I've waxed enthusiastic over Russell before - check out this review of a performance at Mojito last March for some background. Still, a bit of an introduction would be nice: the feisty, arrestingly charming vocal powerhouse first made a name for herself at the start of this decade, lending her enormous lung-power to join-ups with British neo-soul artists such as Quantic, Nostalgia 77, and TM Juke.

Her style is largely beholden to many of the cornerstones of classic female soul - Aretha Franklin, Nina Simone, Dusty Springfield, Chaka Khan - and her expressive range is formidable. Russell slides easily from soft sleepy purrs to pouted come-ons to full-head-tilt roof-raising hollers - sometimes they even occur within the same verse. Generally speaking, she steers clear of the overused melisma-method which has become the standard vocal trick most freely dished out in soul music, post-Mariah.

Instead, Russell engages in the same multi-octave wind-ups associated with old-school Aretha and Chaka. The latter of the two has always been the closest reference point to my ears. Throughout Russell's career, I've heard echoes of Chaka's Rufus days, as well as much of her still-flawless-after-all-these-years solo debut, Chaka (Warner Bros., 1979). Another important distinction to be made: a great deal of modern soul/R&B sits at the forefront of "next new thing" technology and production methods, opting for a super-saturated, electronically-hyper-processed feel in an effort to sound as "of the now" as possible. (Not that there's anything necessarily wrong with this, of course.)

This analysis doesn't apply as much to the majority of Russell's solo work. Instead, her recordings tend to embrace all things organic. Her voice is usually free of obvious studio tweaks and twists, and the production is likely to stress the separation between the guitar, horns, and keys rather than pushing them all through a thicker, more cluttered mix. Again, not hating on the modern R&B, necessarily, but it's a qualifier that should be made nonetheless. This Brit is very much a practitioner of classic soul and funk flavors, but her output doesn't come across as a mere rehash of older sounds - an observation attributed, yes, to her instantly recognizable vocal charisma, but also to her much-welcome adventurous streak.

Whereas some of her neo-soul peers could be accused of sticking to a formula of sorts, Russell has done a fine job of confounding expectations. Integrating jazz-violin and organically generated hip-hop beats? "Sure, why not?" she seems to say, smiling, and she makes it work. Reconfigure the White Stripes' "Seven Nation Army" into a stab of lippy ultra-dank funk? Pulled off without so much as a single stammer or stumble. And yes, she's having a blast all the while. Some things you can just tell, you know?

Longtime Russell collaborator TM Juke produced Pot of Gold with an obvious yen for capturing the feel of late-'60s/early-'70s recordings. The tone here overall is deliciously trebly, much like what you'd hear on plenty of Motown/Stax/Hi releases. The horn charts - courtesy of the can't-argue-with-the-name Killer Horns - are crisp and punchy, and Alex Cowan's grease-rippled guitar scratches are spot-on perfect in evoking the era as well.

The rhythms - thanks to bassist Dan Swain and percussionist Jack Baker - are alternately swinging, thumping, and swaggering, gloriously low-end heavy and authoritative but without overwhelming everything in the higher register. (A pitfall of some current R&B stuff, I'm afraid.) Ben Jones' keys tap into the vintage-soul vibe quite convincingly as well, except for the occasional use of more recent electronic technolog, which lends just a touch of retro-futurist loveliness to the proceedings. Mike Simmonds' Stephane Grappelli-gone-funk violin flourishes add considerable baroque-soul warmth, as do exuberant flute romps from Dave Mecklin and Mike Lesirge. On top of it all, Russell flits, flaunts, and flutters in equal measures, arriving more confident in voice than ever.

For straight-up Stax Records-bedazzled floor-burning, disc opener "Turn and Run" - with its take-no-lip vocal bluster, sputtering organ fills, and punchy horn charts - is an electrifying statement of purpose. "Two Steps" is propelled not so much by its insistent rush-rush snare drum rhythm - driving as it is - but rather by the surging high-drama violins whose push seems to even be felt in the moments when they recede from the mix. Meanwhile, Russell delivers her take on the tug-of-war between dating couples with a blazing oratory, switching from sweet smiling celebration of young love to rasped frustration at lovers' quarrels.

"Let Us Be Loving" - a string-streaked slow-burner set to an insistent herky-jerk groove - is one of Pot of Gold's less vintage-sounding tracks, with its grinning nod in the direction of hip-hop-informed neo-soul, thanks to a tight focus on the beat as well as the slight shine of echo applied to her voice. It's the kind of number which would work just as wonderfully for Angie Stone, but instead, Russell takes complete ownership, throwing everything she's got into a truly inspired, full-body-quiver rave-up of a vocal. Definitely a disc highlight.

"Lights Went Out" is, alternately, a slinky shuffle of jazzy violin, twinkling keys, and an understated finger-snapping rhythm, and a vein-popping demon-release of blasting horns, ecstatic drum rolls, and Russell's full-throated hoot 'n' holler. The use of dynamics here is remarkable, as the song builds carefully from mood-setting atmospheres to dazzling fireworks by the end. "Universe" shows off Russell's - and her band's - samba chops, tossing Brazilian polyrhythms, sprightly horns, and mischievous flute spirals into a delightfully head-bobbing mix.

Russell doesn't delve into Portuguese, sadly, but she does instead speak fluently here in the language of scat, conjuring up images of a modern-day equivalent of Ella Fitzgerald's Brazilian excursions with a winning round of silly syllables - until she lets loose with a sassy wind-up over an increasingly more rumbling, thumping groove. Last of all, I should mention the cover song: just as Russell was able to take a song so thoroughly integral to an artist's DNA and somehow miraculously tailor it to her own style (see the aforementioned White Stripes overhaul for reference), Pot of Gold offers the spectacular re-vamp of Gnarls Barkley's "Crazy," a perfect moment in pop music if ever there was one.

Here, she strips away the electro-pulse - that irresistible hip-wiggler of a rhythm we've all heard a million times by now, but still as serotonin-raising as ever - and slows everything down to a creeping, gut-punching, gospel-soul testimonial. Removed from its familiar throb, "Crazy" is at its core a lay-it-all-out confessional. Russell gets it - and thus casts a mighty spotlight on the narrator's pain and troubles with a wrenching vocal delivered over a moody bed of bowed harmonics and the aching swells of a chorus of equally torn-up backing vocalists.

Traces of Cee-Lo Green's vocals are certainly present from time to time - I particularly love it when Russell pays tribute to the man with her read of the song's signature "ha ha ha bless your soul" bit - but rather than merely producing the female counterpart to the original, she has instead injected her own singing personality into the version. By grabbing hold of one of this decade's most well-known songs and re-modeling it as one of her own, Russell has pulled quite the coup here.

Get "Crazy" with Alice and the band; here's a clip from the Nov. 10, 2008, show at the Independent: