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All compositions by John McLaughlin 

Quite possibly the pinnacle of John McLaughlin's opus. If there is one recording by McLaughlin that you must have, this is it. Many factors have converged to create a fertile ground for this amazing gem. The Orchestra itself was at the time of recording this album at the absolute height of their creativity and the amount of positive energy that they were disseminating all over the world had reached the peak of the "white heat" intensity. Even if we put everything else aside, just listening to McLaughlin's guitar work on this album will leave us gaping in disbelief -- as one musician put it, every note that he plays here sounds like he's praying! Every bent string, every screaming note played by McLaughlin is a cry sent to the inconceivable spirit; every brunt of the deeply voiced, shimmering guitar chord is a prayer in earnest devotion to the spirit who, alone, can untie every knot and melt every sadness.

All ten compositions are nothing short of amazing. The barrage that opens up with the "Birds Of Fire" never really lets up; after the finishing screams of the last piece ("Resolution") fade away, we are left totally drained (emotionally and physically). The whole album plays like one incredibly coherent, amazingly dense and constantly changing melange of some undefinable, agonizingly aspiring mass of sounds.

Another highlight of this musical creation is Billy Cobham's drumming. It is totally fresh, unheard of, but at the same time strictly in function of the overall soundscape. He manages to literally keep the band hanging together even in the most critical and turbulent moments.
 

1. Birds Of Fire (5:41)

The album opens with three rather ominous blasts from Cobham's gong. The mystique that permeates the air is palpable. When the out-of-this-world arpeggiated guitar creeps in, shimmering like a giant snake, you find the hair on your neck positively standing on its end. The troubled, cloudy climate is underlined even more when the bass and the violin jump in with a somber, deep unison lick. Thunderous break when Cobham joins in on drums completes the gloomy, heavy scenery.
 
The shrieking, convoluted, highly irregular melody (played in unison by the guitar and violin) announces that something has definitely escaped any control. Before we are able to catch our breath, John jumps in with his mind-boggling guitar solo. Choppy, uneven, unpredictable, his guitar squirms in torturous agony. He soars, falls back, tries to climb again and again. The overall feeling that's communicated by McLaughlin is that of an unbearable yearning. Finally, unable to find fulfillment, he kicks back into the main melody. The violin joins in, and then both instruments get launched to the stratosphere, where they change the pace altogether into a more square, even flow. Soon, everything falls apart, and the band is back into that eerie, shimmering cauldron. This time, the bass lick is even murkier, deeper, and the violin sounds much sadder.

The second time around Hammer joins in with his Mini Moog (which sounds dangerously like an electric guitar). The terrain is even more slippery than it was for John. Cobham sounds like he's totally oblivious to any meter and is just letting everything, any sense of rhythmic order, fall through the cracks. The Moog moans and groans. Suddenly, it manages to break free. It climbs up at the blinding speed, and then, it starts screaming and trembling like a raw nerve. The pain, the agony is more than anyone could withstand.

Everyone jumps in for the final reiteration of the melody. They get catapulted into the stratosphere for the last time, and then, as everybody safely parachutes back to earth, Cobham picks up a complex groove and the post-partum jamming ensues. The band fades out with some weird screechy noises coming from the keyboards and the violin. Whew... what a ride!
 

Contrary to what some people think, this piece is not composed by Miles Davis, but is dedicated to him (by McLaughlin; that's why he put Miles Davis in the brackets, but forgot to say dedicated to). Even the superficial glance at the melody structure reveals that it simply is not possible that this composition originated from Miles. It is a typical long-winded McLaughlin melody. As we've discussed before, McLaughlin's melodies are usually very elaborate, very pronounced and muscular, usually spanning two or two and half octaves.

The piece starts with a barely audible drone coming from the keyboards. The equally quiet electric piano introduces the basic chord progression. This intro is a real gem. It is masterfully executed in a honky-tonk vein. To be able to fully appreciate the elasticity of Hammer's playing, it is best to listen to it by cranking up the volume as high as possible.

The "alley cat" vibe that was introduced by Hammer gets picked up by the band. Most prominent are the drums and the bass. They nail down the staggering tempo while Hammer (no pun intended) noodles and doodles on top of the rock solid foundation. McLaughlin states the bare bones power chords on his double-neck Gibson (the chords are executed on the twelve-string neck). Everything floats up in suspension, shaking and trembling like a bowl of jelly. This is a formidable sight to behold. Cobham announces the switch to the main melody by pounding his kit with all his might.

Then McLaughlin and Goodman unleash the melody. And what a melody it is! It's something like Django meets Ornette Coleman via Dixieland rag, or something like that. It definitely has a very far out feel to it.

