Soul and r&b beneath the surface

Over seventy years have passed since 1954, when Ray Charles recorded “I’ve Got A Woman” – often regarded as the first prototype of a soul track. And considering that, technically, the term r&b stands for rhythm and blues, the starting point of the "soul and r&b" lineage should really be pushed back even further.

Is it possible, in a selection of some twenty albums, to satisfactorily trace its history? Obviously not. And so we won't even try.

OndaRock recently published a full page of charts on the subject, featuring hundreds of albums and artists – from the historic, unmissable names such as Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder, Dusty Springfield and Nina Simone, to modern classics like Lauryn Hill, D’Angelo, Janelle Monaé, Erykah Badu, and Sade. It's certainly not an exhaustive overview, but hopefully a useful one, serving as an introductory map and a source of inspiration for those who already move confidently through this territory. Amid the parade of heavyweights, the lists also include quite a few lower-profile names: figures not as widely remembered, yet significant for the originality and completeness of their contributions. It's natural to skim past them when scrolling through the list, but missing the chance to discover them would be a shame.

This article was written precisely to shine a light on some of these forgotten artists and masterpieces. The choices don't follow rigid criteria, but are the result of our contributing writers' desire to share their enthusiasm: we generally tried to make room for artists not already covered on the site, though there are a few exceptions.

The selections span eight decades – from the 1950s, with Smokey Robinson's first hits, right up to the present day – and multiple continents: North America, Europe, South America, Asia... Soul and R&B, often identified purely as an expression of African-American heritage, have become a language that cuts across cultures, and a fertile ground for countless creative fusions. We hope this selection, along with the accompanying playlist, offers a solid starting point for exploring new and wonderfully varied sonic universes.

Niemen – Dziwny jest ten świat… (Polskie Nagrania Muza, 1967)

With “Dziwny jest ten świat…”, Niemen tackles soul head-on, in a country – Poland – where no one had dared to do so before. This is no mere stylistic exercise, but soul filtered through a temperament full of pathos and unease. His voice rasps and pleads, shifting from anguished falsetto to sudden emotional outbursts. He's a singer who truly feels what he's singing, and carries it to an almost feverish pitch. The title track is a passionate protest song, where the possessed Hammond organ, played by Niemen himself, coexists with a vocal urgency reminiscent of a gospel pulpit, all steeped in an unmistakably Slavic melancholy. Elsewhere, the R&B influence surfaces more clearly: pulsing organ lines, horns answering back, tense and theatrical rhythm sections. When the record veers into more pop-beat territory, it does so without losing emotional depth; when it heats up, it vibrates like a club band forced to play inside an opera house. It's this friction – between Black feeling and Mitteleuropean gravity – that makes it all work. (Francesco Inglima)

The Temptations – Psychedelic Shack (Tamla Motown, 1970)

With “Psychedelic Shack”, the Temptations finally blow apart the framework of classic Motown soul. Light years away from the sparkling suits and flawless choreography of their early days, the band plunges into the colorful, paranoid chaos of the late Sixties. The result is an album that seems to reflect post-1968 America in real time: Black psychedelia, electric funk, political consciousness and urban mysticism, all thrown into one cauldron.

The man behind the desk is Norman Whitfield, the true architect of this phase: strings that melt into feedback, basslines that never stop pulsing, voices chasing one another in a choral delirium where Eddie Kendricks's falsetto becomes almost spiritual. The title track is a manifesto: an invitation to step inside a “psychedelic shack” where everything is distorted, exaggerated, free. It's a transitional album, but also a breaking point: it foreshadows the politicized soul revolution of the early Seventies while still holding onto a spirit of pure sonic curiosity. “Psychedelic Shack” is not an album of escapism: it's the sound of a band that decided not to sit still while the world burned. (Francesco Inglima)

Minnie Riperton – Come To My Garden (GRT, 1970)

There are important albums, there are famous albums, and then there are albums that are simply magical beyond description. On paper, Minnie Riperton's 1970 solo debut, released after her stint with the prog-soul/avant-garde band Rotary Connection, offers a bridge to the commercial success of “Perfect Angel”, the album that made her a household name. But “Come To My Garden” is, in truth, much more than that: a daydream, a baroque fantasy in which prog and classical music blend into soul with rare melodic synthesis, aided by one of the most inimitable voices of the twentieth century, capable of gliding across four octaves with astonishing ease. Amid chamber-orchestra caresses, brass outbursts and Latin percussion, the listen winds through mini-rhapsodies (the famous “Les Fleur”), songwriterly richness (“Completeness”), cinematic drama (the title track), complex harmonies with a Bacharach-esque flavor (“Rainy Day In Centerville”) and bossa nova sweetness (“Memory”). You won't find another album like this one. (Damiano Pandolfini)

