It’s actually Maxwell’s band that makes the music sound so damn good. The songs themselves, in terms of melodic arrangements and such, generally hold-up decently, but it’s the accommodating instrumentation that makes them drip with soulful sexiness.

This is a muddy mix of bassy funk music; the kind jazzmen jammed to in the summers of the 1970s. There’s what sounds like a live trumpet section in the mix; a nice backdrop for Maxwell’s voice, which can go from whiny to falsetto at a moment’s notice.

He’s singing mostly to a girl, pleading and protesting his love for her to the point of worship, which would be acceptable if it were just about sex. When it comes to pretty girls, Maxwell is a sucker for romance and that the crooner has no qualms about.

What’s redeeming is a dance groove called Phoenix Rise. It’s the one song that isn’t held back by sappy lyrics. That makes one wonder how much better this lukewarm album could be vocal-free as just a straight music soundtrack for black summer nights.

my rating : 3 of 5

2009