At Fillmore
Nothing shows the emptiness of the ‘jazz-rock’ label as this album, which you would be hard pressed to call either, let alone ‘fusion.’
The album is wholly uncompromising from the first note. You can’t just sit and listen passively to this, any more than you can enjoy a picnic on a live battlefield or go sightseeing in a steelworks.
There are some nice moments deep into what was side three of the LP as I Fall In Love too Easily segues into Sanctuary, but the relentlessness of it got to be tiresome after a while. Four night’s shows were edited into a tonal monoculture; playing it is like walking barefoot and waterless across a drug-addled prairie. It’s an exploration of mood and tone rather than melody, which is fine, but this record is not for me.
I didn’t listen passively: I proactively turned it off.
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