The Suffers, Everything Here

The first time I listened to The Suffers’ new album, Everything Here, I was sitting on a desert island in the Caribbean; no, seriously, that’s what happens when you’ve got vacation time booked but you also need to actually keep up with reviewing stuff. And yeah, it was nice, a chilled-down complement to the sun and sand and endless waves, but…well, something felt off, somehow. I couldn’t really place it.

The second time I listened to the album, I was on an airplane, landing back home in Houston, and suddenly, it all clicked into place. This was what was missing, right here. Gorgeous as my own personal setting was the first time through, it wasn’t the right setting, y’know? And the setting, the environment, is honestly what Everything Here is all about, at the end of the day.

From start to finish, the album feels like a heartfelt tribute to the city The Suffers call home (and which I call home, as well), pulling together all those disparate pieces that make up H-town and H-town music — hip-hop, soul, rock, jazz, funk, reggae, pop, cumbia, blues, and everything else besides — and making a sound that’s of the city as much as from it.

There are cameos by local rap icons Paul Wall and Bun B, references to Houston’s post-Harvey state of rebuilding (which continues for a lot of Houstonians, even now, a year later), call-outs to family, and an overflowing feeling of warmth and love throughout.

I’m pretty sure, by the by, that this is exactly what the band was aiming for. I mean, the first track is titled “Ode to Houston” — that’s where the aforementioned Paul Wall steps in, initially causing me to go, “Holy shit, is that…?” before realizing it was indeed the rapper himself.

It feels appropriate as hell, honestly, to have him introduce The Suffers, like he’s representing the previous “generation” of Houston-bred musicians turning the spotlight on the next, over whispery background vocals saying, “It might not be your favorite city / but it’s really got a hold on me.” (And yeah, I didn’t even hear those the first time around…)

The same goes for Wall’s appearance on “Charlotte,” at the album’s mid-point, where the rapper muses about all the things the album reminds him of: “Like when my son first told me one day he wanna ride slab, too. Like when I hug my daughter, and she say, ‘Daddy, don’t worry about them haters.'” This album is like a musical snapshot of the absolute best sides of this city.

And obviously, it’s damn good besides, right from the start. “I Think I Love You” starts off as a slinky, declarative burner that’s just great, a perfect Suffers song, but then they hit my favorite part in the middle break when everything downshifts and gets mellow, just slide guitars, gentle percussion, and dueling keys. Then there’s “Do Whatever,” all jaunty cheerfulness, with frontwoman Kam Franklin showing exactly why she’s become Houston music’s leading lady. Plus, I love the Annie-esque intro and outro with the kids, too, especially at the end, when one young singer declares, “Aww, that was fun!”

Franklin has an earnest honesty, a heart-on-sleeve bravery that I’ve never been able to resist; she’s the kind of person and musician who puts herself out there, regardless of the risk, and the result is songs like sweet, endearing track “The One About Sace,” where she marvels at talking with a new maybe-love: “You quote Martin and Friends / I hope this conversation never ends.”

She’s also able to hit some seriously deep moments, too, like on “Sure to Remain,” which is slow and low and sultry soul-jazz that seems to reassure the subject of the song that their love will continue on, no matter what. The vocals are great, but even beyond that, the song has some of the best, most tastefully restrained musicianship you’re likely to ever hear.

Then the strings come in, sweeping and somber, making the whole things feel more expansive and transcending the boundaries of soul and R&B — by that point, the love Franklin’s talking about is pretty clearly nothing ordinary, but an epic, larger-than-life love.

At the same time, Franklin doesn’t shy away from pushing back, as on “What You Said,” where she warns an unnamed person, “It’s not what you said / it’s how you said it,” and makes it clear she’s taking no shit, all over a funky-as-hell, Bar-Kays-like groove. Likewise, there’s “All I Wanna Do,” which has a defiant, wide-smiling Franklin declaring she doesn’t have to do anything she doesn’t want to do, and the smoky soul blast of “You Only Call,” where Franklin tells off a lover/friend for only calling when they need something from her.

Moving backwards a bit, I have to mention the one-two punch of “Mammas,” starting off with the freaking adorable recordings of all the band members’ mothers on “A Word From Our Mommas” before diving into the declaration: “Call your mother / She just wants to hear your voice / ‘Cause waiting around forever / It won’t always be a choice.” The song sways beautifully along beneath the words, but the message is actually pretty heartbreaking — talk to your mom while you still can, alright?

Franklin’s own mother’s influence is felt again on the title track, a gently bumping, almost delicate reggae groove that sees her viewing the mess in her…house? — life? It’s not really clear, but the upshot is that things have gone awry, and Mama wouldn’t be pleased about that.

Before that, though, there’s a soulful, sexy, tongue-in-cheek interlude by rapper-educator Bun B, who does his best Barry White — and pulls it off nicely — before critiquing his own interlude as being better than some others out there. It’s a fun little bit that breaks up some of the more serious stuff, like closer “Won’t Be Here Tomorrow,” a thoughtful, searching gospel track that wonders whether it’s worth sticking around for a relationship that isn’t going where it should.

Now, it feels like I’ve spent a large part of this review talking about only one member of The Suffers, and I apologize for that; it’s just that Franklin is any easy focal point to use when looking at the group as a whole. But make no mistake, this is a band, and a stellar one at that. Like I said, I’ve been through Everything Here a few times now, and trust me when I say there’s not a damn note that’s unnecessary or out of place.

The eight people who make up The Suffers are truly awesome musicians, a true ensemble where everybody plays off of what everybody else is doing, both live and in recorded form. I’ve got a special soft spot for keyboardist Patrick Kelly, not only because I’ve seen him performing in bands since I was damn near in college but because his touch on the keys is understated but still integral to the sound. I found myself thinking of Procol Harum’s Gary Brooker at several points on the album, and that’s no mean feat.

I’ve also got to give a special nod to Jose “Chapy” Luna, whose percussion makes tracks like “I Think I Love You” work, and guitarist Kevin Bernier, who does a thing most guitarists can’t (or won’t) do, which is sit back and work with the rhythm section to create the framework for the rest of the band to play around in. He’s not flashy, but he builds the foundation, if that makes any sense.

Stepping back to the songs themselves, I’d argue that despite the fact that there’s an actual title track to Everything Here, the centerpiece of the album is actually “After the Storm,” a slow-burn duet between Franklin and Lyle Divinsky of The Motet.

It’s immensely tentative and fragile, and not only channels the fear and tension a lot of Houstonians felt during and after the storm — namely, 2017’s Hurricane Harvey, which flooded large areas of the city and touched a lot of lives — but also provides a pitch-perfect depiction of two people trying to maybe find one another even as they try to put the pieces of their respective (and shared) worlds back together.

The song is amazingly subtle, doing just what it needs to and then getting out; it’s like the perfect short story, in song form. It’s quiet and sweet and full of hope, and it makes me beam every time it comes on. Which, come to think of it, pretty much describes this band as a whole, so maybe I’ll leave it there and just say that you really, really should buy this album.

(Feature photo by Todd Spoth.)