Vintage-sounding soul has been having something of a renaissance of late, from the Chicano low-rider balladry of Thee Sacred Souls to the simmering southern protest of Curtis Harding or veteran crooner Ural Thomas’s remarkable rejuvenation. Amid such a crowded market, Bloomington, Indiana’s the Indications distinguish themselves by evoking a different epoch of soul than their contemporaries – the lush Philadelphia sound, the contoured passion of Luther Vandross – and by their elegantly charismatic frontman, Durand Jones.
While they’re gifted masters of their craft, and while drummer Aaron Frazer’s dulcet street-corner falsetto holds aloft the handful of songs he leads, the Indications wisely centre their show around Jones. He rises to the occasion in brown leather boots, white jeans, deckchair-striped shirt, shades and brown suede safari hat. The outfit is accessorised with a diaphanous handkerchief for mopping away sweat – even though Jones’ croon comes effortlessly, like a breeze. A classic showman, he asks if there are “any sexy people in the house tonight?”, drops to his knees whenever the moment becomes too much to bear, and dances with unselfconscious joy throughout. He maintains a canny balance of grit and velvet similar to Marvin Gaye, his smoky voice graced with filigrees of pain and redemption.
The Indications’ recreation of that plush Philly ambience is uncanny, but their songs are more than mere ersatz vamps. Morningin America, with its ominous hook of “But I can’t see the dawn”, is solemn and powerful, while Satisfied builds marvellously to its delirious late-song key change, Jones holding the note like actual sunshine is pouring from his lungs.
A quick costume change – to black slacks, pin-striped salmon housecoat and black wide-brimmed fedora – heralds a welcome late-set shift to disco, a Moroder-esque throb underpinning the Billie Jean prowl of Witchoo. It’s a vibe that pervades through to ecstatic, closer Sea of Love, Jones dropping in lines from Never Too Much and proving himself very much Luther’s heir, a vocalist of tender power and flair. With their ability to conjure an eternal July afternoon in 1974, Durand Jones and the Indications are an irresistible proposition.