There’s a homogeneity that plagues these 17 songs: Listen to them over and over again and they all blend together, like they could have come from any record Handy has ever made over the past ten years.
Instead, Cooper B. Handy's Album, Vol. 9 is, at its very best, 'random.' It strikes me less as cohesive and more as unambitious, so much so that his sound— which I've otherwise always found to be special and pure and weird—comes across as generic, a facsimile of itself.
There is something to be said for consistency. But isn't there something radical, exciting, invigorating about taking what you love about music and expanding it, bringing it to different, bigger, scarier lands?
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