Some songs burst into the room like they’ve just kicked the door down with a confetti cannon. I’d Be A Fortune by Dedrick Soul is not that. This is the musical equivalent of someone sidling up to you at a crowded party, starting a story in a low voice, and by the time you’ve realized you’ve been leaning in for five minutes, you’ve also realized you’ve forgotten to blink.
The production reflects that sense of space. There’s a bass line that doesn’t just play the notes, it leans on them, like it’s got nowhere else to be. Brushed drums shuffle around politely, the guitar has a gentle twang like it’s been played by someone who knows the difference between ‘understated’ and ‘asleep,’ and the organ hums in the background like a neighbour’s air conditioner you only notice when it stops. It’s uncluttered, but in a way that feels intentional.
And then there’s the vocals. Dedrick’s delivery has that casual precision that says, “I could belt this if I wanted, but that’s not the point.” The cracks in his voice aren’t mistakes; they’re punctuation. The phrasing feels conversational, like you’re eavesdropping on a phone call he didn’t know you could hear. And if we’re talking comparisons, this is where the Anderson .Paak thing comes in, but not exactly as you know him. Imagine if, right after Oxnard,. Paak decided to record an album at a studio that only accepted payment in sweet tea and pie. The drums are still tight, the groove is still undeniable, but now there’s a hint of barroom pedal steel and a suspicion that someone in the room owns a banjo.
That “country-soul pivot” is less about yeehaw aesthetics and more about adopting that genre’s willingness to let air into the mix. You can practically hear the room in this recording; the creak of the stool, the little scrape of fingers on strings, the space between notes where your brain gets to fill in the emotion. Anderson .Paak’s usual palette is full of snap, crack, and pop; I’d Be A Fortune swaps some of that for sway, hush and hum, which weirdly makes it more addictive. Like someone refusing to answer your last text; you can’t stop thinking about it.
By the time the last chord fades, you’re not left with a neat moral lesson so much as a sense memory; like you’ve just left a conversation that’s going to stick with you for a few days. I’d Be A Fortune doesn’t do the work for you; it trusts you to sit with it. Which might be the most country-soul thing about it after all: it knows when to speak and when to let silence do the heavy lifting.
If Anderson .Paak ever does that hypothetical Oxnard-but-in-a-barn album, this would be track four; the one that doesn’t chart but ends up being everyone’s secret favourite. Dedrick Soul’s version is already here, and it’s not trying to be clever about it. It’s just telling you the truth in a way that makes you feel like you discovered it yourself.
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About the Author
A tenured media critic known working as a ghost writer, freelance critic for publications in the US and former lead writer of Atop The Treehouse. Reviews music, film and TV shows for media aggregators.
