Cancer’s a bitch. And even though Sharon Jones’ latest barn-burner of soul and Dap-King funk was completed before her diagnosis with the pancreatic variety, when viewed in hindsight, there are plenty of subconscious nods to that inevitable, traitorous, groove-killing prick lurking behind each and every one of our ribosomes. But more so, there’s indication of what will, ultimately, be a bit of a beat-down.
“Retreat!” opens matters with a grandly proclamatory kiss-off. Posse in tow—with thick, soaring horn charts and ‘they’re with me’ backing vocals—she comes in brawling, swinging at the bell, and leaves little doubt as to who’s going to the mat when she growls, “What a fool you’d be to take me on.” Even feeling like a “Stranger to My Happiness” is more about shaking off the cobwebs, slapping her own face, and getting a groove back, than any bit of self-reflective blues.
Truthfully, with the sparse, interlocking strut step of the Dap-Kings—all tooting saxes and slick black suits, by now the consummate professionals of vintage-y, hook-centric R&B—it almost doesn’t matter what’s in the words. Almost. Yet, consider “We Get Along.” Expressing a ’70s-era urban toughness, it’s a jivey, catchy cut as much about a solid relationship as simply making it through another grueling, hustling day. There’s a lilting key change and sturdy, collars-up positivity. In other words, it’s no throwback (Jones hates the term “retro,” and who’s to argue?), but essentially is what this brand of jam was originally all about. Maybe it was prescience, maybe it was all a New Yorker’s inherent toughness, but the grit and tenacity dealing with matters “like a woman scorned,” make it clear that cancer picked the wrong foe.
Indeed, Jones, after completing chemo on New Year’s Eve, is well back to her finger-wagging, ass-shaking ballroom celebration of heartbeats and scuffed floors around the country. With her honking horn section, snaking guitar lines, bottom-heavy production, endless strut, gobs of finger wagging, the only difference is her bald head from chemo. And, maybe, in her hands-on-hip swagger, there’s just a bit more triumph. Life doesn’t win every battle, but Soul remains undefeated.