Essra Mohawk – Primordial Lovers (Reprise, 1970)

Somewhere between Tim Buckley and Laura Nyro, between Linda Perhacs, Joni Mitchell and Judee Sill… One could fill page after page simply triangulating between real or supposed reference points, without ever getting to the heart of what makes “Primordial Lovers” so unique. This is a psychedelic, progressive soul record whose dominant trait is free-flowing, expansive songwriting, with open forms and pianistic constructions that recall the baroque folk of the same era far more than the percussive drive of rhythm'n'blues. And yet, in the voice of the then twenty-two-year-old Sandra Elayne Hurvitz – already a songwriter for the Shangri-Las and Vanilla Fudge, and connected to the Mothers Of Invention and Procol Harum – it's the inflections of the great soul singers that emerge as the main touchstone: as much in the slow, chameleonic “Looking Forward To The Dawn” as in the folk-jazz movements of “It’s Up To Me” or in the Woodstock-like “Spiral”, where vocal range and interpretive versatility become gateways to an idea of soul as a spiritual language, perpetually suspended between ecstasy and confession. (Marco Sgrignoli)

Timmy Thomas – Why Can’t We Live Together (Glades, 1972)

There aren't many albums that can claim to have “invented” something. But according to the history books, “Why Can’t We Live Together” was the first soul album recorded entirely with the aid of a drum machine, thus setting a precedent for everything that would later go by the name of synth-soul. Timmy does it all himself, adding just an organ over the pre-programmed beat, while his warm vocal delivery contrasts with the record's stark minimalism. The result is an album that feels out of time, so simple and evanescent that it borders on spectral, yet every single sound fills exactly the space it needs within the mix. But the record also fits into the historical context of the period, particularly the pacifist movements that followed 1968, through social commentary such as “Cold Cold People” and “Dizzy Dizzy World”, and more explicit statements like “In The Beginning”, “Rainbow Power” and, above all, the famous title track – which sold a million copies in America and would later be covered by Sade in the following decade. It also includes a creative cover of “The First Time I Ever Saw Your Face”, best known as the signature song of Roberta Flack. (Damiano Pandolfini)

Aretha Franklin – Young, Gifted And Black (Atlantic, 1972)

Aretha Franklin has never simply performed songs: she radically reshapes other people's material, writes her own, and shapes the sound and mood of her own albums. On “Young, Gifted And Black” this happens perhaps even more than in the past, even though it isn't her most celebrated work. It's a serene album, perhaps thanks in part to the newfound stability in her personal life following the end of her fraught relationship with manager and partner Ted White – an album full of warm, crisp soul that alternates between energy and introspection, thriving on happy contrasts: the hypnotic, funk-driven stride of “Rock Steady” sits alongside the suspended tone of “Day Dreaming”, where voice and Fender Rhodes chase each other as if in a dream, and the bare arrangement of “First Snow in Kokomo”, which features only piano and Aretha's voice. An album that presents a Franklin who is less monumental but more relatable, fully aware of her own gifts and her own freedom. (Francesco Inglima, Federico Romagnoli)

Labelle – Nightbirds (Epic, 1974)

When Labelle came to record "Nightbirds", they were already veterans, having been on the scene since 1961. Originally known as the Blue Belles, the group was born from the merger of two female vocal groups, Philadelphia's Ordettes and Trenton, New Jersey's Del-Capris. After a few lineup changes, the group was pared down to a trio and settled into its definitive form with Patti LaBelle, Sarah Dash and Nona Hendryx: the latter gradually established herself as the main author of their material. So when her pen crossed paths with a producer of the caliber of Allen Toussaint, the result was a perfect album, one in which soul, funk rock and the first stirrings of disco intertwine in blazing tracks like "Are You Lonely?" and "Space Children". The album opens with "Lady Marmalade", a cover of Bob Crewe and Kenny Nolan's Eleventh Hour, which mutates from the psychedelic funk of the original version into the dancefloor anthem everyone knows, complete with the famous incipit "hey sister, go sister, soul sister, go sister". (Federico Romagnoli)

