Art Edmaiston
Dennis Marion
Anthony Cole

There's nothing particularly different about this MOFRO album - it's just a stronger distillation of the band's vision. Like the three previous very fine records, the focus is on JJ Grey's soulful, deep-south vocals and earthy tales while the sticky, slow-grinding funk grooves of the band push the songs along. But like they say, if it ain't broke don't fix it, and this might be MOFRO's best effort yet.
There's a celebratory vibe to the chorus of the title track while the introspective last cut "I Believe (In Everything),"with its liquid guitar line, full-bodied horns and gospel backing vocals, is enough to draw a tear. Packed between are ten more songs that move from the ominous piano crawl of "She Don't Know" to the juke joint banger "On Fire" to the sympathetic strings working with understated harmonica on "Dew Drops." While the tempos dip and sway they're always covered by shadows and thick air.
JJ Grey & MOFRO are one of the preeminent southern soul-blues bands of the day. Everything is rooted in Grey's Florida backwater roots and the man is the real deal. Orange Blossoms is the newest chapter of a timeless band with legs to run the long race. Like the state flower that adorns this album's cover, each time MOFRO deliver an album you can smell the place as it instantly transports you to Grey's back porch staring out over the swamp.
Standout Tracks: "Dew Drops," "I Believe (In Everything)" AARON KAYCE

JJ Grey & MOFRO have been gradually making a name for themselves since the early side of this decade, and following this summer's release of their fourth studio album, Orange Blossoms, it looks like things are going to keep getting bigger and bigger for the front porch soul man from Jacksonville, Florida. The 2007 release of Country Ghetto saw JJ Grey's music break out into a larger audience with the help of quality promotion and a good deal of radio play. But with Orange Blossoms, it's starting to seem as though Grey and his MOFRO cohorts are finally being seen and heard with the crossover appeal they've held from the start.

By: Hal Horowitz
It's difficult to find a review of JJ Grey's music that doesn't use the word "swamp" to describe his blend of deep Southern soul and murky funk. So that's taken care of in the first sentence here, which leaves plenty of room to focus on his fourth album's low-key yet surging backwoods R&B. The disc's title and title track refer to Grey's home state of Florida's official flower, but there is little that is floral or sunshiny about his music. Rather, the Jacksonville-based Grey prefers to hover in the gloaming, layering horns and backing vocals over grinding, midtempo blue-eyed soul. This is the most elaborately produced of his albums, but like the chitlin' circuit blues in his blood, there is nothing slick about it. Similar to the illicit affair at the heart of "Everything Good Is Bad," the disc's only cover (the original was done by the obscure act 100 Proof [Aged in Soul]), Grey's music generally stays in the shadows. The funeral piano that opens "She Don't Know" is jazzy yet ominous and sounds as humid and muggy as his hometown on an August night. Ditto for the strings that appear at the song's end and pop up like wild weeds throughout this dozen-song set. Grey has matured into a compelling vocalist and it is his emotional yet subtle singing that elevates this already powerful material. His sluggish Southern drawl on the funky "WYLF" (short for "what you're looking for") infuses a laconic, easygoing, almost lazy feel, a distinguishing characteristic of his style. That's brought into sharp relief on the sticky, sweaty sex of "Move It On," a sly, nearly seven-minute deliberate groover that sounds like something the Temptations might have recorded if they had been bred in the South. Although Grey deserves the bulk of the credit for this disc's unassuming success, longtime co-producer Dan Prothero (who has worked on every Grey/Mofro project) and in-the-pocket drummer Anthony Cole are crucial elements of the stealthy vibe. It's an album that grows on you slowly like moss at the base of a withered old tree and transports you to the dank, mosquito-infested bayou at the heart of Grey's evocative sound.