The Budos Band builds a fire with the dry tinder of percussion, cracking and popping on hand and kit drums. It catches in a vaporous pool of keyboards, fuzzy guitar leads and insistent bass, and then jets out in sudden sparks of brass, the heat concentrated in sharp, incendiary bursts. This seventh album from the Brooklyn-born funk/soul/Afrobeat/Ethio-jazz collective rocks a bit harder than some Budos Band offerings but doesn’t mess with the formula. These songs slouch and swagger, grooving from the hip in loose, louche sensuality, but they’re also super on point, the . . .
Only the good shit. Aquarium Drunkard is powered by its patrons. Keep the servers humming and help us continue doing it by pledging your support.
To continue reading, become a member or log in.
