I haven’t figured out if the reason why I’m enjoying the recent influx of white soul singers so much is because they strike a chord with an earlier time and I’m comforted with that familiarity. Or perhaps it’s because I’m burned out on the excessive polish and immaculate production that has permeated nearly every facet of recorded music, not just soul music, and anything remotely organic or harking back to an age when there wasn’t devices that could fucking correct your flubbed notes is now downright appealing.
Lacking the God-given talent of Amy Winehouse or the emotional frailty of Chan Marshall, Duffy makes her own entrance into the female soul arena with Rockferry, her debut that possesses just enough grit to cater to retropolitans and enough panache to appeal to young urban hipsters. Cutting through the clutter one finds an enjoyable offering that will probably owe just as much to timing to its success as its material.
I had a bad attitude about Lollapalooza this year. I was not looking forward to it at all. I’ve covered Lollapalooza for Glorious Noise each year since the festival was resurrected in Chicago in 2005. Between Lolla and Forkfest, I was thinking I might just be festivaled out.
My wife’s advice as I left on Friday: “Don’t be old—be fun.”
Which sounds a lot harder than it actually turned out to be. Once I let go of some of my uptightness and decided to just roll with it, I ended up having a great weekend. Free your mind, and your ass will follow, right? Surprisingly, I think the lack of bands that I needed to see helped me relax and just enjoy myself.
Not to say that there weren’t a ton of great bands playing this year. There were, but I’ve seen most of them recently. At Lollapalooza two years ago. Or at Pitchfork last year. Or both.