Jamie Lidell's music locates my pet peeves and repeatedly slams them with a ball-peen hammer. It also finds my weaker spots, giving them a goose and refusing to let me check out on this hot-mess of whitey Motown madness. Yet, I'm still wondering what the double-fuck this is all about. I've been challenged in the past, forced to write about people, places, and things I couldn't find the inspiration to suss out, but scarcely to this degree.
It was so EASY to dismiss Jamiroquai when they came out, because their music was so unequivocally without worth. Same with Maroon 5 -- more so, even. Sadly, those are the two names that spring to mind when I hear Jim. But perhaps these flashes only underline my lack of background; you might as well ask me about grubworms or foreplay. I have very little soul, no doubt.
Strangely, that's the one thing that's making me sure about this one. Considering that I've stayed away from soul's post-1980 canon for the most part, it would take quite a revelation to get me raving about neo-soul or whatever else is out there (and St. Elsewhere does NOT count). And Jim isn't that revelation, but the fact that I don't hate it -- nay, the fact that it isn't a complete, pale embarrassment -- is a revelation in itself. I could even see myself potentially enjoying this in concert. HOOR-FUCKING-RAY, I'VE GOT SOUL!!! Do I have to like The Dap-Kings now? No? Cool beans.
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