Jaco Pastorius
Smoke On The Water - Live In Rome, 1986

A little more, or a little less, than a bootleg. Elevated to the status of a proper record because a name is a name, it sells, and the name of Jaco Pastorius sells. Rome, December 1986, Jaco had already played in Italy that spring; he returned again paired with Bireli Lagrene, but accompanied by Serge Bringolf on drums instead of Thomas Borocz. It's a trio even more oriented towards rock: it opens with "Smoke On The Water," followed by "Purple Haze" & "Third Stone From The Sun." The indispensable "Teen Town" and then "The Star Spangled Banner" - Jimi Hendrix's love is well known.

Obviously, we're not talking about a rock power trio. However, it's true that it resembles one. But there's "Reza," there's the usual "Invitation," a bit of "So What" within "Broadway Blues," the showcase "Honestly." In summary, the jazz is there, the funk is there too: it's not that Jaco isn't Jaco. It's just that Jaco is tired, ill, physically and mentally debilitated. He doesn't play like he could, he's lost his freshness. It even happens that the electric bass is merely a canonical accompaniment to the guitar, which is, after all, what it usually does, but not in the hands of Jaco Pastorius, not only. Despite this, the power is still all there, along with the desire to amaze and have fun - who expected the Italian anthem?

However, to say that this is an indispensable album would not do justice to what Pastorius has played in his career: it is not a fundamental album. It's an album for enthusiasts, difficult to understand if the context is not considered: we are a few months before Jaco's death, who is alone, abandoned by most, away from the limelight, torn between bipolar disorder and drugs. A man at his end, honestly. For this reason, I think of the albums from his last performances (besides this, the Live in Italy and Honestly) as Jaco's last farewell, and the fact that they were recorded in Italy makes them feel even more mine.

It's a controversial last farewell; we must be understanding with a great genius: smile melancholically, shake our heads, maybe even cry. Because in December 1986, Jaco is no longer the unattainable; he is still an exceptional musician, but with little left to say. He says it, or rather he screams it, and one must listen because who knows, he might say something great right at the end, right at the point of death. For me, it's not like that, but who knows.