This time around we are treated to eleven songs from Buddy’s creative muse. Either way, this is a timely reminder to check out a fine talent that may be unknown to some who like to seek out real quality in their music. Sprinkle a little bit of magic dust into the writing and you have the full package here. Let’s just call it a case of excess demands on limited resources. It can be hard to sometimes to get to every review in a timely fashion. But Kandace Springs seems content to play to her strengths and take no quarter the one thing listeners are guaranteed to receive is authenticity.This seventh album from singer songwriter Buddy Mondlock had an official release back in February but somehow slipped through our net at Lonesome Highway. It is hard to say that anyone in the public eye can shy away from fame in the age of internet video and necessary self-promotion. So easily distracted by the public persona they sell, the politics they preach, or the awkward impurity of soundboard effects, we find ourselves unable to focus the entirety of our attention upon the same artistic endeavors that got them to the stage in the first place. Rarely in the modern era of music is one able to simply marvel at the beauty of a singer's voice. Unfettered by the restraints of tradition or expectation, she stretches her range without pulling too hard, and the addition of brass or woodwinds gives each piece an added touch of sentiment. The pair of tracks featuring Chris Potter on saxophone, "Gentle Rain" and "Solitude," in addition to her earlier collaboration with David Sanborn, really demonstrate how much stronger the singer is with a horn in the mix. This could easily boil down to the benefits of 21st century recording technology, but more likely is that Jones' somewhat downtrodden performance keys very well off the wry, positive tones Springs spends the song crooning. Another obvious vocal highlight is "Angel Eyes," a duet between Springs and Norah Jones, who is credited as one of the album's eponymous "Women." Neither is heard to overpower the other, and their new rendition sounds more fleshed-out than the one made famous by Ella Fitzgerald in 1958. Avishai Cohen's trumpet provides a mournful backdrop for Springs during the latter she loves to allow a note to wither in her throat, ruthlessly wringing every drop of sensuality from it. "Pearls" and "The Nearness Of You" feature enough simmering passion to keep listeners engaged. This isn't to say that the album's calmer moments drag. Their dark, heavy take on the prolifically covered song offers a possible glimpse into Springs' future, subverting the expectations of a performer within her genre. It is a perfect example of what the singer is capable of when backed by the right talent. Just as Penn's cymbals gather up and crash through both speakers, saxophonist David Sanborn blows out his solo. "I Put A Spell On You," has her laying the familiar rhythm down on piano while ambling up to the tipping point. She excels during songs that challenge her to build to a climax, spending their outset ramping up tension and intensity. There is a crisp purity in her singing throughout and, while Springs avails herself of modern technology, she is not beholden to it. That, combined with the menagerie of high profile guest artists, and wise song choices keeps the album from taking on a quaint tone. Their presence provides some validation for The Women Who Raised Me, which is a mostly acoustic affair. She also recruited a trio comprising guitarist Steve Cardenas, bassist Scott Colley, and drummer Clarence Penn, all of whom share ties to those women. The album marks a new phase for Springs, who curated a list of songs made famous by the female vocalists who inspired her career. She detours from those paths with her third full-length entry, titled The Women Who Raised Me, decidedly placing it atop the latter stack. At times, singer and pianist Kandace Springs' previous release, Indigo (Blue Note, 2018), had an irritatingly generic blend of pop and R&B influences, while her debut two years earlier often fell upon traditional blues vibes. Those who wish to belong to the latter group find a way to add a personal touch to their songs, in such a way that each takes on its new performer's characteristics. The other, smaller pile is made up of those few in which the artist on the cover managed to do something more than parrot their predecessors. One is filled with tiresome stacks of uninspired music soon to be filed away and forgotten. Cover albums tend to sort themselves pretty neatly into two separate bins.
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