Garland Jeffreys' prior album, the brilliant Don't Call Me Buckwheat,
slipped under the public radar in America, but Jeffreys got by on a European
following and critical acclaim. Even the critics didn't pay attention
to the follow-up, and if it weren't for the appearance of "Sexuality"
in a Calvin Klein ad campaign, Wildlife Dictionary might have instantly
sunk into oblivion. That's a shame because, despite his low profile, Jeffreys
remains a unique and provocative talent. Where Don't Call Me Buckwheat
is an exploration of race relations, Wildlife Dictionary is all about
love and sex. The subject, tried and true as it is, doesn't seem to capture
Jeffreys' imagination the way racism once did. His lyrics are less vivid
and specific than usual, though he does call the lust object in "Afrodiziak"
a "tempest in a B-cup," and "Oceania" is full of intriguing
details about "the girl who lives above the cinema." For the
most part, however, the tracks (the combination of beats, grooves, riffs,
etc.) are the focus of the album, and the tracks are what make it such
an odd duck. The slick, meticulous production takes advantage of all the
latest bells and whistles, and yet the songs hardly sound contemporary.
Nor do they simply mimic the '70s soul that makes its influence felt in
the string arrangements and background vocals. This is music impervious
to passing trends and, as such, it takes a while to get used to, but listen
carefully and there's plenty to enjoy. The reggae toaster who appears
out of nowhere on "Original Lust" and the range and control
of Jeffrey's singing on "Love Jones" are just two of the pleasures
to be found on this smart, carefully crafted album.
(by Daniel Browne, All
Music Guide)
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