Yummy spread of reggae, soul, blues and funk
Chances are you heard some L.A.B this summer – intentionally or not. You might have gone into a shop, flicked the dial in the car or walked by a house party.
A local juggernaut, they held the top three positions in the singles chart over the holidays, meaning they’re all over radio and popping on your algorithm, not to mention selling out festivals and their own huge headline shows.
Founded by brothers Stuart and Brad Kora with former Katchafire bassist Ara AdamsTamatea, they unearthed a lethal weapon in vocalist Joel
Shadbolt. He’s pretty incredible.
They’ve done a huge amount in a short time. Albums roll out like clockwork, for the past four Decembers. The first was selftitled, then came II, then III and now L.A.B IV has been unleashed.
Each album is equally stacked. Reggae is their bread and butter but it’s smeared with just the right amount of soul, blues and funk to make it instantly accessible to a wide audience. And it’s not just the songs; their live show packs a proper sonic punch, and they really play the crowd.
Because they’re so wildly popular and successful, they’re also the band a certain crowd of
New Zealanders like to hate on. The type of people who use ‘‘barbecue reggae’’ as an insult, as if there is anything wrong with either of those things. The truth is L.A.B keep it simple, get to the point and consistently deliver the goods.
The chart topping Why Oh Why is a perfect example. A straight-up ballad that could have come out in any of the past four decades, it’s slow and sincere, and it’s No 1 in the country.
Why, oh why, you ask? Because they really mean it.
Coincidentally, Sir Paul McCartney released a record just before Christmas, called McCartney III.
You would have to go back to 1970 and 1980 respectively to find McCartney I and II, the distinction of which indicates that the maestro is working alone, playing all the instruments himself.
(Disappointingly not at the same time, which somewhat diminishes how impressive that really is).
Certainly one of the world’s most refined songwriters, this experimental collection doesn’t follow his normally succinct melodic instincts. He’s just messing about, which is great. Even when he’s weird, he’s wonderful. Actually, especially when he’s weird.
Kicking off with a hoedown of epic proportions, Long Tailed Winter Bird builds on a repetitive riff before you hear the septuagenarian tentatively tap into the mic.
‘‘Do do do do doooo you miss me?’’ You can feel him improvising.
I found the words on Women and Wives a little heavy-handed, but I’m pretty sure he means well. He’s always had an overly serious demeanour.
Deep Deep Feeling runs the same risk. The eight-minute ode to emotion and vulnerability is overt and occasionally unsettling. But mostly it’s fun because you can hear that he’s having fun. Funny little fella that he is.