Labi Siffre – Remember My Song (Emi, 1975)

Everyone knows the rhythm of the opening track. You might not clock it right away, with that so seductively seventies funk/orchestral intro. But get to the 2:10 mark and... it's "My Name Is"! With the sample lifted by Eminem and Dr. Dre, British artist Labi Siffre must have earned himself a rather comfortable pension. A fitting reward for an artistic path built on plenty of class and courageous choices. Born in 1945, of Barbadian and Nigerian descent, he never needed to make declarations for the world to notice he was Black, but he did make sure to reveal - at a time when doing so was anything but safe - that he was also atheist and gay. After beginnings spanning folk, baroque pop and singer-songwriter fare (with memorable tracks like "Bless The Telephone"), Siffre turned to soul and in 1975 delivered "Remember My Song": a commercial flop, but a bullseye in terms of blending his refined, introspective songwriting with a new, supremely elegant fusion and symphonic flair. Avoiding smooth clichés and shaping a nocturnal sound that never loses its bite. (Marco Sgrignoli)

Maarit – Siivet Saan (Dig It, 1978)

Anyone approaching "Siivet Saan" expecting a Nordic attempt at chasing American soul will be caught off guard: Maarit Hurmerinta doesn't copy, she absorbs. A warm voice, a soft timbre, none of that Scandinavian-school stiffness: she sounds like she stepped out of a smoky club rather than a conservatory. Born in Helsinki but with Italian-Finnish blood - her grandfather Michele Orlando was an established musician - Maarit emerged in the early Seventies showing she could effortlessly hold together pop sensibility and a soul streak. The opener "Jäätelökesä" is already a statement of intent: velvety funk soul, almost city pop, penned by her husband and guitarist Sami Hurmerinta. The rest of the album alternates a few soul covers translated into Finnish - performed with taste and restraint - and original tracks that represent the real added value: here the blue-eyed soul aesthetic becomes more intimate and personal, the groove warms up and the melody heads down paths that smell of the North without ever turning cold. No mannerism, no Motown cosplay: just natural class, clean arrangements and a way of letting phrases breathe that still sounds surprisingly fresh today. (Francesco Inglima)

The Nitecaps – Go To The Line (Sire, 1983)

New wave, soul, power-pop: it's not easy to come across a triad like this, except perhaps in contexts akin to a sophisti-pop that's often rather precious and emotionally bloodless. A whole different beast is the sound of New York's Nitecaps, authors of a single album able to fuse the clear, angular energy of wavy guitars with the lush euphoria of Motown arrangements. Amid darting horns, melodic and rhythmic call-and-response, and guitar-bass-drums jabs often one step away from punk-funk (without ever fully falling into either camp), the album's ten tracks are a whirl in which Black New York meets the New York of CBGB, of Cars gigs and of Richard Hell & The Voidoids (in which the band's flamboyant guitarist, Jahn Xavier, served as bassist). (Marco Sgrignoli)

Tim Maia – O descobridor dos sete mares (Lança, 1983)

Tim Maia, a towering figure in Brazilian music, known as much for his titanic voice as for his fiery, independent character, arrives at "O Descobridor dos Sete Mares" in full artistic maturity: a performer with nothing left to prove to anyone, free to move between funk, soul and romantic ballads without losing his identity. The album explodes from the very first listen with Maia's powerful voice, amid funk, boogie, soul and Brazilian inflections. The title track is a small manifesto, with the Vitória Régia band answering every vocal line and letting the musical energy flow like a raging river: immediate, overwhelming, yet also precise in the way Maia controls rhythm and mood. The album alternates danceable moments - like "Terapêutica do Grito" and "Pecado Capital" - with soul smoothness like "Me Dê Motivos" or "Rio Mon Amour", revealing a many-sided artist: capable of shaking and sweeping you along, yet at the same time moving you with delicate phrasing. This is tropical soul with no imitation, carrying a human warmth and interpretive sincerity that only he could give. (Francesco Inglima)

Tina Turner – Private Dancer (Capitol, 1984)

