This, the third record from Chicago’s impossibly-clean sounding JC Brooks and the Uptown Sound is another round of catchy pop hooks married up to a soul-lite sound, bounce along fun in the vein of Eli “Paperboy” Reed or Charles Bradley without the growl. But it’s an uneasy marriage I reckon – it sounds too slick and smooth to be taken seriously and I can’t imagine the Vampire Weekend or Arcade Fire crowds caring much about this. I mean at times it sounds like Robert Cray, almost. A very young Robert Cray with his guitar on hold, perhaps.
I think the thing here is, it’s really a case of actua…
Oh fuck it. I’ve tried to write a review. But there’s no need in stringing this along for more than that opening paragraph – which, reading it back, was far too generous.
There’s also no need for JC Brooks & The Uptown Sound to continue to make records. How this has an audience of any kind is beyond me. It’s not the worst music you could ever hear but there’s just nothing in it. It’s the worst kind of wallpaper-soul music. And that just shouldn’t be allowed to happen.