Leon Bridges, 25, is a true talent, a voice so golden that to deny it would be to deny a gift from above. His style is rich and warm and his debut Coming Home is proof that soul is as viable today as it’s ever been.
But for the burgeoning phenom there’s a catch; his image is as scripted as a Hollywood pilot, a squeaky clean act that has been rehearsed and neatly packaged a thousand times over for the general public to gobble up guilt free — the best plastic soul market research could buy, a cheap Daptone knockoff.
Every song is slave to a geriatric swing, making it hard to listen to all the way through. His band stays comfortably in the pocket unwilling to offer anything beyond status quo. It’s one predictable sequence after another. He’s not digging deep, he’s pointing the mic directly at Sam Cooke and saying I want to be you.
There’s certainly nothing wrong with emulating a legend, but when there’s no personality, no charisma we have a problem. Still, there’s potential but to get there he’s going to have to rely on something else other than the fandom of revivalists.
‘Coming Home‘
A milk and honey intro from a young crooner, a launch that could potentially land him amongst the stars. The doo-wop backdrop is hokey and a bit too familiar, pandering even, but not enough to taint the gilded voice gliding through the air. The longing seems real and speaks well beyond his age:
‘Better Man‘
The promise of being a better man, and the vocal chops to back it up. Unfortunately the instrumentation remains bland doing little to challenge the vocal range. It’s an almost identical background to before, which immediately raises an eyebrow — dangerously close to the dreaded retro soul tag:
‘Brown Skin Girl‘
No question about it, the retro soul tag is firmly in place and they’re not ashamed about it, brandishing it proudly even. The voice is buttery, but the lack of originality is deafening, enough to snuff out the lyrics indefinitely. Even if they did break through all they’d sing is the same old song:
‘Smooth Sailin’‘
A calm serene cruise, but through safe waters making it about as thrilling as a ride at Disney Land. As far as rides go it’s a vacation package where all the details are mapped out in boring fashion, an easy lob pitch with all the familiar trimmings. Not an ounce of new or fresh to be found:
‘Shine‘
25 is somehow the new 50, all in the name of playing to some tired character. It’s like a little kid wearing his father’s shoes, clomping around with suitcase acting like a grown man. The cute act is running awfully dry and the lack of genuine perspective makes it the antithesis of soul:
‘Lisa Sawyer‘
One of the only authentic songs on the album, a heartfelt ode to his mother. The backing band has no choice to shift the direction, and while it’s still anemic it’s enough a departure to draw back some level of interest. It sounds more modern than other songs, which isn’t a bad thing at all:
‘Flowers‘
With a quick break in the action we’re right back to the hokey, Mickey Mouse club style of soul, the type of nonsense that’ll make grandma get up and jitterbug her way back to health. Nothing controversial or edgy about it and, good clean wholesome fun that is as boring as high school geography:
‘Pull Away‘
Same tired old theme, only new to those who’ve never heard of Sam Cooke. The emotions are cheap and easy, and the instrumentation is fleeting with no sense of urgency. It’s high school talent show quality, and a shame that a voice with this much potential needs to submit to such shoddy workmanship:
‘Twistin’ and Groovin’‘
Like an unhinged dance party at an old folks home with about as much movement as a stationary bike. You think there’d be some hot blood coursing through its veins, but it’s on life support and a sudden scare away from complete cardiac arrest. The only ladies he’s seducing are the Golden Girls:
‘River‘
The way he’s talking you’d think he’d be dead and gone by the time he hits 30 like his life were a hard road of trial and tribulation. And maybe it has been, he certainly walks and talks the part, but the heavy gloss reveals the cards; all too scripted to hold any semblance of authenticity:
