With a roster that has boasted singers like Sharon Jones, Lee Fields, Naomi Shelton and the sadly departed Joseph Henry, Brooklyn-based label Daptone Records have forged their retro soul ethos for a decade now with a very calculated method: correcting history’s mistakes by signing aging soul starlets who have fallen through the cracks of time. So how label co-founder Gabriel Roth must have fussed when he came across Charles Bradley, a James Brown impersonator with a harrowing backstory. Enduring homelessness, extreme illness and the murder of his brother (all of which are outlined in the festival circuit documentary Charles Bradley: Soul of America), Bradley came with a marketable narrative and a dynamic stage presence. Most importantly, his voice gives Daptone’s house musicians a leading man who can channel not just Brown, but Otis Redding, Al Green, and Teddy Pendergrass to boot.
To both Bradley and Daptone’s credit, the singer’s first album, No Time for Dreaming, didn't cash in on his distressing life story, but world-weariness did seep into his songwriting. It was as though harsh life lessons had taught Bradley not to expect a great deal from his apparent "big break." The love songs weren’t so much passionate romantic odes as they were desperate declarations of reliance, while the record’s marquee song, “Why Is It So Hard”, offered a cold flipside to the American dream. But what a voice. This wasn’t revivalism for revivalisms sake (a sneer sometimes made at Daptone), but a collection of songs sung with earnestness and authority that it trumped any such criticism.
Two years on, Victim of Love is a more optimistic record, from the Motown-inspired catchy pop-soul number “You Put the Flame on It” to the gorgeous “Through the Storm”, a quiet elegy to bury his past traumas. But these fuzzy moments are offset by new forays into more coarse instrumentation. “You Put the Fame on It” aside, producer Thomas Brenneck pushes his artist from the 1960s into more 70s R&B than he’s previously been accustomed to. Think Curtis Mayfield’s transition from the swinging doo-wop of the Impressions to his solo, psychedelic blues of the early 70s. “Hurricane” trods much the same path as “Freddy’s Dead”, albeit replacing Mayfield’s drugged out nightmare with an environmental warning, while his handprint is all over the sizzling funk workout “Confusion”. Elsewhere, “Strictly Reserved For You” could easily slide into Al Green’s golden 1972-1975 run, and the chipped guitar lines that recall his great collaborator “Teenie” Hodges are matched with some fuzzy Sly Stone-esque axe.
But Victim of Love is ultimately a less successful record than No Time for Dreaming. For one, Bradley seems less connected with this set. “Love Bug Blues” offers him some blaxplotiation-style cool to ride on-- all nasty guitar lines, fluttering jazz flutes, and forceful horn stabs-- but the lyrics uncomfortably cast him as a horny singleton who has caught glimpse of a potential new conquest. His major flaw, however, has been and continues to be his lack of ability to interact with his band. At times, like on overwrought ballad “Let Love Stand a Chance", he sounds completely detached from what’s going on around him, as if he cut his vocal a capella in studio far away from his collaborators. This isn’t helped by Brenneck, who turns Bradley’s voice way up in the mix. Considering the singer’s sheer power it’s sometimes an imbalance. For example, the title track is a bare acoustic jam only backed up with some soft background “oohs” and “ahs”, yet Bradley attacks the arrangement with full speed gusto and his potent voice begins to overwhelm.
These blemishes underline that Bradley is still something of a novice to professional recording and requires guidance to funnel his talents onto wax. That’s the job of Brenneck and the Daptone hierarchy, who are probably calling the shots when it comes to his evolving sound. But Bradley has a rare gift of being a singer worth hearing regardless of the material, and this alone is worth the price of admission.
