Grace Jones arrived on the disco club scene in New York City in the late ‘70s and quickly became one of the most popular and charismatic people around the whole Studio 54 scene. She had forged a very successful modeling career that allowed her to travel and keep a high profile, but that wasn’t enough for her and she set about become a recording artist after signing a contract with Island Records in 1977. Jones had amassed a rather large and loyal gay following based completely on her dominatrix alter-ego and her penchant for favoring a rather androgynous look most of the time.

Island and Jones hoped to capture the buzz around her on vinyl, and although there is some interesting material on her first three albums (Portfolio, Fame, and Muse), they were pretty straightforward disco offerings that were a dime-a-dozen at the time. A little fanfare was generated, and Jones really capitalized with her sexually overt stage shows. It was Jones’ fourth album that broke her on an international scale and saw her become one of the most unique and challenging artists of the decade. 

Jones’ decision to leave the world of disco behind was a masterstroke as it found her in the Bahamas at Compass Point Studios working with producers Chris Blackwell and Alex Sadkin.  Also along for the ride was guitarist Barry Reynolds and drummer Sly Dunbar, as well as a select few who helped create one of Jones’ finest albums to date. There is no disco to be heard on Warm Leatherette; Jones’ first love, reggae, served as the main inspiration here. The group fused New Wave and electronica sounds into the mix, with Jones’ unique style of singing ranging from demented cabaret to enchanting reggae and everywhere in-between. 

The title track is a great example of how easily it seems these guys found the right sound for an artist as challenging as Jones. Its stripped-back and funky arrangement is the perfect foil for her delivery. A reggae version of the Pretender’s “Private Life” sounds ridiculous in theory, but when Jones works her way through the controlled anger of the lyrics, it really fits together superbly. Just as fascinating is the electro-pop of Roxy Music’s “Love Is The Drug,” with which Grace proves that she can actually sing quite well. 

The enchanting reworking of Smokey Robinson’s “The Hunter Gets Captured By The Game” is a stroke of genius, and as much as I love Smokey, I think this now is the definitive version of the cut. Just as fun is Jones’ take on Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers “Breakdown.” This song probably lends itself to the style and ambiance of the record easier than the others, but the team once again goes for the feel of the original while putting their own twist on it, and it sounds fabulous. 

Reynolds’ “Bullshit” was left over from his work on Marianne Faithfull’s masterpiece Broken English; here it sounds tailor-made for Jones, giving it the usual twisted treatment. “Pars” and “A Rolling Stone” offer more of the same and round out this exceptional album in which Grace Jones finally put that “X factor” into a raw and unique sound of her own. Warm Leatherette, along with its follow-up Nightclubbing, still stands as Jones’ best material, and although she has done some brilliant work since, it’s these two albums that epitomize the Grace Jones we all know and admire.

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