If you wanted to pick two stories that defined the kind of year Sharon Jones had in 2013, it's easy to single out the first: the pancreatic cancer that struck the singer in the initial run-up to her new album. It's an ailment that grounded one of the most vibrant stage presences in R&B, and it seemed like a cruel rebuttal to a career built on long-due good fortune and a spirit that took on and beat all comers. That she intends to tour again soon after her recent final chemo treatment is a good omen, and with luck the disease will be just a footnote to a long career. The other story of note is the cameo Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings had in Martin Scorsese's The Wolf of Wall Street: there they are, the singer and her group, standing onstage in the role of a wedding band playing James Bond supervillain torch song “Goldfinger” at the reception of a Caligula-minded stockbroker. A movie where a 21st century band plays 1960s music in a scene set in the early 90s—that's the context they found themselves in, and there are few better ways to show off just how unindebted to time they are.Placing Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings at a certain space in time seems easy aesthetically; few bands' version of 1968 have lasted as long or as effectively as theirs. With a virtuoso versatility that all parties involved have cultivated, it wouldn't be a huge shock—much less a disappointment—if they deigned to cross that Nixon-era threshold and fool around with some “Blow Your Head”/“Funky Worm” synthesizers or put a little B.T. Express-style proto-disco hustle in their backbone. But even if the title of Give the People What They Want invokes one of the more state-of-the-art slices of 70s soul as delivered by the O'Jays, Jones and company stay in their more vintage lane. They might be a bit tighter than they were on 2002's Dap-Dippin'..., and they cut a bit more cleanly through their old-school analogue recording methods, but this is an album built less on advancement than resilience.
And this is an album with plenty of the latter. It isn't a sound anyone should take for granted, since it's been well-established that the blue-flame intensity of Jones' voice and the Dap-Kings' evocative arrangements aren't exactly common stock and would legitimately bring down the house anywhere from Coachella to Wattstax. Both singer and band have gotten so versed in their mixture of classic Southern soul and occasional flourishes of Motown or Philly soul opulence—transitions they make with a masterful smoothness—that even a first listen will make a song feel lived-in, with an “always been there” familiarity that hasn't yet gone threadbare. Even the cover art is a direct nod of a throwback—a more ornate riff on the sleeve of the Chi-Lites' 1971 LP (For God's Sake) Give More Power to the People.
That lets slip another commonality of theirs with vintage R&B—the idea of soul as a vehicle for social commentary. The fun irony of Jones and the Dap-Kings playing the on-screen Jordan Belfort's wedding is that their songs' sense of grievance, justice, and populist power has rarely felt stronger. Opener “Retreat!”, with its martial-march tweak of the Holland-Dozier-Holland that gave us “I Hear a Symphony”, is a massive kiss-off to some arrogant somebody-or-other that can't help but crumble in the face of “a woman scorned”—though any lingering spite is drowned out by the sheer joy of Jones expressing the strength needed to overcome someone else's misdeeds. “People Don't Get What They Deserve” is that rare dose of idealism-deflating reality that doesn't drown in its own bitter cynicism; Jones' sprint-paced rapport with the backup singer Dapettes doesn't sound jaded and world-weary enough, and right on to that. And “We Get Along” holds the prescription to endure—help and relief might be a long time coming, but being able to keep on doing it in the face of strife is a source of inner strength in the meantime. It's implicit gospel that puts its faith in the people.
Give the People What They Want is a pretty short 10 songs, though its breezy half-hour leaves plenty that sticks and plenty more worth revisiting when it doesn't. The collection's balance of rousing barn-burners and slower, sweeter break-up/make-up ballads (like the sun-streaked bliss of “Slow Down, Love”) keeps it moving. And it's all briskly impassioned enough to make most skeptics brush off the old “have I heard this before?” questions, even if this is one of the more get-what-you-expect albums of the early year. It's like peeking into an alternate reality where an artist like Lyn Collins or Marva Whitney could have a decade-plus career without having to worry about changes in trends—and it's long since been clear by now that Jones belongs in their class. May she remain unstoppable. Reported by Pitchfork 19 hours ago.