The sneaky, wiggly melody spins our heads around for several turns. Finally, everything drops to the ground, and Hammer nails everyone (this time pun is intended) to stop in their tracks and stand still with his descending lick. Now a new, even more surprising twist occurs: Goodman's violin solo executed by plucking the strings. The sound he is getting with this special technique is marvelous, he's even bending his strings in order to get the more "dirty", bluesy, down-to-earth homey sound. Meanwhile, Hammer and McLaughlin are backing him discreetly with some amazingly fresh and unexpected licks.

When Goodman starts nearing the end of his soulful reciting, Cobham kicks in with such might, that it has to startle everyone. Before we know it, he releases his trademark torrent of the most macho drumming ever heard on record. Underneath this elemental rage, McLaughlin is keeping the flames going, by darting with some brief dragon-like fire breathing screeches. Finally, the hurricane drumming subsides, and we get to be treated to the most provocative and jagged guitar solo imaginable. It's a roller coaster ride that you'll remember for the rest of your life. Never before nor after has McLaughlin delivered such an original solo. Words simply fail me now...

Alas, the solo of such immeasurable intensity cannot last for long, and before we realize what was it that hit us, we're back into the groove, listening to the band giving 110% to deliver the closing melody. This time, it sounds much more hurried, conveying much less of an "alley cat" feel. But, that's exactly what we need. We need to see the end of this hurricane, we need to take a deep breath.
 

In a recent interview, Billy Cobham, commenting on his role in the original Mahavishnu Orchestra, mentioned that he never really felt close to McLaughlin's vision nor to his musical directions. He even said that he found those funny sounding song titles (like, "Celestial Terrestrial Commuters") to be contrived, frivolous and rather laughable. Ouch!

Nevertheless, just by listening to his playing on these songs, one could swear that Billy is in it with his whole heart. Just pay close attention to the unmatched enthusiasm that simply oozes from his drum intro to this "frivolously" titled piece.

This composition is actually a transformed and revamped "Binkey's Beam" that was originally recorded in 1969 (Extrapolation). The original bass lick is drastically simplified, and the melody is executed at a much faster tempo, which lends it a totally different outlook. At first, it's even difficult to realize that it's basically the same melody; one is simply left with the feeling that something in there sounds familiar. Only later on it may dawn on us that it's actually the good old "Binkey's Beam".

After the frantically executed main melody, the band stops kind of in mid-air, to create some space for Hammer and his avalanche-like synthesizer solo. Mixed very prominently in the central area of the stereo spectrum, his synth sounds like a trumpet or a trombone on steroids. It is actually very gorgeous, with masterfully executed whiplashes and it definitely carries with it tons of bite. Hammer's playing on this track is as hot as a molten lava. Eleven out of ten stars!

While Jan is sending his barrage fire in every direction simultaneously, Cobham and Laird are cooking and stewing underneath, producing a tightly knit tissue of pulsating organic mass. It is absolutely staggering to hear Cobham weaving his fractals-like patterns that defy any attempt to detect the underlying beat, or any recognizable rhyme or reason for that matter. His bewildering drumming patterns continue throughout this piece, interspersed with occasional breaks.

After the synth solo, the band picks up the opening lick and then John and Jerry begin their famous tradin' fours thing. John's playing is top-notch, displaying the impeccable taste. His invigorating lines propel Goodman into the unexpected heights of electric violin playing. The notes John is firing are ricocheting off the other instruments, while Jerry gets on the ball and sends those volleys back to where they are coming from. Soon, Goodman gets to be in the lead, with McLaughlin echoing the violin's phrases as well as Cobham's violent breaks. The exchange heats up; now they are not trading fours, they are trading twos (instead of letting the other soloist formulate his "sentence" in the space of four bars, they constrain themselves to two bars only). The steam is rising, and everything reaches a boiling point. Now they've stopped trading their lines, they got entangled in each other's phrasings, they are playing their lines simultaneously. When the guitar reaches the bursting point of simply exploding like a machine gun, they jump into the unison barrage of the highly rhythmical, repetitive melody. When the release is reached, Hammer rips through with his "trombone on steroids" synthesizer, delivering one of the most intense scarlet sounds that I've heard (assuming that sounds could be approximately codified via colors). The guitar and violin duo repeat the rhythmically punctuated melody, and then the synth starts its wailing at an even higher pitch. Finally, when the unison melody returns, it does not let up, but instead starts building up the crescendo, joined by the synthesizer, and everything balloons very quickly into the ascending pattern that explodes into myriad of colors, while the bass remains laying on the floor, pulsating, and utterly depleted. Bravo!
 