With a career boasting over 100 million records sold and self-declared fans of the caliber of David Bowie and Mick Jagger, it's hard to consider Tina Turner an underrated artist: and yet her records rarely turn up on best-of lists for a given era, or even just for her own genre. It's, in short, a textbook case of the public having a keener eye than the critics. Yet "Private Dancer" - the album that relaunched her career after a period of commercial decline, partly due to her separation from husband Ike - would have every right to be considered a cult classic, especially in these times of poptimism, which have led many to regard as essential names once considered untouchable by more demanding listeners: just think of Whitney Houston or Mariah Carey. And unless one wants to consider them artistically superior to Turner - which, frankly, would take quite a stretch of the imagination - it might be time to right an obvious wrong. (Federico Romagnoli)

Nona Hendryx – Skin Diver (Private, 1989)

What happens if, at the tail end of the Eighties, a third of the girl group Labelle (known to the world mainly for the 1974 hit "Lady Marmalade") goes into business with a third of Tangerine Dream, undisputed pioneers of the synthetic universe throughout the Seventies and much of the following decade? "Skin Diver" was born from the meeting of vocalist and keyboardist Nona Hendryx and Peter Baumann, and it came out precisely on the label founded by the latter, Private, which since 1986 had been tied to the queen of new age labels, Windham Hill. The result of this surprising joint venture is, needless to say, absolutely unique. A thoroughly digital, kaleidoscopic art-pop, cosmic without riding on hazy, sidereal emptiness, ambient without falling into anti-rhythmic clichés - and combined with the singer-songwriter's clearly soulful expressiveness. As if the Peter Gabriel of "So" and "Us", in a female version of course, had decided not to give a damn about the charts and instead chase the abstract intimacy of Jane Siberry on "The Walking". Or as if Laurie Anderson, after "Mr. Heartbreak", had abandoned her spoken word composure to reveal an unexpected vocal versatility. Amid sharp guitars and programmed beats, cold and warm intermingle, almost anticipating the volcanic allure of Björk. A gem worth rediscovering. (Marco Sgrignoli)

Lewis Taylor – Lewis Taylor (Island, 1996)

Can a record sound classic and modern, nocturnal and luminous, calm and feverish all at once? The solo debut of thirty-year-old Brit Lewis Taylor manages to be all of this with remarkable ease. And with considerable refinement. Well-versed in blues and funk, but also in the contemporary downtempo scene and the kaleidoscopic outlook of progressive soul from the Sixties–Seventies, the singer-songwriter and guitarist debuts with a style that is already mature and personal, almost a bridge that – skipping the Eighties decade entirely – connects the golden age of soul music with the acid jazz and nu-soul era. On “Right” the behind the beat phrasing seems to foreshadow the inventions of D’Angelo's “Voodoo”, but almost everywhere else on the record the electric-guitar tones lead into decidedly Hendrix-esque territory: Taylor worked as a touring musician for acid rockers Edgar Broughton Band, and he moves with ease through sharp, psychedelic terrain – yet, the rawness is always counterbalanced by discipline and elegance. A push toward harmonic sophistication that more often than not translates into gospel touches and velvety, jazzy tones, but in cases like “Bittersweet” even takes on downright Christmas-y colors. (Marco Sgrignoli)

Smokey Robinson & The Miracles – The Ultimate Collection (Motown, 1998)

Smokey Robinson is one of the most important artists in the history of black music: across 67 years of career, first with the Miracles and then as a solo artist, he has lived through the greatest transformations of soul, from the genre's earliest steps to the arrival of digital technology in the Eighties. His first US top-10 single dates back to 1960, his last to 1987: a staggering span given everything that changed in between. And yet, paradoxically, he never produced a universally celebrated album ("Going To A Go-Go" from 1965 and "A Quiet Storm" from 1975 come close, though they're still regarded less highly than the genre's true classics), and this works against his standing among rock listeners, who tend to be strongly attached to that format. To make up for it, this 1998 anthology gathers twenty-five essential singles from the Miracles years (for the sake of completeness, you can pair it with the one released the year before, under the same title, covering his solo career). (Federico Romagnoli)

Maxwell – Embrya (Columbia, 1998)

Probably everything has already been said about Maxwell, the prince of neo-soul who in the Nineties made half the world fall in love with a single smile – his version of Kate Bush's “This Woman’s Work” on MTV Unplugged is legendary, a moment that sent the audience into meltdown. And yet it's his second studio album, “Embrya”, that best reveals the skeleton on which the poetics of this utterly distinctive artist rest: soft and submerged, floating above some of the decade's most seductive basslines, the record flows relentlessly between moments of pure poetry (“Drowndeep: Hula”, “Matrimony: Only You”, “Gravity: Pushing To Pull”) and killer singles (“Luxury: Cococure”). Because while it's true that the Nineties were a real hotbed for the slickest strain of r&b, Maxwell, the young dreamer who wrote songs while working as a waiter in Manhattan, knew how to create something special. Even today, “Embrya” is a classic that's perhaps a little overlooked in soul's vast melting pot, but essential all the same. (Damiano Pandolfini)

