orn out of the digger's Mecca in San Francisco, Ubiquity, which spun off the Luv 'N' Haight label, has been a leader in the heavy funk reissue forum, after building its reputation on rare music reissues. Its focus has consistently been beats, beats, beats galore. Unlike fellow independent peer and hip-hop purveyor Solesides, Ubiquity has selected pieces of inspiration far and wide, across arbitrarily created genres, and without regard to Friendster preferences. True to its name, the ubiquitous characteristic of the label's music has always been, simply, a good beat. That said, the label's forays into reissue territory often mirror its contemporary catalog; in the face of crunk'n grime, Ubiquity and its subsidiary labels always appear fresh'n clean like an Orbit™ advert. However, the label is poised to change this perception with a series of soul, funk, and jazz comps sure to add welcome grit to a pink gum line.

Music store proprietor Scott Craig (Detroit Soul in Hawaii) compiles the first installment, Searching for Soul, and unearths stinky finds and subtle tricks originating from under the banner of the elk and moose. While fans of the Jazzman and Stones Throw deep funk releases will catch familiar whiffs—the well-documented Detroit Sex Machines and their now-undie-classic "Rap It Together" make an appearance—the scent is a refreshing blend of stank and clean that will throw smaller heads off the track. In other words, Ubiquity gives the kids a lil' more. The set opens nice'n easy with Tommy McGhee's low ridin', guiro-drunk "Give & Take," followed by Manual B. Holcolm's deeper dig into contempo funk rock and yesterday's big city blues on "I Stayed Away Too Long." Neither track yanks too hard, but both demonstrate calculated pulls—"Too Long"'s new melody on the bridge and subtle rhythmic expose to bring the chorus back in—and the presence of steady, experienced hands.

On one end then is the familiar, Ubiquity sense of professionalism. Robert Lowe (keep the jokes in your pants) slashes through "Back to the Funk" with Grant Green deft, looping a guitar lick backwards with the precision of a record fanatic trying to find subliminal messages on the platter (no surprise that he's old chums with both the Fabulous Counts and Lonnie Smith, as Andrew Jervis' liner notes explain). El Riot's "Do It Right" takes the prize for oddest cut out as its pussycat wows woo the listener into a scene filled with red lights, feather boas and one too many whiskey sours. Once again, careful arrangement makes sense of these transitions, using Arp then strings and flutes to steadily build intrigue.

On the other end is the rougher, not-quite-ready-for-primetime territory new to the label. The Black Aces of Soul and the Eyes of Ebony make a mad dash for blaxploitation car chase dreams with "Let's Get on Down"... from their basement. In a similar lo-fi manner, Dee Edwards hits high enough marks to be, as the liners note, a Motown coulda-been on "I Can Deal With That"; really, she should be an Atlantic shoulda-been, with her silky, caramelized tone. However, neither point addresses the subtle charm of this rough gem, such as the rhythm guitar in an unusually high octave that plays out a polyrhythm against the light congas.

Of course, first forays rarely come upon completely fiyah caches. Jake Wade & the Soul Searchers lend the comp its title via its Meters-esque instro, but little else that is comforting. The bass is incredibly out of tune (sharp!), unbearably so on the bridge, and can only be listened to quietly on a stereo in the background; please, do not play this out and, yes, it's a no-no for the headphones. Burning Desire's "Why She Had To Go" tries to turn it out on the Hathaway Ghetto tip, but fails due to a falsetto so forced it borders on ironic karaoke. The most egregious rip without a tip is Aged in Harmony's "Trust Me," a cut that misses the point of Love Unlimited productions: Barry White.

Still the diversity works to the compilation's advantage in several senses: first, as a nice sampler for funk novices, because of its familiar reference points (Lloyd Williams channels the Godfather on "Be Mine Tonight" while Robert Jay spikes his "Alcohol" with a snifter of Sly and the Family Stone); and, second, as a crate expander for deep funk lovers. Foremost, the breadth explicates the relationship between soul, funk, jazz, and arts from across the African diaspora. The similarity between these tracks originating from or owing an allegiance to the Motor City and the aforementioned comps covering the nooks and crannies of the States only emphasizes the local, communal nature of the heartbeat of America. Not bad for the new kid on the block, eh?