What a little gem of an album! Ben Sings, a Dutchman with an auburn afro and a voice steeped in 70s sunshine soul, croons and smiles through 10 sweetly infectious ditties that tickle you like a sun shower. Reminiscent of a young Aaron Neville rinsed with early Prince and that unmistakable Sonar Kollective aesthetic ( Jazzanova’s touch is undeniable), Ben Sings is modern male troubadour in the mould of Jamie Lidell or Owusu & Hannibal; a torch bearer for the European nu-soul sound that’s rising in resistance to the predictably bloated R&B coming across from the US. It’s not life changing, sure, but it is one of the more soulful albums to emerge in the last six months.

Coming from a more hip hop orientated sensibility works in Ben Sings’ favor; the arrangements on …..At Home are sharply syncopated and rely heavily on upbeat drums and rhythmic key patterns. The summer sway of For Your Love has supple feminine whispers pattering over Sings’ hollow croon and a melody that borders on Cuban Bandelismo while the gorgeous Let Me In starts with Sings throwing out gently cheesy lyrics like “Im standing at your doorstep waiting for love” over twinkles of shiny Hammond chords and wondrous triangles, before busting like blinding sunlight into a Stevie Wonder style funk jam.

We’ll Make Lovesongs has a heads up strut worthy of Sly Stone and Blackberry Street featuring the cutesy vocals of Urita could have soundtracked any Brooklyn Brownstone party in the 70s. Sings doesn’t try to hide his influences and truthfully the production could have been grittier if only to distinguish Sing’s music from his heroes a little more, but he does fare better on the slower cuts. Overnight is a real grower with a moodier disposition and creeping percussion that descends into a frenetic duel between urgent sax and angry turntable while All I’m Good For almost conjures early Joe Jackson with it’s slow, marching piano and self depreciating sense of romance.

This is another strong release for the Sonar Kollective, a label that just seems to get stronger with each passing year, and proof in the pudding that modern R&B infused pop doesn’t have to have Timberland’s bells and whistles or The Neptune’s sonic sheen to be indelible. By looking back to and cleverly reappropriating his Trans-Atlantic fore fathers, Benny Sings has made a gorgeous album of sunny soul and dreamy funk. Classy stuff.