June 7, 2004 by A.S. Van Dorston

Blue-eyed soul has always been a nefarious proposition. The result is usually pop that awkwardly and stiffly incorporates soul, like Young Americans-era Bowie and Hall & Oats. Soul music without much soul. Synth poppers like Soft Cell and John Foxx, initially inspired by the cold teutonic drones of Kraftwerk, incorporated soul with better, but still limited success. It took Grandmaster Flash’s sampling of Kraftwerk to remind white people that they can be funky in their own way. Twenty years later, Canadian Junior Boys picked up on that idea and ran with it. Equally inspired by the pristine production of Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark and the staccato beats of Timbaland, they have conjured an original potion that at first taste has the slick sheen of MOR pop.

Underneath the glass there’s real blood flowing, driven by bizarre little sonic mechanisms that set the music far apart and above the mainstream. They’re not the first to touch on this idea. Colder made a good effort to build upon 80s synthpop, while occasionally sounding too much like its influences, while Telefon Tel Aviv got an original sound, but didn’t quite tap into soul’s emotional power. Junior Boys’ soul power strikes the sweet spot between subtlety and strength. Doing away with the superfluous machismo that cripples many male performers today, singer Jeremy Greenspan taps into the same vulnerability that made Otis Redding so appealing. His breathy, feminized voice exudes doubt and yearning with seduction, rather than just sounding like another cloying pale-skinned boy.

Every track is a winner, from the four singles previously released on EPs (the slyly teasing pityfest “Birthday” a highlight), to newer tracks like “More Than Real,” a funky powerhouse that suggests a collaboration between Tom Tom Club, ABC and Adrian Sherwood. “Bellona” could easily be mainstream R&B, even with its imbedded experiments of digitally scrambled vocals. Tricksy sounds that are more often associated with Radiohead could very well invade top 40 radio someday. What initially sounds like a snoozy lullaby in “Last Exit” reveals enough melodic hooks for several hit songs, and to keep you awake enough to think about the more interesting things to be done in bed before sleep. “Teach Me How To Fight” is one of two excellent instrumentals, anchored by New Order-ish guitar picking, as beautiful as anything by the austere Durutti Column.

Last Exit is a quietly revolutionary album. Within six months savvy producers will borrow and steal its innovations, changing the pop landscape for years to come. Few will realize where it started. But like rare finds like Massive Attack’s Blue Lines and Tricky’s Maxinquaye, this should still found fresh long after its innovations are formulized, diluted and beaten to death.

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