweat. And no one used phrasing more ably than Billie Holliday. Sometimes Billie's voice was little more than a strangled whisper, but she knew how to make every word count. Who needs range when you've got a gift like that?
The less-is-more approach also works for Toni Braxton, whose instrument has always borne the exquisite burnish of restraint. Instead of crying rivers of Revlon all over your shoulder, she puts on a brave mask and goads you into squinting through its cracks to find the truth that lies beneath.
Her new album, Libra (Blackground Enterprises), finds Braxton cresting new peaks of sophistication. The singer's way with a ballad is legendary, and there are lots of polished slow jams to coddle the broken-hearted. But it's on the mid-tempo tracks that this most hot-blooded of ice queens shines most brightly. Led by producer Scott Storch, she stirs up a snowstorm on "Please." The song is a sneering dis to a chickenhead with home-wrecking ambitions, and finds Braxton smuggling high anxiety under a cloak of unruffled condescension. Even more memorable is "Take This Ring," a saga of betrayal and revenge that proves Braxton's knack for channeling messy emotions without getting her hands dirty.
Another singer who's worth more than his weight in freshly chilled soul is Seu Jorge. You'll probably remember him from Wes Anderson's film The Life Aquatic, in which he offered his own unique take on classic Bowie. Cru (Wrasse), the Afro-Brazilian singer's new album, isn't a traditional soul CD. Lilting, languid, and sung almost entirely in Portuguese, it's colored mainly with the pastel hues of an Astrud Gilberto Ipanema reverie.
But Jorge most definitely has a soul singer's voice, and like all talented soul singers, his instrument injects everything he touches with emotional relevance. As with Braxton, Jorge realizes the power of restraint. Sometimes when the pain is so deep, all you can do is sit catatonic and stare out into nowhere. Jorge often captures this sense of numbed desolation in his delivery, and it's more compelling than a thousand weepy meltdowns.
The most powerful song on Cru is sung in English. Jorge takes a stab at the Leiber/Stoller chestnut "Don't" (a song most famously tackled by Elvis Presley), and his effort draws blood. His performance is stripped down and bare; on this track especially, his discreet yet potent delivery has a weight and force reminiscent of early Solomon Burke.
Both Braxton and Jorge offer a minimalist approach to soul that's so streamlined and refined, it feels like the only civilized response to a shattered heart.
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