Dark Magus [Vinyl]

In the context of Miles Davis' early '70s electric experimentation, DARK MAGUS seems like the final overload. It is a wall of screaming sound; a descent into a sonic abyss from which there can be no escape. The band is a polyphony of rhythm, three banshee-like electric guitars, two saxophones trying to make some harmonic sense of this post-modern revival meeting, and one headless-horseman of a trumpet player guiding the tempest.
The four pieces performed at this Carnegie Hall concert bear only a passing resemblance to the give-and-take playfulness established on IN A SILENT WAY, but the textures have multiplied. The saxophones are perched in free-jazz territory, Al Foster's drums are an unstoppable ball of energy, and Mtume's percussion suggests King Tubby's experiments with every phrase. When he wasn't stretching his trumpet lines past every conceivable breaking point, Miles would summon dark storm clouds on an electric organ. The voodoo was definitely in the house, and the weak of heart were probably carried out on stretchers.