Quiet Sun
Mainstream

If albums were women, I could say that lately I have really been on a roll, so many adventures, feelings, and good sweats, some taken lightly, others more heartfelt, some leave their scent on you for days, others make you travel, some only to be caressed once or twice, others you can't get out of even if you spend weeks behind them.

And then there's this one, which catches you by surprise, you didn't expect it to go like this, even though at first glance and given the premises, you could have bet it would be a sure thing.

Quiet Sun, discovered by tracing backward the career of the drummer.

The premises: 1975, Phil Manzanera, Bill MacCormick, Charles Hayward, guitar, bass, and drums, also organized according to the oblique strategies of the always welcome Eno. I already feel disoriented. Phil and Bill I've already heard together, but not with Charles, who isn't kidding when it comes to brilliance and might have some unruliness to spare for the other two. There's also another guy; Dave Jarrett. And who is he? Ah, someone who went on to become a professor.

The listening: a total abduction, not too frenzied but well-angered guitar riffs welcome us into a Canterbury sound that brings to mind the red album by Matching Mole, maybe it's the Enologies or the MacCormick low notes?

The compositions are democratically distributed among the musicians and everything works great, in continuously homogeneously varied. Even Jarrett's works are surprising, you wouldn't expect it from someone you don't know, that he would write stuff like "Bargain Classics".

And then I should have imagined that Hayward, too, played a bit of prog before having that intuition, as a great artist, not to want to write the end of something, but to anticipate future times with those genius "This Heat". And if something had to end, it's him who writes the last track of the album "Rongwrong", which is immediately love and chills (later taken up in the famous "live 801"), exquisitely Wyattian in flavor, almost as if to say: if you think of wringing the neck of prog, go ahead because we are immortal.

Quiet Sun, my last great love.