The Sugarman Three & Co.: Pure Cane Sugar

If you weren’t old enough to shake your butt back in the 1960s when dances had names, or imbibe a live Stax soul revue spearheaded by the likes of Otis Redding and Booker T & the MGs, or if you are of that era and simply lament James Brown’s infrequent funk-fest visits and sorry album releases, there is an antidote: Daptone Records.

A brief history. Based out of Brooklyn, New York, Daptone was birthed from the ashes of internationally heralded NYC-based, Desco records. During the mid-’90s, Desco took on the bold task of producing new funk albums by long lost (and often obscure) legends, as well as by young newcomers. The philosophy was why rely on re-issues when the funk was still growing (or buried) in their own backyard. Furthermore, knowing the collector’s mentality of much of their clientele, the owners followed a smart business model, releasing product in limited amounts, first as vinyl 45s, then as vinyl albums and CDs. Hence, if you were quick enough to get your sticky fingers on a Desco record — even if you didn’t possess the proper moves to dance to it — you knew you possessed a soon to be collectable. In the process, the dormant careers of vocal heavyweights like Sharon Jones and Lee Fields were resuscitated, while the nascent ones of talented bands such as Antibalas and the Mighty Imperials were sparked.

Much good was born from this. Those of us that loved the funk could expect a new purchase to have cool artwork, warm analog sound, and maybe entice a live visit from the Desco stable. Critics took their shots however. Some proclaimed that Desco was kicking a dead horse, that not even masters such as James Brown or George Clinton were dumb enough to attempt putting out old-sounding “new” Funk; that the gilded age of funk was, by definition, over. As in, get over it. And, granted, some of what Desco produced sounded — after a few listens — a bit too formulaic, a bit stale, like it had, indeed, been done before, say, like thirty years ago, and with better aplomb. But damn if those kids over in England and Japan didn’t eat it up anyway!

One band that I thought helped fuel (and justify) the critics’ ire was the Sugarman Three, led by tenor saxophonist Neal Sugarman. Not a trio, but a quartet, they put out records that echoed the soul and funk jazz churned out by Blue Note’s rich roster of artists in the ’60s, such as Lonnie Smith, Grant Green, Lou Donaldson. Echoes are nothing but the shells of their original sound, however, so if you can listen to the original why bother with the derivative? For me, this was often the case. The Sugarman Three were nice, solid, upbeat dinner music. But when it was time to put away the dinner platters and get out the funky platters, Idris Muhammed’s drum kit would always get the nod.

Which brings me to the Sugarman Three & Co.’s latest release,Pure Cane Sugar, their first for Daptone, and the label’s second full-length release overall (the first being the booty-shaking Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings). Let me shout it out now: this album will kick your butt! Turn up your subwoofer and I promise that you will shake your thang, moneymaker, booty, hands, jowls, or whatever else is loose. The difference between this and the band’s previous efforts is the difference between Triple-A ball and the Yankees: consistency and depth. The funk is heavier, the arrangements more intricately layered, the production lusher, and the attitude is bad.

The first reason for the group’s improvement can be attributed to the Co. that they now keep. Veteran major-leaguers such as Lee Fields, Bernard Purdie, and Naomi Davis have been enlisted, and their considerable skill and craft raise the funk bar. Secondly, the core quartet of the Sugarman Three are tighter as a unit, having played together now for six years. They are comfortable in leaving the crutch of funky jazz standards on which they once relied, and instead dare to blaze a new, fiercer path. All 11 songs on the album are original compositions, and each exhibits the ensemble’s rhythmic muscle, which is beefed up with additional trumpet, congas, clavinet, and baritone sax, essentially making the Sugarman Three an octet. Moreover, the album’s obvious analog production gives a thick, gritty timbre. It’s as if the producers took notes from Phil Spector and his “Wall of Sound” approach, allowing each instrument’s mic to pick up and feed off the sound of its neighbor, thus creating subtle layers of reverb and echo, and an overall bigness.

Unlike many funk albums put out today (and during funk’s golden era for that matter) there is no dud track. Eight of the eleven songs are instrumentals, as the band clearly models itself after Booker T & the MGs and the Memphis Horns, in that they do their own thing until asked to back up any number of singers who may grab the mic. The mid-tempo instrumental, “Funky So-And-So”, is a good introduction to the new line-up, illustrating the band’s influences, while, at the same time, allowing the ensemble to work out a new common ground. Ruby Albin’s mini drum solos establish the Co.’s beat, Adam Scone’s organ vamps lay the texture, while Al Street’s guitar plays call and response with the Sugarman-led horn section. The next tune, “Take It As It Come”(sic), really launches the album however. Charles Bradley’s grunt kicks this straightforward funk jam off, with each instrument repeating the central driving riff, so that the groove is propelled yet another notch with each refrain, with Mr. Bradley crooning for lasting love. Love is also the lament of Lee Fields (self-proclaimed “Mr. Lovemaker”), a vocalist who can truly bring James Brown’s patented screech eerily to life. In “Shot Down” he recounts his failure with a particular woman, the snare and congas dancing around his ache, as the horns seem to mock and laugh at his ineptitude.

The three vocals on this album are all upbeat dance numbers. Interestingly enough, the only number approaching ballad-like status is the instrumental, “Modern Jive”, featuring drumming legend Bernard Purdie. With his bass drum setting the pace and foundation for all other instruments to imitate, it is a song without a distinct melody but for his short snare solos. Instead, everyone is locked onto Purdie’s syncopated, ambient groove, which would, if it were on a Chemical Brothers album, be termed “chill”. The remaining tracks on Pure Cane Sugar maintain the band’s momentum. Whether it’s the inspired and grungy “Bosco’s Blues” or the slithery Latin-based “La Culebra” one thing is clear: the Sugarman Three & Co. have finally arrived, suitcases packed to the gills with the Funk. Sure, they can’t (and don’t aim to) threaten the mighty catalogs of Stax or JB’s People, but at least they attempt to carry the torch. And, maybe, just maybe, if you eat your vegetables and wash the dishes, the Daptone Funk and Soul Revue will bring their funky stew to a club near you.