Spacek – Curvatia (Island, 1999)

Steve Spacek – born Steve White – has long haunted the fringes of the British music scene. As a solo artist he surfaces every so often (most recently in 2020 with “Houses”, in the Uk bass vein), and as part of a duo with ex-Global Communication member Mark Pritchard he drew considerable attention with the post-Dubstep project Africa Hitech, in 2011. His has always been an elusive yet personal path, ever influenced by the trends of the moment while still managing (almost without seeming to try) to hold on to a few essential traits. Futurism, closeness to a soul-based approach, psychedelic dilation and an obsession with rhythm that can be summed up as: the choppier, the better. All of this is already immediately audible on “Curvatia”, the debut album by the Spacek trio, whose (sur)name the artist would later keep as his stage moniker. Across the record's eleven, sinuous tracks, jagged broken beat fragments, hazy synths and nu-soul vocalizing with no clear direction – yet always led by a strong melodic sense – condense into placid, funky/sci-fi whirlpools whose flow is as erratic as it is captivating. A brainy, springy and, in its own way, spiritual brew that anticipates by quite some distance the Brainfeeder aesthetic of Flying Lotus, Thundercat, Hiatus Kaiyote and others. (Marco Sgrignoli)

Misia – Kiss In The Sky (Rhythmedia Tribe, 2002)

One of the most beloved and admired voices on the j-pop scene, so much so that she was granted the honor of performing the national anthem at the opening ceremony of the Tokyo Olympics, Misaki Ito – known by her stage name Misia – is among the leading voices of r&b made in Japan, an artist of complete expressive range with America in her soul, translated into expansive, emotional albums devoted to a kaleidoscope of moods and sonic directions. The final entry in an impressive run of number-ones that, from 1998 to 2002, saw her dominate the Japanese charts far and wide alongside Hikaru Utada and Mai Kuraki, “Kiss In The Sky” is the most wide-ranging project by the Fukuoka-born lyricist, the one that keeps in check the balladeer tendencies that dominated some of her other work, and the one that shows off the grain of an explosive r&b, funky just to the right degree (“Destiny’s Rule”, “Taiyou ga iru kara”) but also strong in brilliant detours toward Mary J Blige-style hip-hop-soul (“Over Bit”) or luminous jazzy contaminations bordering on the stylistic crossroads explored by fellow Japanese artist UA (“Kaze ni fukarete”). Above it all towers Misia's voice, soulful as the genre demands, yet gifted with a propulsive drive and a breadth that can personalize even the most straightforward of moments, infusing it with boundless passion. So don’t stop music, hey Mr Dj! (Vassilios Karagiannis)

I-Wolf – Soul Strata (Klein, 2002)

This is a trip-hop record, with elements of drum'n'bass and dark-jazz shadings. Breakbeat, in short. So what's it doing in a roundup of soul/r&b albums? Well, just listen to the voice. For the debut of his production project, German artist Wolfgang Schlögl brought in Californian Damon Aaron (singer in the big band Build An Ark) and Austrian singer of Caribbean descent Ken Cesár Sampson (who would go on to represent his country at Eurovision in 2018). The result is a wonderfully happy marriage of suburban unease and nu-soul sinuousness, brain-scrambling rhythms and spiritual uplift, striking a yin&yang balance that's genuinely hard to find elsewhere. Amid rough basslines and forays into dub/hip-hop territory, there's even a guest appearance from cult rappers Dälek (on “Careful Who You Love"). Not to be missed. (Marco Sgrignoli)

Ken Hirai – Life Is… (DefSTAR, 2003)

