Mama's Gun - Routes to Riches [Album]

Zomba Music

August 30, 2009, 06:28 PM

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Every so often, an album comes along that pushes the boundaries of pop music, that defies genre, and that totally blows everyone's skirt up. This is not one of those albums. What Mama's Gun have accomplished with Routes to Riches shouldn't be underestimated, however. The album is a painfully radio-ready, head-bopping reimagining of post-Motown soul/funk. It's sticky-sweet groove-pop with teeth.

Led by London wunderkind Andy Platts, Mama's Gun (named for Erykah Badu's sophomore album) are poised to become the new super-pop flavour of the year. Their richly orchestrated, groove-centred tunes are just aching to receive so much radio play that this time next year everyone will be totally sick of the album.

Those familiar with early-90s London Acid Jazz may argue that Mama's Gun borrows one too many plays from the Jamiroquai/Brand New Heavies playbook, and they may be right, but the band is nothing if not competent, and what they may lack in originality they make up for in thick, rich sounds, complex multi-vocal lines and good, old-fashioned chops. The fact that the album was mixed by engineering legend Jack Joseph Puig and mastered by veritable studio deity Bob Ludwig (both of whom actively sought out the band) should do much to quiet doubters. The universal likability, crisp, clean, rich sound and sometimes mass-produced, too-safe songwriting make Mama's Gun akin to Strongbow for the ears.

There are real, undeniable moments of genius here, however. For every canned pop track, there's a real gem. While the opening track, "House on a Hill," sounds remarkably like Hanson's "MMMBop" with better production, the next song, "Rico," combines a gritty disco-funk groove, fantastic vocal harmonies, and a hook so catchy and spacious you'll wish you'd brought your platform shoes. While "You Are the Music" is a totally listenable, forgettable and too-sappy love tune, "Bitch" is a slow, funky, bass-driven masterpiece that would make Sly Stone cry. At times, Platt's lyrics seem the product of a love-soggy teenager, at other times, the scrawled poetry of some Byronic prophet.

Finally, no one - no one- I mean, not even Steve McQueen - could possibly be as cool as these guys look. This, of course, becomes a matter of taste, but I could wish they'd spent less time in wardrobe and more time rethinking some of the tracks. My advice? Check out the audio section of the band's site here and make up your own mind.

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