Texan singer/ songwriter JEFF KLEIN'S previous album, the starkly wonderful "Everybody Loves A Winner" was something of a wracked and broken classic: an intense affair that occasionally rocked, but mostly justified his position as a rising star within the acoustic 'Americana' genre.
That term is notoriously slippery at the best of times, and clearly it's not one that sits easily with Klein, for the eagerly-awaited follow-up finds him decamping to New Orleans, succumbing to the city's sleazoid charms with co-producer Greg Dulli (Afghan Whigs/ Twilight Singers) and following through with his threat not to "be the guy with the acoustic guitar in the coffee house."
And, for the most part, Klein's desire to present us with a fuller, more rounded sound works a treat, as "The Hustler" is an eclectic, textured affair which takes plenty of chances but still hangs together cogently thanks to some deft playing from Klein's band (which features Dulli, co-producer Mike Napolitano and several excellent guest spots from rated chanteuse Ani Di Franco) and the man's breathy, nicotine-stained voice which always seems to meld all the elements to near-perfection.
Not that Jeff's entirely elbowed the confessional acousticism, mind. Indeed, the album's title track which kicks us off is a sultry, smoky slice of dreamy seductiveness, opening with the vivid line "The city is makin' love to itself" and finding the author being sucked into N'Awlins' tempting netherworld. "She's shakin' her head and she's promising she'll make me come," slurs our hero at one point and you can almost taste the sweat from the city where Klein claims even "a guy can get laid for playing the tuba."
"The Hustler" makes a second sortie into downhome acoustic troubadour mode with "All I Want", where a stoned guitar plays an unsteady waltz while a distant trumpet adds a sad fanfare. It's closer, in spirit, to "Everybody Loves A Winner" than virtually anything else here and features a quintessential Klein lyric in "I need courage like the lion to wake every day."
Both tracks are excellent, but throw stylistic curves compared with the majority of the material here. Indeed, it's the sheer eclecticism of "The Hustler" that makes it sound so exciting. Like his co-conspirator Greg Dulli, Klein has made no bones about his love for the likes of Marvin Gaye and William Bell, and indeed several of "The Hustler"s key tracks wear their soul influences proudly on their sleeve - in an effective way, I might add. Both "Suzanne" and "The 19th Hole" are affected by the Southern heat and - at least musically - "Suzanne" is one of the poppiest, most ballsy things Klein has yet recorded with its' strutting rhythms and pepped-up horns. "The 19th Hole", meanwhile, is a considerably more subtle, soul-tinged ballad with brushed drums and wurlitzer piano. The world-weariness and a lyric reminiscent of Neil Young's "On The Beach" (key refrain: "The world keeps on turning, mostly it's turning on you") suit it to a T and it cuts to the emotional chase in fine style.
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Elsewhere, Klein proves he's not afraid to rock either. "Nearly Motionless" is an early surprise, kicking in with big, gated drums and loud, reverb-heavy guitars and marimbas. Its' overall feel recalls both Ryan Adams and Jesse Malin while the chorus nudges toward the anthemic. "Stripped", too, isn't afraid to let its' hair down and proffers big tremolo guitars and counterpoint melody basslines. Typically, the lyrics are considerably more introspective (e.g: "You keep your diary locked away, I know I looked for it everyday"), but the music's propulsion prevents it from sliding into navel-gazing territory. "The Red Lantern", meanwhile, lets fly with classic waggering power pop with Klein and Dulli in swashbuckling form, even though the lyrics ("There's a darkness I can't erase...there's blood on the dancefloor and people on their knees") are suitably intense and unforgiving.
Perhaps best of all, though, are the brace of experimental tracks that make their presence felt effectively. "Ironside", for example, is almost psychedelic in its' execution, wafting in on a queasy narcotic haze and backwards guitars. The title IS a nod to Raymond Burr's legendary wheelchair-bound cop, although the song itself (with Di Franco shadowing Klein's vocal beautifully) deals with emotional, rather than physical paralysis, culminating in "So we drink until we're sick, because anything is better than being this paralysed." It's dark, moving and disorienting and quite an achievement, as is the terrific "Pity", which - with its' floaty, Bjork-style loops, Fender Rhodes and Klein's weirdly threatening, compressed voice ("Don't be shy sweetie pie, we're gonna make love 'til you cry") - is a jarring and memorable departure and a possible signpost for future development, should Klein so choose.
"The Hustler", then, is the sound of Jeff Klein brashly taking on all comers and showing off his diverse skills as he pots an impressive range of shots. The results are still recognisably him, but make it clear he's capable of stretching and embracing diversity. Only the most arrogant of challengers would take him on when he's in this kind of form.
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