Ken Hirai: Japan's most famous falsetto, the funk-man struck by r&b on the road to Damascus, the hopeless romantic, the sly sex symbol, and whatever other label you'd like to add. Over a career that has recently marked its thirtieth anniversary, the Osaka singer-songwriter has explored the forms and attitudes of black music far and wide, drawing from it a reading that's respectful of its forebears yet perfectly tailored to the pop tastes of the home audience. Released in 2003, “Life Is…” is the project that best sums up the various strands running through Hirai's career, the one with the most intricate and polished production, alternating futuristic passages à-la Neptunes (“Revolver”) with jittery, end-of-millennium explorations (“Somebody’s Girl”), the sensuousness of peak George Michael (the slow-funk of “Come Back”) with crisp hi-fi breaks in a broken beat vein (“I’m So Drunk”). Between one ballad and the next, there's even room for an intriguing little bebop tune (“Sekai de ichiban kimi ga suki?”). The whole heart of r&b, packed into one electric, sensual album. (Vassilios Karagiannis)

Alice Russell – Under The Munka Moon (Tru Thoughts, 2004)

That the English have a special feeling for soul is hardly news. But in the early 2000s, out of the vintage-colored hippie corners of Brighton, a blonde singer-songwriter with an unexpectedly powerful voice was honing a style that would prove hugely influential – soul, yes, but blended with hip-hop, funk, jazz, lounge and samba grooves. Her early singles and collaborations were later gathered on “Under The Munka Moon”, a varied yet surprisingly cohesive debut compilation, still to this day a reference point for a scene that has seen the rise of world-famous names such as Amy Winehouse, Adele, Paloma Faith and Lianne La Havas. It's impossible not to be won over by “Sweet Is The Air”, “Peace Reside” and the celebrated “Hurry On Now”, or not to feel the ground shake beneath your feet with the acoustic “Tired Little One”. Rightfully among those records you've probably never heard, but which will open up a whole world. (Damiano Pandolfini)

Crystal Kay – Call Me Miss… (Epic, 2006)

An enfant prodige of the Japanese r&b scene (she debuted in 1999 at not even fourteen years old), the daughter of immigrants from Korea and the United States, Crystal Kay Williams brought to Japan a way of interpreting the genre deeply inspired by figures such as Mariah Carey and Brandy, vibrant in its most soulful aspects and channeling an energy that the production amplifies in a thousand directions. Her sixth studio album, “Call Me Miss…” is the record that takes the electronic traits of a project like “4Real” and develops them into more mature, relaxed forms, on some of the most impactful songs of her catalogue (“Kirakuni”, produced by Terry Lewis and Jimmy Jam, is destined to become one of the genre's classics) and with great expressive subtlety, the very quality the album's coming-of-age character tries to convey without excessive vocal showmanship. Sleek and shimmering, one of the most self-aware albums from the golden age of Japanese r&b. (Vassilios Karagiannis)

Jasmine – Gold (Onenation, 2010)

J-r&b, final act. After fifteen years in which the Japanese scene established itself as an Asian counterpart to its bigger American sister, fatigue has begun to take its toll, leading to the release of copy-paste projects, the offspring of the same production choices and spineless decisions. Released in 2011 after a long string of singles marked by precise chromatic and sonic choices, Jasmine's “Gold” stands as the last project of the long urban season to feature an artist endowed with real backbone and character, playing with personality against her would-be mother figures (Hikaru Utada above all) while filtering them through a more modern electronic lens (“This Is Not A Game”). There's no shortage of vintage-leaning moments (“Jealous”, the best Mary J Blige impression ever put to tape), bursts of pure camp (the swaggering pop-rock of “Clubbin”) and polished funk-soul jams (“Koi”), rounding out an album that explores the history and roots of Japanese urban music, distilling it down to its purest essence. (Vassilios Karagiannis)

Miguel – Kaleidoscope Dream (Rca, 2012)

It's easy to think of soul as a genre that's now old and thoroughly historicized. But every once in a while a miracle can still happen: in 2012, Miguel Jontel Pimentel managed to create something rare in the streaming era: a genuine long-playing record, classic in intent but personal in execution, modern in sound yet written and arranged with the hallmarks of the greats of the past. The secret lies in a rock/blues guitar-based structure, perfectly suited to the author's lustful and somewhat shadowy vocal chords, and in the use of a palpable but never intrusive electronic undercurrent. Driven by a single of the calibre of “Adorn”, a small modern classic, “Kaleidoscope Dream” is a nocturnal, fluorescent listen, carried through without a single weak spot. Whether it's the pulsing “Use Me” and “The Thrill”, the pleading “Do You…” and “How Many Drinks”, psych shipwrecks like “Candles In the Sun”, or the synthwave of “…All”, the record scratches and seduces with its heart on its sleeve without ever slipping into the banal, because Miguel, a sort of Lothario in sunglasses, sings with infinite class even when, gripped by his most uncontrollable hormones, he declares: “Pussy In Mine”. (Damiano Pandolfini)

