Sentimental Fool

Album review

Giving voice to powerful emotions is the essence of soul music. It's also the core of what made James Brown's music so special.  Brooklyn-based Daptone Records—the home of the late Charles Bradley and Sharon Jones, both Brown admirers—has specialized in crafting feverish, heartfelt albums of throwback soul. It's fitting then that Lee Fields, a performer once nicknamed "Little JB" for being so adept at mimicking  Brown's moves and vocal style, should today be their biggest remaining star.  Fields released his first single in 1969, and then went dormant in the '80s before becoming an early beneficiary of the '90s retro soul craze, subsequently making new records for Ace, Truth & Soul and Daptone. In his Daptone years, Fields has slowly morphed into a much more nuanced balladeer, turning his shouts into something approaching a devout plea for mercy and forgiveness. On Sentimental Fool, he animates songs (most written by Bosco Mann a.k.a. label owner Gabriel Roth), that celebrate joyous love or brood over devastating heartbreak. Daptone's signature all-analog retro sound prides itself on showcasing the entire band playing together in whole takes with a minimum of overdubs. This ethos suits Fields' impassioned, testifying style perfectly, with only a judicious use of reverb adding depth to the sound. In "Forever" he reassures his beloved wife that "Through thick and thin/ I'll be there by your side." Backed by an eight-piece band led by Hammond B-3 organ that's beefed up along the way by numerous additional musicians, including producer Roth, the title track finds Fields hopelessly entangled in a delusion: "It was only me/ (Who believed in a love)/ That could never be." While Fields is primarily known for his ballads, he's also very effective in upbeat material like "Two Jobs" where he emphasizes the punchline in each verse: "I'm working two jobs/ Getting paid for one," before revealing "I'm working two jobs/ And one of them is you." Self-recrimination is another Fields (and Roth) specialty, and by the end of "I Should Have Let You Be" he convincingly makes the case that his shame is real, admitting "Now me and my pride/ Sit alone in the dark/ Your face is all I can see." Whether digging deep into regret or summoning pure adulation, Lee Fields makes sure by the end of a song that you too believe. © Robert Baird/Qobuz