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It’s terrible to feel that everything you own is slipping away. It's the feeling that grips me every time the last track of a beautiful album I'm listening to for the first time is about to end. I had only that, those few minutes, it was my joy and my only thought and now, as the last notes fade, it vanishes, taking my pleasure with it. It's frightening to feel you only have a few seconds left. Sure, it will play again from the beginning a thousand more times, but it will never be the same. It's like when you find yourself once again in the bed of a woman you have so ardently desired: the pleasure will always be high, but not quite like the first time, because that first time you didn’t satisfy only your own organ but you praised and celebrated your entire ego. And as the last lights of “Future2Future” dim, I die only to return to normal life, after that merciful band has fed and caressed my soul.
Having survived an hour and a half of futuristic jazz (“informatic” I might say due to the massive presence of technological solutions), concupiscence has grown within me and has become an integral part of my minutes. Now it guides half of my actions. It is my second nature aspiring to become the first. Now I have two natures and, while electric discharges race through my cerebral vertebrae, I quickly lean toward having just one, the “universal concupiscence.”
Terri Lyne Carrington, less titillating than Sheila E. but equally skilled, stirred sinful thoughts in me. Scathing on the skins of her endless drum-set, sweet in voice, she is a concentrate of modern art.
Dj Disk is a little devil: he plays records and samples acting as Hancock’s “third hand”, as if he were the computer projection of the pianist’s mind.
The trumpet of Wallace Roney, killed in its original nature by endless effects and transfigured into an electric instrument “tout court”, resolves any contrasts between digital and natural sound: traveling between cyberspace and frames of the past, it reduces the distances separating two such different worlds.
Then there’s Him, Herbie Hancock, who starts off with a phrase (“Technology is now, wisdom is the future…”) a sublime synthesis of his entire career. He who has overturned every internal logic in Jazz. He who has contaminated even his own soul for the sake of experiment and upheaval. He who is not “a jazz musician” but who is “jazz.”
His courage as an incredible innovator finds in the DVD the ideal support: Future2Future is not the mere transposition of a product “for hi-fi” onto “screen.” It’s much more. It is conceptually a step forward. It allows you (my young budding George Lucases), thanks to the multi-angle, to choose for over 30 minutes of the total duration, the angle you prefer to see. Do you want to see Hancock’s hands dismantle the piano in the foreground? Good! Or would you prefer to accompany this image with that of Matthew Garrison's bass to notice the sync? Okay, said-done. In short, it is the triumph of Hancock’s music perceptibility.
Each instrumentalist has their own personal profile, with a brief history and a quick reference to the solo contained in the concert. It is a pleasure also regarding the special contents.
The only flaw I find is that the concert lasts only 104 minutes. Eternity would have been closer to the purity I have enjoyed.
As I hear the last breath of music fade away, an internal war breaks out in me: to enjoy for eternity that irreplaceable and golden pleasure encased in memory or immediately find the path back to the same enchantment, risking erasing the memory of the purity of the first taste or even losing it before finding it again? Oh, if only I could dispose only of passion without reason…
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