Primary – Primary And The Messengers (Amoeba Culture, 2012)

The figure of the producer-mastermind who coordinates a dense roster of vocal collaborators is common practice in hip-hop and dance music. South Korea is no exception in this regard, and Choi Dong-Hoon, better known as Primary, is among the first figures to have leveraged his skills in the control room to position himself as a shrewd reader of the pop zeitgeist of his time. On a double album originally released in stages, the producer conjures up a carousel where hip-hop beats, jazzy horns and funk cadences lend themselves to the interpretations of his many messengers, in a round dance that nimbly alternates rap contributions from giants of the Korean scene such as Zion.T and Paloalto with the more velvety touch of Deez and Jinsil. The result is a multifaceted project, full of irony and softness, capable of brilliant swinging numbers, synthetic vintage flourishes, and r&b repositionings that look now to the crowd-pleasing charm of Usher, now to the recombinant character of his adoptive father figure Seo Taiji. All the strength of early-2010s k-urban in seventy deliciously indulgent minutes. (Vassilios Karagiannis)

Xenia Rubinos – Black Terry Cat (Anti, 2016)

How many artists do you know who can blend, within the same album – indeed, within the same track! – genres as far apart as funk, math-rock, r&b, and avant-prog? All within a vocal context of clearly soul-based lineage? Described this way, the stylistic mixed grill of American artist Xenia Rubinos might sound like one of those hodgepodges that exist for their own sake, the kind that might surprise on first impact but quickly reveal their limits on repeated listens. Instead, the exact opposite happens. While what strikes you at first is above all the “what the fuck!?” nature of these mash-ups, the replays induced by their magnetism only bring to light the shape-shifting completeness of the compositions. Inspired, by her own account, by Mariah Carey, Missy Elliott and the salsa revoluccion of Fania Records, but perhaps closer in spirit to Esperanza Spalding or the multifaceted genius of Hermeto Pascoal, the young artist of Caribbean descent assembles fourteen tracks of dazzling yet razor-sharp fusion, where every deviation is part of a precise expressive design. A chaotic, theatrical flow that thrives on contrasts, collisions and tonal reversals – to which, not satisfied, she'll add Uk bass, post-Dubstep and progressive electronic textures on 2021's “Una Rosa”, shaping another intoxicating masterpiece. (Marco Sgrignoli)

Xênia França – Xenia (Noise!, 2018)

The candomblé and afoxé of her native Bahia, the ever-renewing spirit of música popular brasileira, jazz, the asymmetries of electronics and, above all, soul: singer-songwriter Xênia França arrives in 2017 with a debut album that is a genuine statement of intent, a pot-pourri of sparse phrasing and great expressive variety, the fruit of a convinced, passionate personalization of the many sonic paths that have shaped her journey. Boldly Afrofuturist, yet solidly grounded in Brazilian musical languages, “Xenia” devises an intricate rhythmic and vocal mechanism that never needs to raise its voice, yet asserts its presence with every beat. An iron fist wrapped in a velvet glove, skilled at handling ancestral percussion alongside electric contemporaneity, moving fluently within the mechanisms of contemporary r&b and conversing on equal terms with the crystalline legacy of quiet storm. In search of her own identity and her own space within the musical conversation, Xênia França carved out her niche on the very first try. (Vassilios Karagiannis)

Terence, Etc. – V O R T E X (Brainfeeder, 2022)

Samba? Afrobeat? Folk, orchestral synth-pop, avant-prog? The Brainfeeder label founded by Flying Lotus has accustomed listeners to just about every kind of stylistic mash-up, but it can hardly have prepared its fans for a creature as eclectic as “Vortex”. A name that turns out to be more than fitting for the sole album to date by Terence Nance, a producer and filmmaker in his forties who, drawing inspiration (like everyone else?) from Stevie Wonder, has turned his guitar-and-voice-memo demos into kaleidoscopic visions, made of original harmonic detours and constant about-turns. Some albums are simply unique; others – just as unique – instead push the listener to ask: “Why isn't there an entire genre of things like this?” It's surprising that, with “Vortex” out there, no one has taken up the challenge yet. (Marco Sgrignoli)

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