A brief segment of purely abstract (or, is it in fact concrete?) music. No melody as such, no recognizable harmony, no detectable meter or rhythmic pulsation... Just screeching, jarred noise produced by all the instruments simultaneously. Listen more closely to the guitar -- it's wild!
 

Things slow down a notch or two with this acoustic elegy (it is not completely acoustic, given that Laird plays electric bass). Only acoustic steel string guitar (probably Ovation), grand piano and electric bass. Again, typical McLaughlinesque melody: starts very high (Bb on the eighteenth fret on the first string) and quickly drops down considerably. The playing is very complex and virtuosic. For most of the first part of this composition, the guitar and the piano play the intricate melody in unison, while the bass underlines the turbulent atmosphere with very resolute, low notes.

When the long-winded melody is played out, McLaughlin kicks into an overdrive and delivers his trademark blistering solo. As is usual, he manages to cover the whole fretboard in amazingly little time, executing extremely complex runs with frightening precision and clarity. In the background, Hammer plays some interesting rhythmical patterns, ideal for fueling John's imagination. The overall impression is that of someone searching frantically, being overwhelmed with some romantic yearning in the midst of the full spring bloom (or, at least, that's the picture that tends to pop in my mind while I'm listening to it)

After John's solo, they repeat the middle portion of the melody, and then intensify the already dense rhythmic and harmonic structure by weaving quick, interlocking lines. Hammer plays beautiful right hand phrases on the piano (almost folk-like lines), while John throbs in the background on his guitar.

Finally, they sign off with a bit slower rendition of the melody, playing it solemnly, and dropping the last tear when they simultaneously reach the highest and the deepest note of the spectrum.
 

The overtly romantic mood of the previous composition spills across the boundary into this precious vignette. The teary, glistening mood of the "Thousand Island Park" is heightened even more in this song. As is the case with almost all other compositions on this album, the primary astonishing factor is the melody itself. McLaughlin paints his melodies with broad, bold gestures which reveal his deeply inspired visions. As is also usual in many other of his recordings, it is quite impossible to determine if this piece is located in a major or minor tonality, and it's also not your typical modal composition.

The overall sound gravitates toward the violin; it actually sounds as if Goodman overdubbed himself many times over, thus creating the rich, dense sound of many violins playing in unison. The guitar participates by only arpeggiating simple harmonies in the background, with the electric piano bubbling up with those teary, crystal clear runs. But the real life blood of this piece is to be heard in Cobham's masterful drumming. His impeccable control of pulse and his inspired playing with the tension/release factors is what keeps propelling this single-minded, monotone composition to those ever ascending heights. As the piece progresses, the melody never eases up, but gets hotter and hotter, only to reach hysterical plateaus towards the very end. This short piece is absolutely the most lyrical, meditative composition on the whole album.
 

It would be simply impossible to find any piece of music produced at any time (before or after this album) that could resemble even remotely what we can hear in this song. In other words, "One Word" is quite likely the most original composition ever written by McLaughlin. It is just not possible to put it in any musical category.

This is the most intense performance on the whole album. From the very beginning, every musician simply puts his 110% into it. The framework of this collective improv is so refreshingly unexpected and at the same time solid, that the musicians felt extremely inspired to contribute some of the best improvised lines ever recorded.

By now, it should come as no surprise to hear the song open with an exquisitely crafted melody. It wiggles all over the place, it soars, it crashes and burns, it makes our heads spin. The most brilliant of all is, beyond a trace of a doubt, the guitar work. Completely disarming in its originality, McLaughlin's treatment of the electric guitar on this piece leaves us flabbergasted. It is the pinnacle of the whole album. It is also beyond the reach of mere words -- you must hear it to be able to experience the depths of McLaughlin's genius.

The total freedom within this marvelous framework is explored by all the musicians. First, Rick Laird delivers his brilliant bass solo. What simplicity, what efficiency! In the background, McLaughlin and Hammer work marvels, supporting Rick all the way to the top. One would be hard pressed to find a recording where one could hear so much inventive comping on the guitar as there is on this song.

