For The Truth, Ruthie Foster switched from Austin’s Malcolm “Papa Mali” Welbourne, producer of 2007’s tremendous Phenomenal Ruthie Foster, to Chris Goldsmith, who just won yet another Grammy with Blind Boys of Alabama. The results are clean, rich, pristinely recorded session takes. Where Welbourne dressed the music up with swooning genre flourishes, Goldsmith stays out of the way. By removing the neo-soul vignetting, he puts more responsibility on Foster’s shoulders to hold the set together.
She responds by mirroring his production style. Like Goldsmith and her session players, Foster is masterful and musically fluent to the point that she doesn’t need to use any tricks to craft an affecting song. Her cover of Patty Griffin’s “When It Don’t Come Easy” exemplifies her work on The Truth. Another singer might opt to belt out such evocative lyrics. Foster choose instead to honor the nuance of Griffin’s words, and delivers a stirringly understated rendition. The set also includes works by great Foster contemporary Eric Bibb, yet the two most impressive tracks are originals: “Joy On The Other Side” is a roots-y gospel staple-to-be, while “Tears of Pain” is a slow blues tune that builds from three players to what seems like a big band. Both pieces are classic without being hackneyed, carrying forward only the form, simplicity and elegant execution of those who preceded Foster.
Unlike their first album, Franz Ferdinand’s newest release is less about stretching the boundaries of the three-minute rock song and more about the limitations of that form. With so many permutations of their sound already uncovered, the band is destined to retrace their route, which would not be a problem if they did not trip over their feet so much. For the most part, the songs themselves are decent and catchy, though nothing to rave about. However, the group attempts to rescue this mediocrity too often with smirking musical twists - the last seconds of “Turn It On” or “What She Came For,” or the piano intro to “Bite Hard.” But as some seventies music critic surely once said, piano intros do not an album make. Franz Ferdinand’s hallmark quirk seems too tacked on here, and the result are vapid songs that rarely go anywhere and certainly never take the listener with them. There are extreme exceptions - “Ulysses” and a couple others, depending on your flavor - but as usual, the best songs only further emphasize the unfulfilled promise of the album.





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