By Eleni P. Austin
I count myself lucky to have grown up in Los Angeles from the ‘60s to the mid ‘70s. That was the era the city really came into its own as a hub of the music industry. Of course, my earliest musical influences came from my mother, a former professional dancer who listened to everything from Greek music, Billie Holiday, Latin Jazz, James Brown, Broadway musicals, Judy Garland, Hank Wiliams, Sinatra, Streisand and her beloved Tito Puente.
Radio also played its part. KHJ “Boss” Radio was a huge part of my childhood, playing favorites like “The Beat Goes On,” “Happy Together” and “These Boots Are Made For Walking.” Freeform radio was also just beginning to happen and KMET would play lengthy workouts like “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida” and “Eight Miles High.” But, as adolescence approached, someone who completely shaped my musical tastes and expanded my horizons was my pal, Shirley.
Shirley and her sister Leslie were already friends with my god-sister, Wendy. During the fourth and fifth grade (Wendy and Leslie were two years younger than me and Shirley was two years older), we would walk to school together every morning. Shirley listened to everything, more importantly, she owned a ton of albums. Elton John comfortably coexisted alongside Jethro Tull and the Jackson 5. She also had about a million (well, it felt like a million), 45 rpm singles, all expertly filed in those stylish, decal-festooned, tiny pink suitcases. We already shared an affinity for Donny and the Osmonds, but under her tutelage, I took a deep dive into contemporary R&B and Soul. She turned me on to music from Bloodstone, Stylistics, Billy Paul, The Delfonics, Donny Hathaway, the Spinners the Staple Singers, Blue Magic, Al Green, Motown, Diana, Marvin (Diana and Marvin back-to-back and ‘fro-to-fro!), Stevie, Sylvia! Remember Sylvia? Mandatory viewing on Saturdays now included Soul Train after my weekly dose of American Bandstand.
Those halcyon days came rushing back to me when I first heard Thee Sacred Souls. The San Diego three-piece, comprised of guitarist/drummer Alex Garcia, bassist Sal Samano and singer-songwriter Josh Lane, all grew up steeped in the sounds of Old School Soul, Chicano R&B, boogaloo, Northern Soul, Latin Jazz and Gospel. Alex and Sal were raised in Chula Vista and began making instrumental music together. When they connected with Josh, a native of Sacramento, all the puzzle pieces fell into place. Not only was he a smooth-as-velvet vocalist, but he was a crack songwriter and lyricist. They chose their name as an homage to East L.A.’s Chicano R&B progenitors Thee Midnighters.
By early 2019, Josh had added lyrics to Alex and Sal’s instrumentals and the trio recorded a demo and began booking shows throughout southern California. Gabriel Roth, (a.k.a. Bosco Mann), President of Daptone Records caught one of their shows and signed Thee Sacred Souls to his label. The Brooklyn and Riverside-based indie was already home to powerhouse Soul singer Sharon Jones, Charles Bradley and The James Hunter Six, so it felt like a perfect fit.
Their debut single, “Can I Call You Rose?” was released as the world locked down during the pandemic. The song managed to strike a chord. A couple more singles arrived in 2021, and the following year, their eponymous long-player finally came out. Critical acclaim was unanimous and sales were respectable. Now they have returned with their sophomore effort, Got A Story To Tell.
The album’s opening trifecta of tracks offers a master class in Old School Soul and R&B. “Lucid Girl,” weds pliant keys, plinky guitars, sylvan strings and thumping bass to a stutter-step beat. Josh’s silky falsetto is bookended by lush backing vocals. Rather than portray a poor lonely girl looking for love in all the wrong places, they flip the script, championing an independent woman: “There was a girl who fell for two, herself and then this man she knew, he said you have to choose, a love for me or you, she chose herself and then she grew….she’s a lucid girl, she can’t be held down by this world.”
As that Quiet Storm softly retreats a wash of wah-wah guitars signal the opening salvo of “Price I Pay.” Tensile bass, percolating percussion and a chunky backbeat add ballast, and the melody shares a bit of musical DNA with Roberta Flack’s “Feel Like Makin’ Love.” Heartfelt lyrics offer a tender paean to a drama-free romance: “I’ve never felt this good, no, I’ve never known a love this strong, no.no.no, you see me at my weakest, with you I feel bolder, you’ve been a friend to me, I hope to grow older with you.” Zig-zagging guitars meander on the break, embroidering a bit of Psychedelia on the margins of the arrangement.
