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Album review: Duffy

By Glenn Gamboa Newsday

Duffy

Rockferry

Duffy is much more than a nicer, non-addicted Amy Winehouse or the new-millennium Dusty Springfield, though being either of those things would be enough reason for celebration.

On her debut, Rockferry, the Welsh singer returns to a time when popular soul music was about more than long, drawn-out notes and overheated sex metaphors. She follows the Winehouse path to success — no, not the tabloid part — by pairing a retro-soul groove to a dance beat for her first single, Mercy, even building a chorus around ”yeah, yeah, yeah“ instead of the Rehab no-no-no. And once she has your attention with that, Duffy doles out lovely, '60s-styled soul ballads like Warwick Avenue or Syrup and Honey that charm with a combination of shimmering beauty and generalized ache.

Rockferry is a far more stiff-upper-lip kind of album, recognizing heartaches but coating them with grand pop melodies and old-time Hollywood yearning. Duffy also isn't afraid to seem sappy, as in the wide-eyed Distant Dreamer, a tune so I-can-do-it optimistic that it could easily be this season's American Idol coronation song.

It's a tough balancing act, but Duffy manages it effortlessly, as breakout stars of any era instinctively know how to do.