I saw John McLaughlin play (with drummer Dennis Chambers and organist/trumpeter Joey Defrancesco) at UMass several years ago. It was memorable for me because McLaughlin had been one of my guitar heroes since his Mahavishnu days back in the 1970s. It was a curious sensation awkwardly waiting in line amidst strangers half my age, overhearing them earnestly discussing my LP collection, much of which had been recorded before they were even born. (It was from a student from India that I learned the correct pronunciation of "Shakti" - with a broad -a- as in "bah", and emphasis on the final syllable.) A number of them were apparently student musicians, there to admire McLaughlin's technical brilliance as much as his artistry.

It was open seating in the concert hall, and I rather amazingly found an aisle seat in the 4th row. I settled in, waiting for things to begin. Here's what I said about it in my journal at the time:

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The house lights dimmed, the canned music faded, and the audience burst into applause. The black backdrop behind the stage moved, and a figure, still in shadows, stepped out, carrying a guitar, on which he began to strum improvised chords, shifting, changing, abstract yet subtly melodic, and he stepped forward into the light.

There he was!

Longish salt-and-pepper hair fashionably swept back; dark brown shirt with light tan pants and matching vest; and a dark red hollow-body wireless electric guitar. The long, pointed, English nose; the broad, not-quite lantern jaw; but now Animated, not just a scuffed photo on the back of an album cover. He seemed to be having trouble with a slight cough. He casually strode to his side of the stage, not thirty feet away, playing his guitar, while the organist and drummer took their places.

McLaughlin abruptly shifted gears and launched into a dark, choppy blues vamp, and he eyed the drummer as he hit the distortion pedal. Chambers picked it up and began pounding hard, as only he can, and the two of them skittered off playing a hard, acid-jazz-funk, bewilderingly complex and delightfully visceral all at once.

Chambers seemed to have attracted his own following, and after his first, brief solo, about a dozen kids in the front row stood up, whooping, circling their fists in the air over their heads for a few seconds before sitting back down. The drummer glanced at them with a bemused expression on his face, and acknowledged their kudos with a quick nod of thanks. McLaughlin, unobtrusively vamping on the opposite side of the stage at the time, also noticed the display; and at the end of the number, he made it a point to re-introduce the drummer to the audience. It was a nice touch, I thought, bespeaking a modest generosity and a willingness to share the glory.

The organist was a doughy, baby-faced young man I was unfamiliar with, but he played a nicely soulful line with rapid-fire arpeggios fitting of Mahavishnu. McLaughlin turned his back to us to keep eye contact with him during his solo, and kept him in motion by stroking dark chords from his guitar.

It was wonderful!

They played only one song I recognized, "The Wall Must Fall" from Mahavishnu's final (1987) album. It's a great jazz tune, with ample opportunity for rock-blues soloing; and they did a great job with it, so abstracting the theme that it was several minutes before I recognized it. The organist, in particular, soared here.

Immediately at the beginning of the second set it was clear that something was wrong. The organist had begun to play, and I could hear him just fine, but he looked startled, reached over to the amp and twiddled something, and started over. McLaughlin, who'd opened up the set by playing a long, introspective chordal solo, looked around, and DeFrancesco mouthed, "I can't hear anything". A technician ran out on stage, hunched over as if he thought we wouldn't be able to see him, and opened up the back of the amp. McLaughlin rolled his eyes and kept playing, but it was starting to get distracting, especially when the organist left his place and got down on his hands and knees to hold a flashlight so the tech could solder. Chambers looked embarassed, and his playing lacked conviction. Finally, McLaughlin began to sing, "I've got 10 seconds to go/let's get it fixed!", and actually stopped playing and started to walk offstage. The audience laughed a little nervously, but DeFrancesco grabbed McLaughlin by the arm and spoke briefly with him. The organist sat back down, McLaughlin returned to the spotlight, and they took off again, a little distracted at first; but they made it up to us!

McLaughlin has always seemed to favor strong drummers (Billy Cobham, Mike Walden, and Danny Gottlieb with Mahavishnu; Tony Williams with Lifetime; Zakir Hussaine and Trilok Gurtu with Shakti and other world-music outings), and Chambers was a perfect choice for him. Throughout the rest of the set, they maintained eye contact, grinning and mugging, challenging one another to top each provocative riff, continually raising the ante. Chambers plays in bold, primary colors, and while he's perfectly capable of playing a cool, straightahead jazz 4/4, he's at his best hammering out the kind of jagged, loping funk that worked so well on Scofield's "Dirty Rice". McLaughlin was clearly loving it, but seemed to be having a little trouble with his left hand. I wondered if that was the one he'd injured several years earlier. Yet he still managed to fling out a good, five-minute cadenza, the distortion pedal flat to the stage, and the audience screamed and whooped in excitement. There was one kid in front of me on the opposite side of the aisle who must have been partly responsible for the rank, cumin-like odor I'd noticed while in line outside: he held his head, doubled up in a near-fetal position, then thrashed and bobbed in his enthusiasm. I laughed aloud: this might have been the first REAL music this kid was hearing, and he was hearing it fresh, unpasteurized, unhomogenized, and from a man old enough to be his grandfather.

McLaughlin finished with his characteristic clanging, dissonant power chord, and the drummer, who'd been burning just hot enough to keep McLaughlin aflame, slowed down, then started kicking out yet another riff. He fixed McLaughlin with a sly, sardonic grin which McLaughlin returned, shaking his head as if to say "I can't! I can't do another one!". He gestured to to DeFrancesco, who then ran with it for a while. McLaughlin walked to the far side of the stage and sat down for a well-deserved rest break.

At any rate, the three of them riffed, bouncing ideas off one another for 2 hours more, long after the set was supposed to have ended. Whether it was to make up for the set's uneven start or whether they just really got into it doesn't matter; it meant an evening of pure, distilled improvisation for the rest of us, and was one of the most satisfying musical experiences it's ever been my privilege to enjoy. The obligatory curtain call was a gentle, playful duet between McLaughlin and DeFrancesco, on trumpet this time, recalling the guitarist's recurring gig with Miles; and it ended with the two of them walking together offstage, still playing, as if arm in arm. A perfect dessert, sweet yet light!

All this for nine bucks!

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Tags: band, concert, music, writer's block