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Following 2006’s warped future funk opus ‘Multiply’, ‘Jim’ (released two years ago) sounded disappointingly normal. It was hard to begrudge the supremely talented Jamie Lidell for chasing some of the vast neo-soul audience that should’ve been rightfully his but instead ended up trickling towards various infinitely less–deserving repeaters of vintage tricks. But surely a singer-producer knee-deep in cutting-edge electronica could offer something just a bit more special than these straight-ahead classic Motown moves?
‘Compass’ proves Lidell hasn’t lost his taste for experimentation. The polished, glittering surfaces of ‘Jim’ are a thing of the past. So are the sparse, robotic spaceship soul pulses of ‘Multiply’. The Berlin-based vocalist’s fourth solo album - the electro abstractions of 2004’s ‘Muddlin Gear’ are often overlooked – is a murkier, muddier proposition, its layers of arresting detail – burping bass frequencies, treated synth squeals, percussion effects resembling the sound of a bouncing ping pong ball - revealing their full bundle of riches only with repeated listens. Populated by many of Lidell’s regular collaborators (Wilco multi-instrumentalist Pat Sansome, much-acclaimed master of diverse musical adventurism Gonzales), ‘Compass’ appears intent on bending and battering each sound out of shape, the overall impression being one of Lidell making amends for playing it too safe last time around.
All of which results in an arrestingly alien-sounding album. But – and it’s quite a big but – it’s hard to shake off the suspicion that the busy, shape-shifting arrangements are in place partly to divert attention from the fact that a handful of cuts that, sonic enchantment aside, can’t boast of many memorable characteristics. Then again, the likes of ‘Completely Exposed’ (a sizzling slow jam), the Prince-ly dirty funk ‘I Wanna Be Your Telephone’ and the sticky anguish of ‘She Needs Me’ showing there’s plenty of life left in Lidell’s space age funkateer format.
Towards the end, the album steers further and further away from sounds that anyone with fully functioning ears could possibly file under funk/soul. Although the stylistic departures create an overall impression of an artist at a crossroads, trying to figure out which path to pick, the stunning lift-off of the majestic title track, the hymn-like closer ‘You See My Light’ and the cracked, spooky grooves of ‘Coma Chameleon’ and first single ‘The Ring’ go some way towards compensation for a lack of cohesion. A flawed but endlessly alluring album.
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