Jamie Lidell’s transition to soul revivalist seemed completed with 2008’s JIM
. Despite being on veteran IDM label Warp,
JIM
was an uncanny replica of vintage American R&B,
to the point where a casual listener would struggle to tell Lidell from a
Motown unknown. Equal parts blessing and curse,
JIM
came so close to its ancestors that it got lost
among their numbers.

Though its
Soul Meter is still set to ‘Funky’, Compass

doesn’t masquerade as some lost gem from 1967.
Completely Exposed
opens the record, riding a cluttered, stuttering
beat akin to labelmate Flying Lotus’s
Los Angeles
or Radiohead’s
15 Step
. Lidell’s croon, however, is pure aching soul. The
fuzzy, claustrophobic beat reflects Lidell’s own confusion, torn between
longing and vulnerability, all building to an arcing “please!” that Otis
Redding himself would admire.

The much
livelier I Wanna Be Your Telephone

buzzes with percussive energy, accented by little flourishes that hint at
Lidell’s on-stage used of live-recorded vocal loops. The telephone metaphor is
deceptively strong, touching on the intimate relationship 21st
century folk have with their mobiles.

Other tracks
strip away the contemporary touches, allowing Lidell to channel Marvin Gaye and
(the very much living) Stevie Wonder. The latter is a strong presence on The
Ring
, a squelchy funk number that’s got
more than a little
Superstition

in it, while the ghost of latter-day Gaye looms large on
It’s A Kiss
.

Crowded with
rich grooves and a great vintage soul feel, Compass
feels only slightly let down by the songwriting.
While the songs themselves are strong, and lyrically very deft, the choruses
fall short of the instant memorability that Smokey Robinson (an obvious
influence) did so well during his time as a Motown songwriter. This is no major
flaw, but does tend to detract from the immediate enjoyment of the album.

Similarly,
Lidell struggles to simulate the sensuality at the heart of most of the
Stax/Motown catalogue. It’s a Kiss

shoots for
Let’s Get it On
, but
falls short of the sexual tension it aims for, undercut by a murky, ambiguous
atmosphere. The physicality feels slightly forced, and the intimacy quickly
becomes awkward. In the aforementioned
I Wanna Be Your Telephone
, Lidell’s counterintuitive metaphor pays off because
of its subtlety, suggesting that Lidell’s lyrical strength lies in the oblique
rather than the direct.

Details
aside, Compass
is a vibrant marriage of
futurist electronica and dusty soul. From such unlikely bedfellows, Lidell has
crafted a stronger identity for himself without shedding the joy that made his
past records so enjoyable.

Review Score: 7.5/10