Review: Joy Oladokun makes her way down a label-defying path
“Proof of Life” by Joy Oladokun (Amigo/Verve Forecast/Republic)
Joy Oladokun draws on a range of influences, but trying to pin her down with labels is mostly a waste of time. Better simply to acknowledge her as one of the most appealing artists working in the music scene these days.
Oladokun, a Black lesbian singer-songwriter who lives in East Nashville and has been embraced by the Americana world, delivers her warmest and most cohesive work to date on “Proof of Life,” a 13-song album that creates an aura of positivity and sustains it. She isn’t naive in the old “Up With People” sense — she drops occasional hints that hers hasn’t been an easy ride — but she’s here to lead you on a journey of encouragement that feels like a manifesto for living through post-pandemic times.
The comparison you hear most frequently with Oladokun is Tracy Chapman, and she doesn’t run from her as an influence. But that’s mostly a surface assessment, and there’s just not enough brooding here to keep Oladokun boxed in there long.
“Proof of Life” features unexpected collaborations that only enhance its label-defying vibe. Chris Stapleton joins her for “Sweet Symphony,” a pleasant if not wildly original match between two fine singers with a country spirit that fits them both. Rapper Maxo Kream offers lines to “Revolution” that add electricity without disturbing a gentle groove that lands a million miles from the revolution Chapman talked up — but doesn’t disown it, either.
Oladokun, she explains against yet another pulsating backbeat, is the revolution.
Oladokun delves more deeply into identity in both “Taking Things for Granted” and “Pride,” but doesn’t leave you with the sense that she is troubled by her journey. The message, delivered comfortably, seems clear enough: Why should she be?
In fact, “Proof of Life” might be most noteworthy for its deep sense of comfort in her own skin, coupled with the unmistakable signs that Oladokun has found her way as an artist. She isn’t trying on styles as much. She’s figured out that she doesn’t sound like anyone else and she’s good with it.
That aura might be summed up best on “Somehow,” the album’s final cut, which starts with a somber piano riff, then ascends to a soaring, “Hey Jude” style crescendo.
“Somehow, things just get better,” she sings. “Somehow. Somehow.”
It’s a hard-won message for our times — and a fitting end to an album that might need its own category.
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