There is a sweet sweet, almost wholesome, spirit throughout Jaojoby’s third full-length album. In the liner notes, record label Discorama’s bi-lingual (French & English) hired pen praises Jaojoby’s pioneering work in salegy and scribes scant translations of the artist’s twelve unadventurous songs; obviously intended to dip into the relatively fat pockets of European and American consumers. But Malagasy won’t likely see the check writing/card swiping carpal tunnel cases Fela Kuti’s rediscovery induced in diverse western music lovers. Jaojaby’s astute musical direction cannot be disputed nor the advanced competency of his band but Malagasy’s rounded edges slide off the listener unlike Kuti’s catalogue whose sharp sound sublimely digs into the skin. TO be fair, Jaojoby prefers comparisons to the most prominent protector of Madame C.J. Walker’s illustrious hair straightening legacy, James Brown. Without a doubt, Malagasy is a funky good time. In his impassioned alto, Jaojaby’s punches out lines repeated by jumping chorus which includes his wife and two daughters. In fact the artist and crew are at best a few minutes into their songs when they arrive at back-twisting breakdowns. His live performances benefit from a lovely assemblage of flat-tummied dancers who rock the stage creating a communal celebration for all within eyesight. Since the target international audience is only within earshot, frequently tethered to desks, at the helm of steering wheels, or navigating litter strewn streets with their trusty Ipods in tow, Malagasy frequently bores. That is not to say there aren’t shining moments. The title track, a new nationalist’s composition, rides a relentless rhythm highlighting an impressive arrangement and rallying vocals. The bluesy guitar-driven effort builds to arm and leg-flailing heights as Jaojaby and crew encourage social responsibility and political involvement. The tempo steadily increases, electrifying the listener to an expectatnt space. In the black church we call it “catching the holy ghost” when the glorious the promise of things to come overwhelms in ecstatic fury. And like most Sunday morning selections, Malagasy, regularly satisfies and periodically inspires.

-Jalyah Burrell