This week's issue of the Shepherd features an interview with Sharon Jones in which the revivalist soul singer objects to being called retro. "There’s nothing retro about Sharon Jones," she tells L. Kent Wolgamott. "I was born in 1956. If I was 20 years old, I might be retro. I’m a soul singer. That’s it. You don’t see me trying to be Beyoncé or someone like that."
That's a fair defensewho would deny Sharon Jones the right to sing the music of her youth, especially when she does it so well?but it doesn't make the throwback aesthetic of Jones' latest album, I Learned the Hard Way, seem any less artificial to me. Jones' records don't merely echo the spirit or the arrangements of classic '60s soul; they painstakingly duplicate the production values, right down to the fade-outs. Lest anybody mistake the era she's trying to evoke, her album covers lay it on equally thick.
Jones owes her belated success to the novelty of this vintage sound. There are few modern acts tapping the era so precisely, and arguably none that do it so well. But no matter how accomplished Jones' albums are, it's hard for me to view them as anything other than kitsch, the work of a supremely talented woman playing dress up, hiding strong songs behind a silly affect.
For better or worse, the most endearing pop music sounds of its time. Though the '60s and '70s yielded some of the sweetest R&B styles imaginable Motown, Memphis soul, Philly soulthere's a reason the R&B singers of the '80s moved on. The R&B of the '80s may not have always aged with the same dignity as golden-era soul, yet imagine what a travesty it would have been if Prince or Michael Jackson had wasted their talents on classicists throwbacks to Stax-era sessions instead of embracing contemporary sounds. Synthesizers, drum machines and all, there's an authenticity to their records that makes them timeless, an authenticity that Jones' albums can't claim.
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Of course, nobody is actually suggesting that Jones attempt to sound as modern as Beyoncé, but it is possible to stay true to the spirit of classic soul without recreating it note for note. Maxwell, Raphael Saadiq and Mary J. Blige all do it, with varying degrees of traditionalism.
Or, for an example more in Jones' comfort zone, look no further than Al Green. In 2003 and 2005, he reunited with his mentor Willie Mitchell and his '70s backing band for I Can't Stop and Everything's OK, a pair of nearly flawless replications of his indelible '70s sound. The organs swooped, the drums stomped and the strings swept away lustily, yet the old magic wasn't quite there. On 2008's Lay It Down, though, Green surrounded himself with young collaborators like Anthony Hamilton and ?uestove for an album that updated Green's vision ever-so-slightly for the neo-soul generation. It's Green's most satisfying record in decades, one that actually advances music instead of merely reminding us how good it used to be. It'd be thrilling to hear Jones attempt an album like it.
