Most obviously, Kiwanuka's music fits the post-Amy Winehouse vogue for faux-vintage soul.
It signposts its retro intentions from its opening seconds – the first
thing you hear is a jazzy flute in a style not dissimilar to that of Rahsaan Roland Kirk.
In fact, there's jazz flute all over the shop, along with saxophones
blowing free solos and string and brass arrangements that so obviously
recall the early 70s – not just Bill Withers or Terry Callier, but Van Morrison's Moondance and Nick Drake's Bryter Layter – you listen in fear
that the whole thing might suddenly grind to a halt because the miners
are out and the power stations have shut down.
Home Again's strength lies in the fact that it manages to tick a lot of
boxes without sounding like it set out to tick a lot of boxes. It seems a
faintly ridiculous thing to say about an album that's so clearly
busting a gut to sound 40 years older than it actually is, but it feels
natural rather than forced or calculating. That's partly down to Paul
Butler's production. It's perhaps a bit much to coat Kiwanuka's vocals
in a thin layer of distortion – a kind of sonic equivalent of
distressing furniture with sandpaper – with the implicit accompanying
suggestion this music has recently been unearthed in the vaults of Blue Thumb or Cadet Records rather than recorded on the Isle of Wight last
year with the bloke out of the Bees, but there's something beguiling
about its warm, live sound. Mostly, though, it's down to Kiwanuka's
voice and songs. The former is rich and fluid, the latter balance a sure
grasp of an immediate melody against chord sequences that shift in ways
you don't quite anticipate. Listening to Tell Me a Tale or I Won't Lie,
you're struck by the way they manage to sound both comfortingly
familiar and slightly unexpected, an impressive trick to pull off.[...]
- Alexis Petrides (The Guardian)
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