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2010 has been a quiet renaissance for powerful female voices in
styles and genres that have long deserved some reconstruction -
Robyn brought back fizzy synthpop hedonism, Janelle
Mon�e released one of the most forward thinking soul records of the
last decade, and Nicki Minaj has successfully transformed
herself from a bratty, schoolyard-rap blip to a full-fledged star.
These women have not only dominated ears with their distinctive
personalities, but they've also turned their particular scene's
community on its head, vicariously demanding listeners on a universal
scale to pay attention to them.
Meanwhile, Caro Edward has already taken over an entire country
under most of our noses. The Dutch jazz singer's debut record
Deleted Scenes From The Cutting Room Floor spent (and continues to
spend) an unprecedented 27 weeks at Number 1 on the Netherlands
chart - and it's easy to see why. With her piping, playful voice, the
lascivious, noir-touched bounce of the backing band and the off-kilter,
star-crossed elements she brings into the mix, Deleted Scenes has
found a one-in-a-million niche that can appeal to everyone from
blog-obsessed audiophiles, department store soundtracks, and your
mother's five-CDs-a-year shopping habit.
Caro finds her charm in a fairly obvious way; she takes the
heart-pounding, smoky-lounged, crowd-whistling side of jazz and makes
that the backbone of her music. There's nothing abstract here in the
literal sense. The Other Woman, a snaky murder ballad about, yes,
being 'the other woman' could easily be a James Bond theme - equipped
with midnight-district guitar and velvety big-band swings. She sings
in barely-disguised allusions to sex, and often gives off the same
lookin'-for-trouble femme fatale charms that everyone from Theda Bara
to Missy Elliott specialized in, but instead of calling out
"Hey, DJ! Turn it up!" she's cooing "Mr Bandleader! This arrangement
has to change!".
But amazingly, there are DJs on Deleted Scenes; a
shocking majority of the songs feature a significant amount of record
scratching, which is sure to take plenty of listeners by surprise.
Take opener That Man; for the first two minutes it's a sultry,
low-key, gentleman's club staple, with Caro scatting along to the
high-hat tapping jangle. But then out of nowhere, her voice starts
cutting back and forth across a previously-hidden needle. At first the
sheer audacity of such an odd choice of aesthetic might make it sound
a little gimmicky, but on repeated listens the squiggles and cuts of
the turntable work remarkably well with the stuffed-up mega-jazz
textures of the rest of the album. It's a natural fit and evolution
for a genre that's been roadblocked for quite some time.
Deleted Scenes From The Cutting Room may not have the same
magnitude as something like Mon�e's The ArchAndroid does, but they reach the
same end. Both offer an indomitable, unique, and easily liked female
presence that, by the end of the record, you can't help but feel swept
up in. Caro Emerald embraces the timeless unpretentious pleasure-centre side of
vocal jazz while incorporating enough of her own tricks to make it all
sound new. That's a moreish recipe no matter which genre you're talking
about.
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Caro Emerald MP3s or CDs
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