Poor Paolo. He wants to be James Brown, funky horns'n'all, and people lump him in with Jameses Blunt, Morrison and Arthur. That'll be why the 27-year-old Scot had taken five years to unleash this third album, an ambitious stab at morphing into a mature soul man. And it's worked. Gone are the jaunty crowd-pleasers, replaced by real grit and passion. Yes, he's still raiding Grandad's vinyl: Wilson, check; Stevie, check; Curtis, check. Stacks of Stax. And if he's not the new Marvin, he is the new Terence Trent D'Arby. You can carp about lack of innovation, only to be won over by sheer talent. Put Paolo way ahead of the Jameses.