When all of a sudden McLaughlin kicks in with his guitar screaming at the top of its lungs, everyone immediately follows by intensifying their efforts. Now the "round Robin" procedure begins to unfold. McLaughlin's statement gets to be followed by Goodman's violin, which is in turn continued by Hammer's synth. Then, back to McLaughlin, and so the battle wages on. It's an amazing sight to behold. Essentially, it's "trading two's" pattern (each player gets a space of two bars to say, or sing, or dance something). In the depths of the background, Cobham and Laird are cooking and steaming, and with each new round the ominous, nasty brew rises more alarmingly toward the surface. Before too long, everyone doubles their efforts. The "trading two's" deal drops away and they jump into the "trading one's" (each musician gets only one bar to craft their screams). As the screams intensify, all etiquette falls by the waysides and now they are interrupting each other, eager to express something of utmost urgency. Pretty soon it turns into a melange of overlapping screams and screechy noises. The tension of the cacophony is unbearable. And then the whole cauldron explodes, clearing the space for Cobham's drum solo.

This solo fits perfectly with the rest of the improvisations in this piece. It is quite a lengthy drum solo, displaying some extremely complex patterns. It is also an amazingly busy solo, and because I'm not a drum, I can't really analyze it. All I can say about this solo is that it's very attractive and quite appealing in the context of this elaborate piece.

When the drum solo is over, the band reconvenes with some apparently disorganized attempts to re-state the opening lick. Soon they manage to get in synch, and then unleash a barrage of hysterical licks that sound like the screams of some mythological creature. The piece ends when everybody lets go and rapidly repeats the main melody.

A perfect follow-up to the unfettered partying on  "One Word", "Sanctuary" is the most somber, brooding piece on this album. It starts slowly, with an ostinato bass line and a dark arpeggio played by McLaughlin. Cobham's shimmering cymbals underline the mysteriousness of this dark, enchanting music.

Long, sustained notes played by the violin and the guitar introduce the melody. The melody itself is also inordinately long. It breathes slowly, sneaking around the rock-solid deep bass pulsations, climbing up very gradually. Jerry's violin sound and John's guitar sound are matched almost perfectly. It's a deep, rich sound (almost purplish in color)  with just a little bit of distortion. As the melody slowly unfolds and the tension creeps up, the drumming intensifies. Finally, it bursts into an all out assault by the whole band. They play the agony in unison, rising and falling back, like a giant dragon who is wounded and is breathing in pain.

When the agony subsides a bit, and the band quiets down, Hammer introduces his flute-like synth solo. This solo contains some breathtaking playing, certainly the best improvisation ever by Hammer. After his fountain-like solo fades away, the band returns to reiterate the long melody, this time making it sound even more somber and solemn, and then finishes off with a big crescendo of shimmering sound.

A big surprise -- Mahavishnu playing some country music! However, this is not the ordinary, conventional country song. Although it opens with some pretty conventional country licks on the guitar backed by a very tasteful drumming, soon it takes some unexpected turns. After the lovely main melody, played on the violin, is finished, the band startles everyone by kicking in with such might that you're in danger of actually spilling your drinks. The blindingly fast descending lick is played ferociously by the guitar, violin and the synthesizer. Then, some rough, choppy playing by the band is embellished by the extremely wild improvisational lines by the three frontmen. First, McLaughlin delivers his neurotic, uneven, staccato solo, filled with some undefined religious fervor. The band repeats the blistering descending lick, after which Goodman jumps in with some devilish violin playing. The by now familiar descending lick interrupts him and clears the stage for Hammer's wailing on the synth. Before you know it, the same high-strung lick hits again, and McLaughlin unleashes his frightening barrage backed by Cobham's thunderous drumming in unison. Each time a soloist finishes his round, the band breaks in with that fast lick. The last two solos, by the violin and the synth, manage to really raise the roof. The lick returns for the last time, and then the band opens up to a completely new vista.

All of a sudden, as if emerging from the dense fog, a crystal clear and squeaky clean world emerges. Bright sunshine, gorgeous flowers and lush green vegetation make your heart skip with joy. Complete bliss overflows you as you watch butterflies flutter by. Razor sharp guitar and drumming pave the way for the joyous melody played by the violin. Jerry sounds like he's choking on his own tears, being overjoyed. Such an unmatched clarity of vision!

As its name implies, a very resolute ending of this flawless masterpiece. This short composition is a monolithic statement, somewhat in the vein of "One Word". It consists of an upwards spiraling melodic pattern. The climbing of the melody (played by the guitar, violin and synthesizer) sounds exciting at first, but after a while creates more tension than one would normally expect. It's like watching a giant balloon being blown up to the point of bursting. Every time you are convinced it's going to explode, it just keeps getting bigger and bigger. However, there comes a time when the balloon reaches monstrous proportions, and so the whole tension bursts, and the energy dissipates.

The band had executed this growing uneasiness with masterful precision. The sound coloring (strangely mirroring the soundscape on "One Word") matches perfectly the underlying tension. The indisputable star of this album, Billy Cobham, shines brighter than the others on this song too.