After going back from Sam Cooke to Otis Redding, here he is somewhere between Bill Withers and Al Green, and yet, Leon Bridges insists: all along, it’s him. This corduroy tone, its gentle sway, these caresses of strings: Bridges bridges parts of the past and an inclusive present. This is his legacy and his way. And, more than ever, it is his peaceful place (Peaceful Place), as he sings it in a heavenly and dancing way at the heart of this fourth album. This kind of sensual soul belongs to him, he has lived there long enough for us to find him there by calling him only by his first name. Right down to the caricature, Leon is credible. In the clip of Laredo, he plays it like a blacksploitation film, just before the chase and the chase, leaning against a car from before the oil crisis. Relaxed, not smiling, not sad either: confident, rather. Good in his character. At his place. In his Texas, with his family. Nothing fancy about it: it’s his identity, his invention, his assumed borrowings. Good and nothing but good, Leon says.
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