Marc Broussard


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Make no mistake about it, Marc Broussard can sing. With a husky baritone that sounds like some Louisiana version of David Ruffin and an upward range that suggests Al Green or Eddie Kendricks, Broussard's soulful phrasing carries a kind of joyous and yet world-weary wisdom that belies his age. The lead track here, "Home" (the album is named after Broussard's hometown of Carencro, LA), is immediately stunning. A huge and atmospheric swampy Motown stomp, "Home" sounds like Otis Redding from some alternate universe -- one in which he doesn't die in a plane crash -- singing swamp pop with all the funk of a Memphis Stax groove and all the ghostly alligator voodoo of Dr. John. An explosively effective track, "Home" is a hard act to follow, and the rest of this album seems to trail in its wake. "Save Me" sounds like it could be a winning single for the neo-MTV generation, and Broussard's surprisingly joyous vocal (you can tell he takes glee in singing, a trait, again, that recalls Al Green) masks a somewhat codependent lyric, while "Lonely Night in Georgia" sounds like John Hiatt trying to channel Ray Charles. There is a journeyman's feel to some of the songs, but Broussard's soulful vocals always find a meaningful corner to work from in just about everything here, and one can't help but feel this guy has a monster album in him just around the corner. Carencro isn't a masterpiece (although "Home" certainly is), but it is a solid, professional, and undeniably soulful outing, and anyone who can sing like this kid is definitely going to set the world reeling back on its heels eventually.

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