Gecko Turner returns after 2006’s Guapapasea. His accompaniment has changed, and he’s moved away from the easier hooks, but his tactics remain the same. They are: 1. Have groove and 2. Be languid. The voice relaxes slowly, slowly, slowly, groans, almost yawns. At the end of a song the last ember of music slowly, slowly dies with a dying crunch. The tenor is everything, the lyrics are nothing—he could be quoting Milton. A trumpet ambles in the sunshine, a Cuban piano cools its heels, and there are some unexpected direct contributions from Africa—a little mbira and a guest appearance by a Guinean. But most of his Africa comes by way of the US. Long way round for a Spaniard. He loves soul. He loves, he says, the Mississippi. Big languid soul rivers. “I’m a river boy,” he says. Sleepy cat music.
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