The Diplomats of Solid Sound, The Diplomats of Solid Sound Featuring The Diplomettes

Horns. That’s what been missing from my life. Well, horns and chicka-chicka guitars, anyway. And maybe some Hammond organ.

Seriously — listening to the Diplomats of Solid Sound’s eponymous full-length has been like suddenly hitting the light switch in a darkened house and illuminating a room that’s been dark for a few days (which, given the recent circumstances here in Houston, is actually closer to reality than you might think). Damn, I’ve needed some horns, and the thicker, dirtier, and rougher-sounding, the better.

Thankfully, the Diplomats can bring me what I need, and then some. Putting aside the whole retro-soul revival going on right now, the key thing is that these guys are master musicians, heirs to the mostly-instrumental funk-soul kingdom ruled in days gone by by the likes of The Meters, Booker T. & the MG’s, The J.B.’s, the Ohio Players, and Maceo and the Macks — they know their instruments, know how to kick a funky beat, and play like they’ve never dreamt of doing anything else with their lives.

“Plenty Nasty” kicks off the album like the long-lost B-side to “Cross the Tracks,” and it’s a hell of a way to start; like its title suggests, it’s funky and dirty as all hell, and the album rolls on from there like a pimp-daddy caddy cruising the boulevard. There’s a heavy, heavy jazz influence, obviously, but these guys aren’t going for anything real cerebral here, instead trying to appeal to the gut-level instinct to get out there on the dancefloor and cut loose. Think of the aforementioned artists, plus James Brown’s backing band and more recent cohorts the Dap-Kings, and you’ll have a pretty good idea of what the band sounds like, if you don’t already.

This isn’t the Diplomats’ first time around the block, obviously — I think it’s the band’s fourth full-length, which somewhat explains the way they effortlessly throw this stuff out — but this time out they have tried to mix things up a bit by adding their own singers, vocalists Abbie Sawyer, Sarah Cram, and Katherine Ruestow. Which is good and bad for Diplomats, in almost equal measure. On the good side, the vocals give you something to latch on to while listening, allowing the band to dodge one pitfall a lot of instrumental groups fall into, which is that, well, instrumental music tends to turn into background music if you can’t grab a hold of it somehow. The sultry, Ronettes-esque girl-group vocals give the sounds a sometimes much-needed focus.

On the flip side, I have to say that I think the Diplomettes are best when they’re not singing throughout, but rather when they’re acting, effectively, like backup singers to the true stars of the show — namely, the instruments. The vocals here shine when they’re used as instruments themselves, to color and accentuate the funky-ass grooves the Diplomats are laying down. “Budget Fro” is the perfect example, here; the band sizzles and churns brilliantly on a desperate-sounding groove, while the Diplomettes lay back for the bulk of the song, only stepping up occasionally to add the explanatory refrain, “Got no mo-nay!” When the Diplomettes do step up and take the spotlight, as on “Come In My Kitchen,” which isn’t really a bad song to begin with, they occasionally sound over-rehearsed and somewhat flat. The track’s not a loss or anything, mind you, but it’s not nearly as good as the songs on the album where the singers take a step back.

When both sides of the equation work, though, it does come off nicely. On “Hurt Me So,” for one, the horns roar like the best sounds off Back to Black, and the vocals don’t overwhelme but instead sort of drift and shimmer around the edges. Where Winehouse teeters on the brink of collapse, always sounding (fairly accurately, it must be said) like she’s about to crack, the Diplomettes are polished silky-smooth — it’s like the difference between Bessie Smith and The Supremes. Both Winehouse and the Diplomettes are amazingly good at what they do, but one lives the hard-luck stories to the hilt while the others sing about the heartbreak and despair but manage to stay above it.

There’s also the cover of Carla Thomas’s “B-a-b-y,” an awesomely playful song that fits the Diplomats/Diplomettes sound like a glove and makes me grin a big, goofy grin (love that half-muted guitar strutting along beneath the lyrics), the short-and-sweet “Trouble Me,” and the laidback, R&B-ish “Soul Connection,” all of which further prove that the band loves what it’s doing and does it as close to perfection as they can. And hey, then they throw in the “Lack Of Afro Remix” version of “Hurt Me So,” right at the end of the disc, and I find myself liking it even more than the standard version — the sliced-up beats, dancehall toasting, and funky congas add a sense of urgency to the whole thing, making it practically a brand-new song when set side-by-side with the slinky, low-to-the-ground original. Not bad for a band that started out as not much more than a one-off side project for a bunch of guitar-loving garage-rockers from Iowa, in my book.