Review
At first, singer-songwriter William “Smokey” Robinson — light-skinned, middle-class, girlishly voiced, hopelessly square — may seem like another immaculately polished widget off the Motown assembly line. Compared to the other great babymakers of ’60s and ’70s soul, he’s not as godly as Al Green, as deep as Marvin Gaye, as dirrty as Barry White. But as this 52-song, two-CD set casually proves, Smokey and his Miracles stealthily infiltrated the back seats and bedrooms of white America with near-ecstatic make-out songs about the cruelties of teenage romance. In the ’60s, Bob Dylan called Robinson the “greatest living poet,” and to imagine Dylan putting the moves on a hot folkie babe with “Tracks of My Tears” cooing from the record player is to picture the American dream come gloriously true.
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