The ever-elusive heat of ’60s and ’70s soul is seldom realized by the performers who aspire to it. Music that calls itself “soul” in this day and age is frequently – and inevitably – strained through the filter of hip hop, whose various (largely digital) subgenres are the proud descendants of funk, R&B, gospel, and soul.
This isn’t a bad thing as musical evolution goes, but it can appear to cost soul its soul; there’s a whiff of theory to hip hop that contrasts with soul’s earthy passion, which is itself resistant to theory. Nothing demonstrates this resistance more thoroughly than the sense of pastiche bordering on camp that plagues many a revivalist. What, after all, is more clearly borne of theory than “revival,” with its crucial role in the formation of canon?
Reviving soul music is like reviving a tantrum, an act of lovemaking, the agony of fresh loss, and/or the joy of dancing and flirting. Copying the sounds and techniques of another generation’s bands may help foster an appreciation for their musicianship – to which soul is far less resistant than to theory – but it does little to help audiences re-experience the viscera spilled by past masters like Otis Redding, Aretha Franklin, or James Brown.
So how does an outfit like Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings pull it off? Trying to explain is to risk a short, fruitless trip down a theoretical cul-de-sac, but I suspect it has something to do with, well, Sharon Jones.
Mind you, the Kings themselves are seriously tight, and bassist/multi-instrumentalist/bandleader/composer Bosco Mann has an uncanny ear for recreating the spirit of such classic songwriters as Sam Cooke. But this prodigal talent makes Mann something of an auteur, and any auteur in the realm of soul needs the aid of a flesh-and-blood presence.
Jones, the only soul diva in recent memory who deserves to be mentioned in the same breath as Bettye LaVette, Ike-era Tina Turner, or Aretha herself, provides that presence.
Wait, though…Diva?
“I was just watching Singin’ in the Rain,” Jones says. “I love those old musicals. You know, like 42nd Street. You know that the Dap Kings are gonna be on Letterman tonight? They’re playing with Amy Winehouse. You know her?”
I say I’ve heard of her; she chuckles.
“I wish I was there tonight. Chris Rock is gonna be on!”
Diva, indeed. No, Jones is just a crack performer, the kind who imbues the simplest phrases with such potent, stirring immediacy that you can’t quite believe that anyone came before her. She’s also the kind of prodigy who treats that gift as a gift with all the attendant humility, which is not to say she’s unaware that she is gifted.
“I’m doing some background for Lou Reed,” she mentions casually. “I didn’t know what it would be like. His producer set it up; he’d heard me with the Dap Kings and on Baby Loves Jazz. He introduced me to Lou, who had no idea who I was. I listened to his album – I think it was Berlin – and thought, ‘Wow…That’s so dark!’ But then when I sang with him – I think it’s when I sang “Sweet Jane” – he told the crowd I took him up the mountain, that the way I sang the song was the way he always wanted to hear it.”
She pauses. “He’s kinda different.”
“(Lou Reed) told the crowd I took him up the mountain, that the way I sang the song was the way he always wanted to hear it.” – Sharon Jones
Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings have put out two full-length releases, Dap Dippin’ With… and Naturally; neither sounds of this era. Can we expect more of the same, given the call to arms in the liner notes of Naturally suggesting that we “have made a terrible wrong turn” in diverging from the time-tested rules of their chosen genre?
“We don’t have a name for the third album yet,” says Sharon. “It’s pretty mellow. There’s a gospel song on it. I wanted to put one on. Just so you’re ready, they even made me play piano.”
Not for the first time, it turns out.
“When I was fourteen or fifteen, at church, I was told to play piano. I tried to make it look cool.”
Jones, in fact, is just the latest face in a great tradition of soul singers with gospel credentials. Born in Augusta, GA – like James Brown – in 1958, she got her start in the church choir. Does she still attend?
“I like going when I can. Just recently, I got to sing with the choir, to lead the choir. I even got to play on the organ!”
Though it’s already in the music as a trace element, we can look forward to a bit more gospel in the future.
“I’m definitely…well, probably, when we get back, gonna go into the studio, record some 45s or a gospel album. I wanna do like Sam Cook. On the new album, I cover a gospel song, ‘Answer Me.’ The way we’ve got it on the album with the Dap Kings playing, it’s got a funky groove.”
She gives me another loaded pause.
“‘Answer Me’…I’ve been singing that song at my church for at least 15 years.”
Now that she’s talking about the new album, Jones is on a roll.
“We’ve got this one song on the new record. [Singing] ‘I ain’t nobody’s baby / I ain’t nobody’s fool…’ [Speaking] There’s a lot of Tina Turner, you know, like that rock thing. [Singing] ‘I ain’t nobody’s baby / Get yourself a new one…’”
She laughs, perhaps surprised at having opted to share the contents of the album by singing them to me directly.
She shouldn’t be surprised; singing seems to come as naturally to her as eating comes for most of us. It’d be a shame to see such a gift shared only with those who remember the mid-’60s and/or the fetishists of antiquity or only wish they were there. Do the Dap Kings have any draw for a younger crowd?
“Oh, YES! A lot of the spaces where they play us are college spaces. Now we’re playing a lot of festivals, and we’re getting older people there. A lot of kids give the albums to their parents, and bring ‘em to the shows.”
I’m glad to hear it. There’s plenty of music out there that’s meant to be kept secret. Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings are making music that cries out to be shared, to be celebrated. Keeping something this sweet to yourself is downright soulless.
– Story by Lyam White, photo by Dulce Pinzon