Words by Justin Turford
There’s a lot of ‘old’ soul music out there these days. Labelled as vintage, retro, classic, whatever, we’re talking contemporary musicians and labels drawing heavily on the musical and stylistic memories of when Motown, Stax and Atlantic were the biggest boys (and girls) in the room and when even some of the many small localised US record labels had the possibility of grabbing themselves a perfectly crafted hit. Clean breakbeat-y drums, minimalist picked guitars, a touch of gospel-influenced organ and honey-sweetened horn sections operating as easy to digest vehicles for songs of heartbreak and hope. As much as I enjoy some of these new artists and songs, there’s no escaping that in many ways they are exercises in nostalgia for a supposedly purer, more innocent time (as if), when quarter inch tape analogue warmth, ‘real’ musicians, proper songwriting etc ruled. I can understand the attraction. The world in 2026 is a terrifying mess and it hasn’t happened suddenly. The past does seem better. In the ‘West’ anyway.
Constantine Weir also takes inspiration from various ‘golden eras’ of soul (plus blues, jazz and reggae) in his material but uses the heritage signposts differently, digging deeper into rarer corners to seek the source. His Caribbean roots, Sufi practice and a rich creative past that includes co-founding Acid Jazz pioneers Galliano amongst his life experiences have lent him an authenticity earned not emulated. Spiritually universal yet personal, raw yet sophisticated, this full length follow up to last year’s exceptional E.P. ‘Service Rendered’ is unlike anything else out there currently.
The spectacular ‘Out Of Many, One People’ opens the album with the pulse of chain gang blues, hypnotic Nyabinghi drums, an exquisite chorus and as a man of many voices, Constantine’s authoritative rootsman vocal exclaiming and pondering thoughtfully on Windrush, the transatlantic slave trade and the contemporary Black experience. With another layer of gorgeous, seemingly wordless female backing vocals that appear to evoke grief as well as freedom, we have as good an opening number as could be hoped for.
Unvarnished and urgent, the driving ‘People Power’ hits like funk through a Strata Records or Sly Stone lens or that loose and wild Isley Brothers groove they had going on in the mid 70s. Surely a one-take recording, the heavily strummed acoustic guitar is the metronome as drums, bass, keys and voice keep an insistent, revolution-demanding forward push.
Constantine’s dedication and integrity in creating his music is writ large on ‘Soil Of My Forefathers’ (he had to ask for spiritual permission to use the sampled chorus), a song that sounds like the Deep South of the United States and Islamic Africa together. Again that merging of the simple 4/4 rhythm that travelled across the Atlantic with a homeopathic dose of reggae medicine and a deep lyric connected to his Sufi teachings. The timbre and life-lived character of Constantine’s voice adds a potent charge to the messages he’s imparting.
‘Beautiful One’ is a lovely, affecting dedication to Constantine’s daughter that pulls in elements of cosmic folk, acoustic soul and one of Constantine’s sweetest vocals on the record. As previously noted, he’s a man of many voices but aren’t we all if we allow them to shine?
‘Dried Tears’ is one of two songs that were present on the ‘Service Rendered E.P.’ and it is a beautiful ride. Unable to better my original description, here is what I scribbled last year - “With a voice welling up from the deepest of emotional wells, ‘Dried Tears’ skirts that fine line between melancholy and joy, a song about loss and love delivered so warmly that it feels like forgiveness. Reminiscent of the romantic growl of Richie Havens, Constantine breaths out his song over an overflowing of restrained melodies. Steve Wellington’s twinkling, psychey electric guitar is absolutely lovely, whilst bassist Kwame Boaten and fellow Galianoista and acclaimed percussionist Adé Egun Crispin Robinson provide the calmest of swaying rhythm sections, Yvonne Shelton’s backing vocals sweeping like a string section. Perfect for a sunlit day, there’s a sonic and poetic similarity to the more positive moments of Nick Drake’s music.”
The dreamy Afro-folk number ‘Father’ also made the cut from the E.P. and it remains a blissful, atmospheric journey at the pace of a slow boat ride up a tropical river. A wonderful swaying number that washes away any blues you may be harbouring.
Autumn in hue, the deliciously calming ‘Later Must Be Greater’ has one of those golden choruses that demands a singalong, the choir in agreement. Pastoral flute, fine acoustic guitar, and some lovely piano and cello arrangements combine in a sparkling moment of gospel-tinged folk that is as colourful as it is wistful, the song breathing out a sense of hope and faith.
There are many musical guests who have contributed to this album and it is Martin Melody’s distinctive sweet falsetto that joins Constantine in a vocal dance on the delicate ‘Collecting Fallen Leaves’, a bluesy acoustic song that sees Martin mirroring Constantine’s words of hope in a future unknown.
The record (it is a limited vinyl only release like all of his recent releases) closes with ‘Inner Wealth’, Constantine musing on life and pacing himself over a sensitively psychedelic bed of guitar and wavey keys, his vocal reminiscent of Terry Callier at his most pensive. A bewitching, meditative end to an album of great depth and quiet rebelliousness.
Constantine Weir has delivered the album that we had hoped for. ‘Certainty Beyond Logic’ feels like it contains much of his well-travelled life within its melodies, words and intent. His faith, his heritage and his musical knowledge explain some of its potency. I also suspect an admirable bloody-mindedness is at work in his creative soul, a deep inquiring mind that wants to do it his way. 10/10.
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