Yahoo! Music Album Review

Released on 31/06/06
Label: Polydor

Not to be confused with the snaked hipped rock god of the same name; James Morrison, truth be told, has more in common with former Sheffield gas fitter Joe Cocker than he does the leather-panted Doors singer. Like Cocker he's an unlikely star, an ordinary guy blessed with an extraordinary voice. Gifted a classic, gravel worn rasp to bag him as the new voice of white boy soul. So clear your coffee table; middle England's next favourite singer has just arrived.

Of course, cynics will tot and mutter 'it was bound to happen'. The packaging - the font, the picture, the thoughtful expression - may be designed to make Asda shoppers feel like they're buying the next James Blunt, but the music undoubtedly marks him as that even more sought after commodity, the male Joss Stone. Yet while those cynics shake their heads at the predictability of it all, everyone else will recognise Morrison's debut for what it is, a half decent showcase for a phenomenal voice.

"Undiscovered" is not a cool album. It's not about authenticity or fashion or being edgy. And it's not trying to be. For anyone who equates mixing it up with going to IKEA on Saturday instead of Sunday, it might hold a certain raw edge which will make it a wonder at dinner parties. But the real purpose of his rootsy soul-rock and acoustic introspection is to be the non-distracting backdrop to some genuinely tingling moments of soul gurgling.

Without question the voice is the star. Over the sweaty Memphis groove of "Under The Influence" he belts out a sexy growl, like Terence Trent Darby at his best. Sauntering single, "You Give Me Something", has him issuing every word with sweetness and sunshine and for "One Last Chance" he delivers a mournful purr, with just a hint of word weary grit. The downside is that after he's done sexy, happy and sad, "Undiscovered" doesn't have a hell of a lot more to offer.

Once Morrison's showcased that voice, once he's wowed with his huskiness and his power, his sensitivity and control, the songs aren't there to take over. It all becomes rather workmanlike and dull. What's needed are more changes of pace. He never goes to showstoppingly stark and emotional, nor does he soar to roaring goodtime funk horns, à la Joss Stone. Things just loiter around the middle of the road, feeling too safe and predictable, even for an album destined to sit on the living room CD rack between James Blunt and Corinne Bailey Rae.

Still, it is a cracking voice.

    by Dan Gennoe