The Duke Spirit’s 2005 hazy debut, Cuts Across The Land, struck a nerve with fans despite little ado from the publicity hounds. The Dukes drew audiences the old-fashioned way. No snazzy press kits or glossy videos here, just a gritty, garage rock scowl and one kick-ass female’s domineering vocals that wooed crowds. That kick-ass lead vocalist is blonde firecracker Leila Moss, whose magnanimous voice, a mix of Patti Smith’s sneer and Mrs. Kozmic Blues Janis Joplin’s bombastic bellow, shredded through the band’s murky unveiling. It was all satisfyingly raw and emotional. In their sophomore follow-up, Neptune, the recipe remains much the same. (’Cause if it ain’t broke right?) Moss’s piercing harmonies, as gravelly as they are tender, are still in the forefront. The only difference, Queens of the Stone Age producer and Masters of Reality founder Chris Goss is recruited to trim up the Dukes’ smoggy edges. The end result is an album that’s a little bit more put together, but with just as much wallop.
Duke Spirit persevere past the garage rock saturation of the White Stripes (and most appropriately, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs) by maintaining a revival sound that doesn’t rehash, but sounds boldly fresh. The five-piece does not pigeonhole itself in the garage ghetto. Neptune is raw and disaffected, sure, but the band takes broader, more ethereal and archetypal strokes that are poles apart from the aforementioned genre’s murk. Couple that with Moss’s mix of female empowerment and mystical themes, and you have an album that’s influenced more by sixties transcendental introspection than anything else—a modern day, ultra-charged version of Jefferson Airplane, if you will, only sprinkled with Elastica’s sassy Britpop to sweeten it up.
Listen to Moss’s barreling vocals on the galloping “Send A Little Love Token,” and the Grace Slick comparisons will be evident. This gal just oozes ferocity with every note. On "The Step and The Walk," Moss’s slithery, over-modulated ooooh’s, sung over lead guitarist Luke Ford’s ominous, lower fret riffs, are quite bewitching. Matter of fact, by the time her uplifting chorus rolls around—“without joy, joy, joy in the rain, I could feel for heaven the same”—every listener will be enthralled by Moss’s draw. Like an enticed cult member, they will be at her every whim and fancy.
On the charging, reverb-drenched “Into The Fold," Moss’s pouty temptress sneer shines through. It’s the forcible song that Justine Frischmann and co. could never muster in their nineties heyday. Empowerment is also on Moss’s tongue during “This Ship Was Built,” the most angularly British-sounding tune of the set. On “My Sunken Treasure,” Moss channels Chrisse Hynde’s proto-punk ’tude. She does tenderize things on “Wooden Heart," the album’s delicately inflective ballad. Moss eschews a harrowing dissonance here, singing, “I would understand your heart if I could feel it” in a way that will remind some of Mazzy Star’s soothing detachment.
No question about it, Leila Moss’s powerful voice carries this release. Seductive and alluring, but still kicking ass and taking names—what’s not to like? It is the rest of the Dukes’ uncanny ability to create a mystical atmosphere that perfectly supplements Moss’s vocals that makes Neptune such a satisfying listen. There is something here for everyone; a little feminism here, some sixties nostalgia there, but at its core, it’s just a pure, cocksure rock album that’s meant to be blasted full-throttle though speakers. Turn this one up!
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