Alright, no fooling around. Anyone whose primary references to the word "skank" have something to do with really trashy girls from back in school, put your hand up. Okay, get out of here, the lot of you! This record ain't for you pansies! This is the real "ragga-ragga" deal, and if you disagree, Horace will have you know that it's been tested and approved by a panel of "hardcore, ragga-ragga, ghetto people." No, I'm not joking.

Neophytes and other stragglers still reading this should be given the quick, obligatory rundown: no, Massive Attack did not discover Horace Andy busking outside a cafe a la Damo Suzuki and Can. He's a living legend with an impressive discography now spanning three decades and an instantly recognizable voice. He was picked up from relative obscurity for Massive Attack's seminal Blue Lines album in 1990. Suddenly, Andy's passionate, soaring, wide-vibrato voice was blaring from every hipster's stereo system in the UK. And with the hype machine building everywhere else, his contributions to 1994's Protection were even more prevalent. That said, the quick-to-judge might shoot an eyebrow up at this brand new set-- all Horace, appearing on Massive Attack's Melankolic label. Is this his sell-out album? Certainly not. For the most part.

Make no mistake. This is no reggae-pop album. This isn't Sting slumming it with Shabba Ranks. It's pure, unadulterated "ragga ragga," as stated above. Refraining from whoring himself out to an undoubtedly rabid niche of British electro-wanks and ending up with a post-modern mess of an album, Horace Andy goes back to the studio the best way he knows how: back in Jamaica, with crack session musicians hand-picked from the island, gathered at Tuff Gong studios in Kingston. Listening to this album, you may wonder about his decision. There's something to be said for classicism, not to mention class, and both are in abundance here. The passion, though, is ironically often plundered from these tracks thanks to the up-front, dry, and crystal-clear sound-- a common sonic quality of what is rightfully called "contemporary reggae."

Here's a hint: there's a reason you probably can't name too many contemporary reggae artists-- including the hip among you-- even if you can name quite a few old-timers. Well, it's true. The old guys did it better. Fans of the echo-chamber pilfered in more recent years by Mad Professor and his ilk will find little to get lost in here. "Living in the Flood" is unfortunately rather by-the-numbers as a whole, even if some concessions are made. Some of the tracks are difficult to distinguish from each other-- always a problem for the non-fanatics trying to make their way through an entire reggae album.

Multiple listens provide more insight into these occasionally beautiful songs, however. The opener, "After All," is a tightly-woven groover to which the listener might contemplate his imminent suicide as he's "looking for a soft place to fall." Andy's voice perfectly complements the haunting mood. "Don't Blame the Children" shakes up the rhythmic formula a bit, providing a more uptempo and funky backdrop that gives his voice a bit of a different angle than the traditional slow-burning stompers. Here, he handles it with sublime grace and tenderness, invoking memories of childhood in Kingston watching "John Wayne and James Bond" and being moved to possess guns, and drink alcohol "to be cool." Sure, there's nothing fancy lyrically here, but when the issues are so real and the sentiments so personal, why dress it up in opaque wordplay? This is Horace, not Tears for Fears' Roland Orzabal.

Elsewhere, charged Rastafari cries ("My Lord," "Seven Seals") and another socially-conscious message track ("Johnny Too Bad") bring out the best in Horace and his backing band. Ironically, despite his passionate voice, he falters on the album's three obvious love songs ("True Love," "Right Time," "Girl of My Dreams"). "Right Time" in particular is schmaltzy, not a bit touching (even viewed in a naive light), and downright silly. While not obvious failures, the Joe Strummer-penned title track and "Doldrums," written up for Horace as a bit of a thank you by Massive Attack's 3D Del Naja, are comparatively yawn-worthy and perhaps among the most musically staid, given the collaborators involved.

As any seasoned listener knows, there's nothing more irritating than an uneven album from a great artist. The best moments reflect their lofty talent and echo the prime work of their career. The worst moments challenge the notion that their artistry is still relevant and worth your attention. Here, as is typical, the low points seem to come from unnecessary collaboration and inappropriate production. Andy's voice needs to sparkle, yes, but not everything else does. Allowing some rough edges to survive post-production might've helped add some grit to these heartfelt and generally poignant songs. As it is, you're left with a contemporary reggae album sporting several instant classics, several worthy brothers, some real crap, and in the middle of it all, a singular talent trying desperately to be heard. Here's to hoping that next time around, there's nobody rolling any boulders in his way.

-Dan Gardopee