Weather Report
Black Market

Then we talked a lot in those evenings
in some bar, after the concert, sleepless and dead
about politics, cycling, true stories
and how the Weather Report was strong..."

The quote is from "Keaton" by Francesco Guccini, a lengthy jazz-tinged ballad, a sad story without a happy ending about a jazz pianist "passionate and pure, in Rete Tre style." Being mentioned in a song by Guccini is quite a privilege, shared with personalities of the caliber of Arthur Schopenhauer, Roland Barthes, Jean-Paul Sartre, Charles Baudelaire, and, last but not least, Riccardo Bertoncelli, spiritual father of all of us reviewers, amateur and non. Was it true glory? Did the Weather Report deserve this inscription in the learned Guccinian pantheon? Judging from this "Black Market," it seems so: we can agree with the old hill-dweller from Pavana and say that yes, they were really strong. Strong like Inter this year (at least on paper) which can afford the luxury of having midfielders on the bench who would be the pride of any team, the Weather Report had an excellent reserve bassist like Alphonso Johnson, but on the other hand, the main player was a monster like Jaco Pastorius. The abundance in the drums & percussion department was downright brazen: one could choose between Peter Erskine, Chester Thompson, Narada Michael Walden, and others, for one of the most brilliant rhythm sections ever heard, necessary to support the crazy cadences of the two soloists.

And here they are, the irreplaceables (like Pirlo): Josef Zawinul, known as Joe, from Vienna, who somehow emerged to keep alive the tradition of keyboard virtuosos from a small country that was the center of world music for much of the 18th and 19th centuries. Who knows how this late fruit of Austria Felix met the excellent black saxophonist Wayne Shorter, a follower of Miles Davis' electric turn, (who, as usual, saw far ahead) and Jaco Pastorius himself. We don't know, but what's important is that the meeting happened, and it produced results like "Black Market", one of the most successful albums of what is called "fusion," "jazz-rock," or "rock-jazz," but which is in fact a practically unclassifiable genre because it contains everything, from the funky rhythms of "Gibraltar" and "Barbary Coast" to the powerful keyboard blasts of "Herandnu", so baroque that they remind us of the best progressive bands. Not only that: the rhythm changes within the same track are so numerous and sudden that it no longer makes sense to distinguish between a "ballad," a jazz-rock, and so on. A whirlwind of multicolored and acrobatic keyboard flashes alternating with warm sax breaths like the one that enlivens the initial "Black Market," with Zawinul, Shorter, and the others engaged in a show of skill, cannot be labeled in any way. "Cannon Ball" promises a languid slow, but it comes alive in the powerful central section, only to fade elegantly among the divine groans of Pastorius' bass and Zawinul playing with the highest notes of his endless rows of keyboards. On the driving rhythmic base of "Gibraltar," Zawinul and Shorter draw so many trajectories that no one notices that this track lasts 8 minutes. And here ends the territory of the keyboardist: the first 3 tracks were his.

Now we enter Wayne Shorter territory: an immediate turn towards melody is immediately noticeable. The dominant motif of "Elegant People" is a very warm sax solo, duly supported by the entire rhythm base, to which Zawinul also joins, renouncing for once to steal the show. "Three Clowns" again sees the two soloists in full swing, with splendid interventions: it's the only real slow piece of the album, with its dreamy atmospheres, the soft enveloping bass, drums, and percussion understated but punctual and precise. "Barbary Coast," signed by Pastorius, concedes little to melody, being entirely focused on the syncopated rhythm, perfectly outlined by the bass. Finally, "Herandnu," where Alphonso Johnson, overshadowed by Pastorius as a performer, redeems himself as a composer. It is one of the most fascinating pieces, with its unmistakable "circular" and hypnotic rhythm, which soon leads to a sort of frenetic keyboard outburst, before returning to a brief restatement of the initial theme, which fades gently and leaves us in absolute silence, after a total enjoyment that we would have certainly liked to prolong far beyond the 35 minutes of this masterpiece.