The Upstarts, Live In New Orleans (Independent)

Someone must answer the call. So many headaches, heartaches, backaches, cracked hearts, turned-down raises, unanswered messages—someone somewhere must agree to undertake the balm. Into the breach, this fivesome (plus James Martin on sax) playing somewhere near you, sometime soon, maybe now, comes to say in their matter-of-fact way, that the healing has begun.

And the masterstroke, really, is to give that audience not only what they want (funk of groove) but some of what they’re feeling. An inoculation against future blues, or at least, the for-the-moment balm soothing. When the singer admits in a slightly tired, slightly strained voice that he isn’t Willie Nelson’s “Superman,” take that home in a sack. Just a touch of mortality, towards realness. “Can You Get To That,” in Funkadelic’s hands, sounded like a victory march, every offbeat popping “yes” to the title. The Upstarts’ singer’s seen a few sad sights over a few sad nights. He wants to believe, but he knows a little too much to make the leap. So Bonnie Raitt’s “Love Letter” takes on desperation, the boasting of Keith Richards’ “Big Enough” clunks like a hollow gourd. The Upstarts give it to you both ways, and heaven bless ’em.