There's a Depeche Mode song that goes, "It's only when I lose myself in someone else that I find myself." For some musicians, this is the gospel truth. It's only by diving into their sea of influences that they're able to find their own voice.
On his sophomore album On The Jungle Floor (Capitol), singer Van Hunt works this concept, giving it the sort of earnest spit-shine that leaves it gleaming like a pair of new dress shoes. Hunt's soul music has always involved idol worship; his self-titled debut was a stellar ode to the '70s that borrowed heavily from Prince, Curtis Mayfield and Sly And The Family Stone. This time around, he leans on a more diverse (and slightly more current) group of icons to carve a sound that feels even more daring and adventurous.
The '80s are back, and no place more so than on Hunt's new joint. Tracks like "If I Take You Home" and "Being A Girl" call to mind the synthy-soul of Purple Rain-era Prince. "Hot Stage Lights" is a shard of raunchy punk-funk, a scorcher bright with the heat of vintage Rick James. Elsewhere, echoes of the Gap Band, Slave and Skyy are to be heard, most notably in bass grooves that bend like miles of winding mountain road.
Hunt's grab bag is peppered with more than just electro-funk, though. "Ride, Ride, Ride" finds the singer firing up Lenny Kravitz on a track that's entertaining enough to transcend the sum of its rather stale parts. (Perhaps this would be a good time to mention that Floor was co-produced by Bill Bottrell, who's also twiddled knobs for the likes of Sheryl Crow and Madonna). The New-Wave-tinged "At The End Of A Slow Dance" is appealingly strange; this is exactly the sort of fearlessly quirky path that alt-soul needs to travel. And Hunt delivers a flawless cover of the Stooges' "No Sense Of Crime." But perhaps "cover" isn't the best word, since Hunt inhabits the song with enough confidence to recast it as fresh, sexed-up soul.
Floor is brave and almost universally impressive. There's something to be said for not trying to do everything all at once, though, and the album would have been even stronger had Hunt picked one or two masters, instead of trying to serve three or four.
And what about the man whose genius sparked a thousand imitators? Prince is one of those rare artists who've always been wholly original; throughout most of his career, he's set the trends that others have slavishly followed. For much of the past 10 years, the singer's music has been addled with a sprawling self-indulgence that's served to whittle his fan base. That all changed with 2004's Musicology (NPG/Columbia), a tightly focused return to form that vaulted Prince back to chart-topping relevance.
That winning streak continues on his latest, 3121 (Universal). The singer looks to his own classics for inspiration. The buoyant "Lolita" is a sticky treat, formed from the same dough as earlier Prince hits like "Raspberry Beret." "Black Sweat" is a raw, inexorable grind that's got the spooky/freaky/robotic appeal of The Purple One's incendiary "Batdance." The slow songs hit the mark as well. Amply lubricated by the singer's milky falsetto, "Satisfied" easily measures up to such essential Prince ballads as "Adore" and "Do Me, Baby."
What's most remarkable is how fresh these songs sound. Prince's vibe has been duplicated to death, but no one does it quite like him. 3121 could have easily been a nostalgia trip, but Prince is canny enough to tweak things so they sound nothing less than modern and inspired. As is the case with Hunt's accomplished Floor, 3121 is a feast for those hungry for uncommon soul.
Subscribe to Feed
