The enduring good health of UK soul – the fact that we are treated to a continual stream of great records by the likes of Jorja Smith, Children of Zeus, Cleo Sol / SAULT, Maverick Sabre, Joel Culpepper, Yazmin Lacey, Ego Ella May, Michael Kiwanuka and so many others – is down to a few things. First there is the soft music for hard times principle: a craving for tangible tenderness, directness, unfiltered emotion and… well… soulfulness in the midst of the competitive shouting factories of the digital world and the relentless hustle of this austerity-blighted island.
Secondly, and this is vital, is the fact that instrumental excellence, once achieved, remains. And thanks to the parallel youthful jazz explosion of the past decade, Britain is now bubbling with the kind of players who can do great singers justice, which helps stop those singers having to get relegated to a lifetime of “feat.” on dance producers’ records in order to get heard. Not that electronic dance music is irrelevant to all this, mind: the resurgence of soulful soundsystem grooves like UK garage and broken beat, and the integration of afrobeats, amapiano and more has brought new rhythms into the mix and given new confidence to vocalists too.
All of which flows together into Jaz Karis’s debut album, which follows a steady build over seven years including a couple of substantial EPs, and appearances on records like Katy B’s criminally underrated Peace & Offerings. It is essentially a neo-soul album, in the good tradition of Jill Scott, Solange and col, but the more you listen the more it demonstrates both its own personality, and – even though it was written and recorded around the world – its Britishness.
The way amapiano “log drum” bass easily bounces into the big single “Tequila” and later, more softly, into “Sims Castaway” gives it all a feel of rolling through London with the radio on, and throughout the way Afro, Latin, jazz, American and Caribbean influences are all combined with utmost subtlety glances back through the decades to the great British fusions of Sade.
The subject matter is fundamentally classic themes of love and loss, but there’s a meta layer of time passing and maturity which is brilliantly approached without the self-help speak that can sneak into this style – a good few of these songs have the kind of diary-entry / sisterly advice vibe that some listeners have been craving from Cleo Sol since she shifted her solo work to more spiritual matters. Although the credits show a large team of writers and producers involved, the coherence is amazing, which is tribute to Karis’s personality and musical assuredness: it really feels like a step into one person’s world and thoughts, and it’s a world you’ll want to come back to again and again.
Listen to "Tequila":
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