Meanwhile, “Live For You” is powered by a thwoking sonar pulse, thick bass lines, slippery guitars and swoony strings. Locking into a relax-fit groove, empowering lyrics take a page from the playbooks of revolutionaries like James Brown and Bob Marley, insisting we “Get up now, place your feet on solid ground… those obstacles ahead, they don’t disappear if you stay trapped inside your head, so get up and face yourself, get up now and live.” The simple, self-affirming edicts are buoyed by feathery guitars on the break and Josh’s passionate vocal delivery.
Of course, most moments of romantic sunshine are followed by a deluge of rain. Thee Sacred Souls understand this dynamic completely. From the propulsive lament of “Losing Side Of Love,” and the Bluesy self-flagellation of “In The Mirror,” to the Gospel-flavored, horn-driven ache of “Somebody Knew.”
This record is pretty perfect front to back. But a few superlative tracks stand out from the pack. A study in patience, “Waiting On The Right Time” tethers flick-o-the-wrist guitars, vroom-y keys and thumping bass to a conga-fied groove. Josh’s fluttery falsetto caresses lyrics that play emotional tug of war: “If I rush it, I might lose everything I’ve worked for, and if I wait too long, I might lose everything I’ve searched for/I’m tryna figure out the right time to tell you about these feelings that are growing in me, I think you might be the love I’ve been missing, now I know just what I should do, say exactly how I feel.”
“Stuck In The Mud” is a brisk Cha-Cha-Cha that is fueled by buxom brass, airy guitars, liquid keys, languid bass and a rat-a-tat beat. Josh’s dulcet vocal delivery not only echoes R&B great, Sam Cooke, but belies lyrics that (to paraphrase The Doors) seem to wallow in the mire: “He tries to fight with all his might, but he’s no match, he’s stuck in the mud, yes, he’s stuck in the mud of love, and he’s sinking a bit deeper, stuck in the mud of love.” On the outro stinging guitars and his wordless vocalese enact a graceful pas de deux.
Conversely, “My Heart Is Drowning” finds our hero on the wrong side of romance. A slinky slice of Northern Soul, cascading guitars are shackled to rippling keys, drip-drop bass lines and a rumbling backbeat. A repentant Romeo attempts to mend his rakish behavior: “Like a fool with my selfish ways, I had to make you cry, never did I think what it would be like if you left my side…with the power of the sea, your absence washes over me, ever since you walked out my door, I’ve only tasted misery, my heart is drowning.” Josh unleashes a couple of falsetto wails to close out this anguished cri de Coeur.
“On My Own” is the album’s biggest surprise. The arrangement salts the mix with a bit of Electronica, as well as trace elements that conjure comparisons to disparate (and long deceased) Folkies like Nick Drake and Tim Buckley. Willowy guitars and see-saw strings wrap around tripwire bass and a hopscotch beat in ¾ time. Josh’s sultry croon swoops and swoons as lyrics offer a sly carpe diem to navigate life’s opportunities and obstacles: “So, I’ll be happy for what the day brings, cause I’ve got my breath, then I’ve got everything, cause it’s the good and the band together, hand in hand, it’s the good and the bad that make this man.” The instrumentation gathers speed in the home stretch as guitars dart between shivery strings and hiccupping back-up vocals. The result is simply majestic.
Finally, “One And The Same” drafts off the socially conscious blueprints drawn by Soul progenitors like Marvin Gaye, Curtis Mayfield and Donny Hathaway. Sweet shang-a-lang guitar unspools across slivery bass, wily bass and a tick-tock beat. Lyrics offer a simple message: a plea for peace, love and understanding: “Hungry people, fed bombs not bread, hurting people, being misled, wealthy people turn a blind eye, when will the people wake up and realize/We’re all the same, I pray one day we learn to fight for each other, not with each other, just for a moment, why can’t we be together?” Even though it makes ‘em wanna holler, the song is shot-through with resilience and hope for a brighter tomorrow.
The record circles back to love and happiness on the closer. “I’m So Glad I Found You” burrows deep into Doo-Wop tradition. Buttery horns partner with wheezy keys, treacly guitar, flinty bass and an elastic backbeat. An open-hearted tribute to new love, there’s little room for ambiguity: “Every night I sleep, I pray to the sky after all the gifts I’ve seen, since you stepped into my life, oh, there’s a girl who changed the world for one man, I’m so glad I found you, yes I am, so glad I found my baby, I’m so glad that you found me, yes I am.” It’s a sure-footed finish to an amazing record.
“Got A Story To Tell” deftly sidesteps the dreaded sophomore slump. It doubles down on the winning formula of their debut. It distills their influences and add more colors and textures to their sonic palette. They give a classic sound their own 21st century spin.
