Herbie is a great man. So why this strange, woolly, worthy, saccharine worldy-jazzular pop sap of an album, in which the Tinkerbells of global pop drain a small tribe of "iconic" songs of all their blood?
Dylan cops it. Lennon gets what he deserves for writing the title track. The Beatles get the Dave Matthews treatment. Worst of all, Hancock gets John Legend and Pink to turn Peter Gabriel's lovely "Don't Give Up" into a Simon Cowell moment. Only Tinariwen preserve their dignity, and Bob Marley's.