Herbie Hancock
Feets Don't Fail Me Now

This album starts off refined. In the first two tracks, Herbie looks around regally, then it begins... He acknowledges the moment to push the button for the ultimate transcendent funk that brings the Christian frenzy of striving for unity to a paroxysm joining the infinite.

I repeat, "You Bet Your Love" & "Trust Me" magnificently mislead, also thanks to the hypnotic use of the vocoder, to where things are heading, and Hancock is the wizard who makes you suspect nothing and suddenly blows on the alchemical cloud and throws his precious jewels to the "swine" (see the cover), and the relentless and unrepeatable "FUNKY SITUATION" begins!: "Ready Or Not" and "Tell Everybody" change our core with a divine blackness where we understand that they hold the power, and that’s it.

On "Ready Or Not," a bass kicks in that is funk on earth, then the choruses of Julia, Maxine, Oren, and Luther take us to a sonic paradise where we understand perfection exists, then the percussion and everything else start, and with pleasure we stay there being overwhelmed while even our blood platelets start dancing, wearing flared pants.

A crucial note is that for "Tell Everybody," you need to stick to the vinyl version or the CD reissue from funkytowngrooves because, after cooking us with a frantic rhythm, from 6:29 to 6:40, it takes you to zones where control and rationality get blended into a shake: this is the FUNKY CELEBRATION!

And then afterwards, "Honey From The Jar" starts suave, with that damn vocoder-filtered voice that drives me literally crazy, and then at a certain point, Herbie, impossibly bold on the keys, decides to reveal to us the third secret of Fatima of keyboards (from 4:15 to 5:53) and we weep insane from the unveiled divine, while his lunch buddies Ray, Eddie, James, and Bill follow him on the stroboscopic pyramid as if it were nothing.

Magnanimous in the last piece to orchestrate and enlarge in a variety of an alienating dance hall the funky hallucinations of the previous tracks with a friendly "knee" to the lower abdomen, but by doing so he spares us fatal fibrillations where we savor the wisdom of the master who uses the black belt only for sporting purposes and not personal ones and refrains from cutting heads with a manifest superiority accompanied by the monster performance of the fellow adventurers, because these guys, when they play, are monsters, monsters...

And no one dares to start a challenge against these extraterrestrials, and a feverish and happy aggregation is created that makes even the stones shake their ass. EVERYBODY!!!