Brightest Young Things

Soul sells these days. Every few weeks it seems like another anorexic British chick appears on the charts with an Aretha fetish, a drinking problem and a backing track lifted from classic soul. Sometimes it sounds great, especially when produced by well-versed American soul veterans, mostly the cats associated with Daptone Records in New York. Mass culture is finally starting to realize that funky sounds best coming from bass guitars and analog drums rather than drum machines and keyboards, and that we'd rather hear someone sing about their messed-up life than a fantasy about clubbin in a diamond-encrusted Ferrari.

The renewed interest in classic soul sounds is thankfully spurring a lot of contemporary R&B acts to use more real instruments—more heartfelt production and songwriting and less blingy ring-tone sheen. But some dudes have been doing it for years, ignoring the rush towards a hip-hop-influenced videostardom or even neo-soul smoothness. Dropping the neo all together and sticking with the real, the time is ripe for a wholesale rediscovery of acts that never forgot the authentic emotion and musical rawness of the late 60s and early 70s.

Marcell of Marcell and the Truth has been tirelessly drumming on those doors for decades, finding the perfect passel of musicians to share his vision, experimenting with different sounds, and playing live in every kind of venue, from stadiums to house parties. The result is one of the most dynamic and amazing shows around, in any genre. In an age where soul performances seem clogged in preprogrammed noises or drunken stage-flopping antics, he hearkens back to a time where an audience could expect to see something extraordinary for their dollar, before the performers decided that their fans were there for them rather than the other way around.

When I spoke to him a few weeks ago he blamed that on Baltimore. "I've been booed in this city," he said, "and it know helped me grow." Baltimore isn't the kind of town that forgives pretension (at least in R&B acts!) or half-heartedness. And growing up in the church, preaching to his father's congregation since he was a boy, he learned that the only mistake you can make in front of a crowd is giving up. After a disheartening start as a secular act he returned to the church, and went down that path for a long time, fronting one of the most sought-after gospel groups on the East Coast. Finally, a few years ago Marcel felt he had contributed all he could to the spirit, and decided to return to the music of the body, reforming his live band and writing songs that come from that rarest of narrators, the ruefully wise lover. Marcel's been burned in love and he isn't reticent about sharing, like the great singers that inspired him whose lives intertwined unavoidably with their writing.

He still has the preacher's ability to work a crowd up with a story too. One of the reasons he has to practice with his band so much is that he likes to extend songs at any point with a homily or an anecdote, or just to talk to people in the throng, as if the music isn't difficult enough to play! The Truth doesn't stick with southern 60s soul influences, individual songs can roam from Philly to Detroit, or a little San Francisco psychedelic shack action. There's even a few Quiet Storm moments, though these usually build to something you can stomp to (or some other rigorous activity…I would usually hesitate to recommend making love to songs with semi-spiritual messages, but take my word for it, they work pretty damn well…) Lately he's pared his live band down, losing horns and keyboards and percussionists, and writing songs for the new set-up, so I imagine it's even more raw and powerful (and sexy) than before.

He may be humble about his life story, but he refuses to play coy about his music. "I may be the greatest singer of my generation…a few years from now they may be comparing me to Marvin, or Stevie. But then I don't really have much competition." He's probably right. Sharon Jones is certainly his female counterpart, but after witnessing him whip a crowd into a frenzy, passing the mic to the least likely audience members at the finale to lead a chorus of Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice) [even getting a white boy blogger a shot at temporary gimmick frontman status] it's difficult to recall seeing a contemporary performance like it. It's even harder to remember what year it is, but you're usually sweating and believing too strong to care.

Marcel plays a rare DC nightclub performance Wednesday at the Rock and Roll Hotel.
Make the time: it's good for you, though you won't even realize it.