The words 'criminally underrated' could have been invented for [a]Luscious Jackson[/a]: forever summed up in quick dissertations such as these as the female Beasties
The words ‘criminally underrated’ could have been invented for [a]Luscious Jackson[/a]: forever summed up in quick dissertations such as these as the female Beasties, only not half as good. Ever since the humour, soul and suss of their first lo-fi hip-hop EP, ‘In Search Of Manny’, failed to get either tastemakers or general public on board in a big way, they’ve battled to impress.
matter that every single they release ripples with smooth pop know-how, beguiling grooves and soulful intelligence; that they possess the funk in spades, and defecate from great heights on most of Grand Royal’s anaemic roster: Luscious are neither ‘real’
flesh nor proper pop fowl and, as such, they frequently confound.
‘Ladyfingers’ doesn’t make it any easier for those who like their sounds confined to the musical equivalent of veal crates. A guitar strums. A juicy bassline squelches alongside some deftly percolating beats and the fragrant (Jill Cunniff) wraps her sultriest tones around a sort of late-’90s equivalent of ‘I’m Every Woman’.[I] “Well I got ladyfingers baby/I got kid gloves/Baby, I got heart”[/I], she croons, in one three-and-a-half-minute single expressing the ability of millions
women to love unconditionally, lust incontrollably, think
and feel pain when treated like shit. Ah, that would be a girl thing, then.