"Dust" (Van Hunt)

"Neo-soul."  Such an uninspired term.  It means nothing.  When you consider that everyone from Musiq to The Roots have been lumped into that genre (and I use the term "genre" loosely) at some point in their careers, it's clear that "neo-soul" is little more than greasy record exec-speak for "we don't know how to pigeonhole you."
Case in point: Van Hunt. 
I heard the song "Dust" from his self-titled debut for the first time at a Starbucks in suburban Charlotte back in 2004.  At the counter, they had the CD for sale with a description beneath it—something pulled from an online review that referred to Hunt as "a neo-soul crooner."
I had to wonder if the reviewer even had ears.  "Neo-soul crooner?"  If anything, I heard tinges of Funkadelic's raw, twisted funk, circa Maggot Brain.  A little of Sly Stone's Fresh.  Station to Station-era Bowie.  Maybe even a bit of post-punk (note the jittery crunch of the rhythm guitars backing him on the track).
What I did not hear was some "crooner" on a quest to make panties drop.
The lyrics alone to "Dust" reveal a deeper ambition than that.  Hunt's carefully chosen words convey someone in a tenuous mental state.  Whether it's the product of personal anxiety or chemical-fueled paranoia is not clear.  Lines like So you see, it's no blow to my sophistication / That I've gone crazy again could go either way.  Even the title and chorus leave you wondering.
And that's the intrigue of the song.  That's the complexity of this artist.  That's pure soul.  No "neo" to it.

"No Sense of Crime" (Van Hunt)

I generally stand by the statement that "an original is better than a remake."  But there are exceptions to every rule.  

More on that in a second.

Back in 1975, Iggy Pop cut some demos with former Stooges guitarist James Williamson in hopes of landing a record deal.  Story goes, in the wake of The Stooges' disintegration due to—what else?—drug problems, a depressed, self-destructive Iggy checked himself into the psychiatric ward at UCLA to kick his heroin addiction.  In order to record with Williamson, Iggy had to get permission to leave the hospital for a day.

The handful of demos they recorded were ignored by record execs, and the tunes sat, unreleased, for almost two years.  That is, until Iggy made a comeback (with David Bowie's help) via the ambitious art rock album The Idiot (1977).  To capitalize on his newfound renown, the 1975 tracks were quickly assembled for the album Kill City (1977), an immaculately ragged collection of music that is at once rocking and vulnerable.  Case in point: sitting in the middle of Side Two is a track called "No Sense of Crime."  It's a ballad at its heart; but it's a ballad that only Iggy could create, filled with self-destruction, regret, and ambivalence.  It has a bit of bucolic country jangle to it, yet it can't escape its "Sunset Strip at 4 am" urban desolation.  In fact, it feels like something that Jagger/Richards might have started for Exile on Main St. and Iggy/Williamson picked up and finished.  

Now, about my song of the day...

I never would have thought that "No Sense of Crime" could be recast as a Sly Stone-esque/There's A Riot Goin' On-influenced R&B number.  (Actually, it's kind of genius, considering that Stone's own career ebbs and flows have been largely related to his drug use, not unlike Iggy Pop.)  But the inimitable Van Hunt pulled it off on his album On the Jungle Floor (2006): Mellotron flutes and thumping percussion replace the lonesome guitars, and Hunt stands in for the Iggster, belting out the lyrics with no less passion, pain, and vigor.

And if there's any doubt in your mind whether or not Hunt can "own" this song, take a listen to the intro.  His narration kills me every time.  ("You may call in and request any song that you want, as long as it's one of mine...")

It's the most honest, inventive Iggy Pop cover I've ever heard.

And that includes David Bowie's reworking of "Sister Midnight" from The Idiot as "Red Money" on Lodger.

"Down Here in Hell (With You)" (Van Hunt)

I was beginning to think no one gave a damn about carrying the torch of Sly Stone, Stevie Wonder, Curtis Mayfield, Marvin Gaye, Prince...
Until I heard "Down Here in Hell with You" from multi-instrumentalist Van Hunt's 2004 self-titled album.  
What impressed me most about the track is that it's homage without imitation.  It's as if Hunt distilled each of those influences into some brand new intoxicating spirit.
It's also an incredibly smart song that examines the inner workings of a dysfunctional relationship, where neither the protagonist nor his girlfriend are satisfied unless they're making each other a little bit miserable.  (Yeah, it's psychologically deeper than 99% of your run-of-the-mill, modern R&B fare.)
Hunt also handles all of the vocals and plays most of the instruments himself, too, including the track's distinctive bassline, which grinds and gulps its way around the song's strategically placed flashes of Mellotron flute and funky electric guitar.

It amazes me with that kind of depth and talent that the guy got unceremoniously dropped from his label, Blue Note, in 2007.  Story goes, he and Blue Note had a mutual breakup.  But, in reality, they shafted him by refusing to release his critically-praised, funk-rock tinged third album, Popular, and then set the price so high on the master tapes that he couldn't afford to buy them back.  (Shady.)
Although, being dropped from their roster has freed him up to explore whole new dimensions of music as an independent artist without being pigeonholed as "an R&B act."  In fact, his newest stuff completely defies categorization: it's still rooted in soul and funk, but there are textures of everything from punk to New Wave in the mix.  His melodies also twist and turn in ways now that might take your ear two or three listens before it really locks into the groove.  But it's rewarding music if given a chance.
Definitely check Hunt out if you're unfamiliar with his work.  You'll be a fan for life.