Chick Corea
The Mad Hatter (Falling Alice)

THE REVIEW

Guaranteed. I don't understand a damn thing about music.

Yes, sure - allow me the controversy - I probably understand more about music than the website manager at the Ministry of Labor understands about websites. But anyway, it's a poor consolation. Let's say that even you - whoever you may be - if we make a comparison, know more about complete orthogonal systems in Hilbert spaces than he (or she, who knows?) knows about websites.

But anyway, the purpose of this review is not to make a veiled controversy (which perhaps the more attentive among you might have caught) against those who - let's say - do a job but don't know how to do it. No, the purpose is to clarify that I, for one, don't understand a damn thing about music.

Because, well, take Chick Corea. I don't know if you know him, if you have any of his albums. Sure, you've probably heard his name mentioned (unless you're my boss and don't claim to be a conservatory graduate). You may know that he played with Miles. And not just in any old pieces. In Bitches Brew, in In a Silent Way. Two masterpieces. Or Return to Forever, with Al Di Meola. And with a thousand others, which if you read his Wikipedia page is a succession of oh!, of admiration. Of: wow!. Of: ah, right! (in my particular case a light bulb on Flora Purim, once I'm done here I'm going to look up something).

Sure, then, scrolling down the page, you see his embarrassing 2004 photo (I'd pay to have it removed), or the whole Scientology story (NO, THANK YOU). And then - well - I really don't like Latin American stuff (with one, small exception, this one).

But you read about a thousand records. A thousand important things. But for this one, the one I'm finally talking about, no mention. This one here is an album from 1978. Just a few years earlier, Corea met a woman. Her name is Gayle Moran. She is a soprano. They meet. They like each other. They get married. Together they make some albums. One - The Leprechaun - never spoke to me. But this one, it did.

But you need to be patient. Listen to the first tracks. Be patient, it's not bad music. Listen, maybe while doing something else. Because then the fifth track comes. It's called Prelude to Falling Alice. And from there something happens. A strange thing. Hard to explain. As if - suddenly - everyone loosens up. As if suddenly Gayle starts being Gayle, Chick starts being Chick. Each with their own character. Each with their own music. With two musics, two very different worlds. And with the joy of discovering each other. With the joy of finding a way, a slant way, a particular way, an unrepeatable way, in which these two worlds, these two different musical universes can get along. And it goes on like this. For the rest of the album. With a soprano singing as a soprano, and a jazz pianist, with Latin sympathies, playing as only he can. And everyone else, too. And it goes on like this, for all the following tracks, for a good half hour, maybe more.

You imagine them there, not thinking about anything anymore, letting go, doing what they know how to do, doing what they like to do, listening to what they like to listen to. And perhaps they didn't even know.

Happy with what they hear, happy with what they give. Happy to create a world. New, different, slant, unrepeatable. Happy not to be Chick, not to be Gayle. To be something different, together.

In short, it's guaranteed. I don't understand a damn thing about music.

But I love this album to death.