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In the hills of Highland Park, California, there's a little label that could, a group of audiophiles adept at scavenging the world's lost bargain bins in search of the golden and the glittering. Cold Heat is only one of many fine funk finds from Stones Throw Records, a collection of lost soul classics discovered in dusty Midwest thrift stores and Salvation Army outlets. Resurrected and remixed, Cold Heat offers a juicy bit of what once was: deep bass vibrato, high and perfect horn sections, towering Afros, and polyester pantsuits that belled nicely at the bottom. The packaging includes some incredible faded Polaroid memories, yellowed news-clippings, and more than one pale blue ruffled tuxedo. Every band holds its own, but there are some standouts: Detroit Sex Machines doing "The Stretch," and Michael Liggins & The Supersouls going sly and slinky on "Loaded To The Gills." The instrumental numbers -- Carleen & The Groovers, "The Thing," the Ebony Funk Band's "Drug's Ain't Cool" -- are wonderfully, relentlessly groovy. You can clearly hear the massive influence of James Brown and The Family Stone, but almost none of the acts included on Cold Heat made the big time. Most were merely local boys who saved up pennies from late-night club dates and high school prom gigs to put their thing down on vinyl. The result is an undeniable innocence and a good-vibe positivity. Plus, there's that utterly uplifting sound of players playing, not for fame or fortune, but for themselves.
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