Mick Hucknall
Tribute to Bobby

It's impressive how passion can explode from the grooves (even if they are no longer grooves... but here, they very much seem so) of a beautiful record.
Passion and honesty.

Hucknall, who was strongly committed to this project, to the extent of signing it with his own name, is the renowned leader of Simply Red, a pop-soul group born and raised in the never too highly praised eighties, managing to make ends meet better and more honestly than many others even in subsequent decades. Mick's voice has always been technically perfect, perfectly pitched, extremely expressive, never unnecessarily warbling or self-referential. In short: a beautiful and honest voice, just like the artist who wears it. And this record is yet another and definitive proof of that. A proof only possible elsewhere, in more civilized and honest lands than ours, where even the monster of the Market can still produce small great masterpieces.

The classic choice for renowned artists of the past, with a decent present (let's say they are not forced to participate in a reality show, neither as contestants nor even as judges/presenters) would still have been to make yet another Simply Red album, with that polished, extremely well-packaged, singable and nevertheless always pleasant sound. The "highway" choice, born out of inertia, would have been to make an album that would make no one think and please everyone, males and females, music lovers and car or shower listeners. In short, that style in which Simply Red have always shone as deserved first in their class.

But no: some repeat themselves endlessly (how many of those do we have in Italy?) and some decide to take courageous actions, outside time and trends. Musical tributes as true and transparent acts of love.

It would be enough to watch the beautiful documentary attached to the album, on DVD, and enjoy noticing Mick's eyes in love in front of an old (and a bit worn-out) Bobby Bland, which so much recall the devoted and almost moved eyes of an ancient black and white photo featuring a very young Stan Getz beside the giant Pres Lester Young.

So: a cover album. But definitely a cover album meant in the best sense, that is, a "pure act of love" for the original. No clones (how pathetic are clones...?) but not too much philology either, except for what transpires from interpretations that ooze love and perfect knowledge of the originals.

So loving covers. But not only: perfectly brought up to date as well. Remember Clapton's tribute to Robert Johnson? Nothing farther. This is not a pure blues soul album. Here, the original protagonist would not feel at home (despite having greatly appreciated the project and the result). Here the desperate and very "soul" atmosphere of the originals is recreated in a modern but never garish package. Not an update for its own sake, typical of certain other albums or of certain dishes by young, madly pretentious chefs, but an update made only in the "way of playing" the instruments.

The album is, indeed, "played a lot". It's a small masterpiece of cult, performed by a perfect voice and a flawless band. Arranged on the road. It inevitably smells of Simply Red, but without a "been there, done that" feel. And above all, it gives the impression, from the very first note, of being a jewel. Just over thirty-seven minutes of absolute perfection.

In Italy? ...who knows... given how things are, we await the great classics of Villa interpreted by Bocelli's voice and Britti's guitar... Everyone, evidently, has the scenario they deserve.