Album Review: Try Me by Burny Reynolds
Alright, let’s talk about Try Me, the groovy little gem from Burny Reynolds. Released in 1973 on Surkar Records, this album is a funky slice of soul with a heavy dash of Rhythm & Blues. It’s one of those records that feels like it was made for lazy Sunday afternoons or late-night drives when you’re just vibin’.
The title track, “Try Me,” hits you right off the bat. Man, this song has a bassline that just won’t quit. It’s smooth but packs a punch, like a velvet-covered brick. The way Burny croons over the horns and rhythm section is pure magic—it’s the kind of track that makes you want to grab someone and dance, even if your moves are questionable. I remember this one because it’s got this sneaky energy that builds up slowly, kinda like when you’re trying not to hype something too much but end up losing it anyway.
Then there’s “If She’s Your Lover…”—this tune sticks in your head like gum on a hot sidewalk. The lyrics are simple, but the delivery? Chef’s kiss. There’s this raw emotion in Burny’s voice, like he’s lived every word he’s singing. Plus, the guitar licks in the background are so buttery they could spread themselves on toast. This track feels like a conversation between heartbreak and hope, which is probably why it keeps replaying in my mind.
What’s wild about Try Me is how unpretentious it feels. It doesn’t try too hard to impress; it just lets the music do its thing. Coming out of the US funk scene in the early ‘70s, it holds its own against bigger names without needing flashy production tricks.
Reflecting on this album, I can’t help but think about how music back then seemed more personal, less polished. Like, Burny wasn’t trying to reinvent the wheel—he just wanted to make people feel something. And honestly? Mission accomplished. Oh, and here’s a random thought—imagine playing this at a barbecue today. People would lose their minds. Funk never dies, folks.
