Burn those leather chaps, chaps. X-Tina wants to be PG-Tina, and that means no mo’ dressing like no skanky ho’. Except the Aguilerean definition of ‘demure’ means that when she uncrosses her legs now, you can only see all the way to Wisconsin instead of Nebraska.
Besides, the title is mostly a MacGuffin. Rather than stripping it down, the dirrty bird has expanded her band to include an exultant gospel choir, lending a devotional flavour to the decidedly secular (if not downright carnal) cut of the rhythm and horn sections. Cue some pretty respectful and respectable nods to ‘70s funk and soul that trace the chromosome chain linking Duke Ellington to Stevie Wonder to post-Revolution Prince (‘Makes Me Wanna Pray’, ‘Back In The Day’, ‘Ain’t No Other Man’).
Somewhat worryingly though, she’s also developed a bit of a shwing for swing: Busby Berkeley big band numbers abound. And I dunno about you dear reader, but it raises my hackles no end when magpie popstars (Robbie, Sinéad, Westlife) think they can just play dress up with Copa and Sands Hotel-period productions or torch song trologies. It took Billie, Frank and Dino a lot of hard living (and liver hardening) to learn how to phrase just so, and these young pop monkeys think they can just master the form on a whim. In the words of Montgomery Burns, leave it to those degenerate golden-armed jazzbos.
Thankfully, Christina’s dabbling is pretty much just that. Yes, Disc 2 of this double set starts off rather bizarrely as a Waits-lite take on the Moulin Rouge as overseen by Andrew Lloyd Webber. And yes, there’s a spate of risible what’s-up-pussycat pastiches and Chattanooga shoeshine routines (‘Candyman’, ‘Nasty Naughty Boy’ – Manhattan Transfer meets Eartha Kitt). But to Aguilera’s credit, these are spiced with horn charts and bass parts that have a lot more to do with the JB Allstars’ precision engineering than Madge’s Dick Tracy hanky-panky.
She still tends to over-sing, favouring scales-practise over pure feel. But on tunes like ‘Understand’ and ‘Oh Mother’, she’s also capable of the same loveliness that made Linda Perry’s ‘Beautiful’ a thing of such pained gorgeosity. And ‘Mercy On Me’ (one of many co-writes with Ms Perry) contrasts the rolling piano of ‘Ballad Of A Thin Man’ with a penitent sinner’s prayer, and is one of the best things she’s ever done.
Such times, you can believe the tramp is a lady. Compared to her contemporaries in the teen and 20-something skin trade (Pussycat Dolls? Paris Hilton?), she’s a genius. Back To Basics is hardly her definitive statement, but listening to the Evita-like finale of ‘The Right Man’, you get the feeling she’s in it for the long haul.