As the house band at Motown throughout the '60s, the Funk Brothers were arguably the greatest hit machine the world has ever seen. Yet nobody ever knew who they were. Three decades later, director Paul Justman tracked down the survivors and brought them out of obscurity to pay belated tribute to the men who made the Motown sound. Evocative and nostalgic stuff.
There's a great moment in Don't Look Back where Dylan informs a disbelieving reporter that he's as good a singer as Caruso, qualifying the claim by stating he hits all the notes that he wants to hit. Robert Wyatt is of exactly the same mould. That quavery high pitch and childlike annunciation spring from one of contemporary music's most original voices.
Much of Solar Flares documents an artist in transition.
The latest Swedish cowboy, Jonsson was praised early last year for his subtle-sweet EP Then I Kissed Her Softly. Having trodden European boards with Damien Jurado and Rosie Thomas, the 23-year-old's LP debut roots itself in similar earth. There's much of Jurado in his downcast tremble, while Fredrik Wilde's pedal-steel and Carl Edlom's softly cantering piano brighten the corners. "Shades Of Green" and "Black And Blue" shuffle with the kind of milky-moon sadness Neil Young patented on After The Gold Rush. Elsewhere, there are hints of the Palace Brothers and Low.