In 1970, I set off for the Isle of Wight with a rucksack, mountain boots and golfing trousers. Among the many concerts, which included those of The Doors, Jimi Hendrix, The Who and Joni Mitchell, my biggest surprise was the discovery of Lifetime, with Tony Williams on drums, Jack Bruce on bass and John McLaughlin on guitar.I was familiar with John’s first LP, “Extrapolation", produced by Giorgio Gomelsky in 1969, and had been greatly impressed by it.

At that time, in parallel with the Montreux Jazz Festival, which I founded in 1967, I was organising other concerts throughout the year and, in 1972, I was fortunate enough to welcome The Mahavishnu Orchestra – a concert that took place at the Pavillon some eight months after the fire at the Montreux Casino. To my great regret, this concert was not recorded. .

After that concert, I asked the band to come back to Montreux to perform at the Festival. For the closing night of the 8th edition in 1974, the programme comprised three groups: the Gil Evans Orchestra, followed by Muhal Richard Abrams on piano, gong and whistle (!) and The Mahavishnu Orchestra.

The powerful sound, the perfect complicity between John and Jean-Luc Ponty, an awesome rhythm section, a brass section and four violins literally stunned the audience !

In 1976, John came back with a completely different line-up by the name of Shakti. The combination with Indian musicians was a discovery full of freshness, virtuosity and sensibility.

As for the concert with Chick Corea in 1981, John gave the impression that they had been playing together for many years although they had only met very recently.

The Mahavishnu Orchestra returned in 1984 but with other musicians and, there too, the concert was remarkable.

Then came another prestigious duo with Paco de Lucia in 1987, followed by two performances by John with The Free Spirits in 1993 and 1995: the line-up is the same in both cases, and the guitar / Hammond B3 organ format with Joey DeFrancesco works wonderfully.

Yet another group arrived in 1998: The Heart of things. Audiences always appreciate John’s improvisation talents, and his skill in presenting very different concerts is truly exceptional.

Shakti came back in 1999, again with Zakir Hussain on tabla.

To complete the richness of John’s Montreux recordings, the improvised encounter between John and Carlos Santana on a title is presented on the bonus CD, along with another collaboration between John and Paco de Lucia in 1996. The 17 CDs in this box set constitute a live testimony of the concerts recorded between 1974 and 1999. It is a veritable musical journey with a creative freedom that only exists in concert situations where the artist can play without a safety-net.

To retain the freshness of the live recordings, the original stereo tapes have neither been revamped nor remixed. In an age where technology makes all kinds of effects possible, it takes the creative power of John McLaughlin and his musicians to dare to release music such as it was shared by thousands of spectators at the Montreux Jazz Festival.

McLAUGHLIN IN FIFTEEN APPEARANCES AT MONTREUX

John McLauglin has performed fifteen times at Montreux in four different places. Fifteen concerts, fifteen appearances, in the company of forty-four different musicians.

This series of fifteen spiritual exercises, in front of one of the most discerning, good-humoured, attentive and laid-back audiences of the late 20th century, was accomplished between 1972 and 2001. McLaughlin, whose discography is as extensive as it is varied, and can be compared to few in his time, says he prefers recording in public. He finds the atmosphere more open, less artificial than in the studio. The musicians are faced with their imperfections but are before their truth; the raw life of the music can be perceived.

The series of Montreux recordings reveals a freshness, a capacity for renewal and a flexibility in changing direction that are infinitely rarer than is believed. They oblige the listener to concentrate on the essence of John McLaughlin: his spiritual dimension, his sharp intelligence, his speed and his aptitude for a form of confrontation that involves neither rivalry nor competition. For him, confrontation is simply another incitement to yet more music.

In a way, and far more rigorously than a legion of eager disciples, McLaughlin is one of the rare musicians to have truly succeeded in taking Coltrane literally. What is he seeking ? And at Montreux, what does he seek on stage, in public, for everyone, before everyone, in life, live ? What is he seeking if it is not improvisation itself, the mathematics of the moment, focussed madness ?

As far is the improvisation is concerned, there are two fundamental schools: jazz and Indian music. McLaughlin seeks the winning formula of their intersection. At one stage, because of this, some preferred to believe in a popular synthesis on his part. It was more reassuring.

He pushes the experience to the limits of joy: More often than not, people confine it to performance, velocity, “technique". It is easier for them to make sense of that way.

His spiritual quest (Zen Buddhism), reflection and meditation carry this experience through. Out of ignorance observers reduce it to a secret adherence, which, out of wariness and courtesy, they do not dwell upon.

Technique ? “You misunderstand the meaning of the word “technique". Technique does not mean playing an avalanche of notes. It means playing the right notes at the right moment. Like with jazz."

With regard to technique, McLaughin has neither the amateur’s self-consciousness nor the apprentice’s admiration. He knows than many rock guitarists no doubt play better than John Lee Hooker, but none plays as well. He says the same of Robert Johnson, of the Muddy Waters of the ’50s, and Fred McDowell.

He began with the blues, which he considers the great foundation: Georgie Fame and the Blue Flames, Alexis Korner… After which, in 1956, at the age of fifteen, he swore by hard-bop and performed Horace Silver and Jackie McLean cover versions in a classic quintet. He then went from Brian Auger to Gunter Hampel, from pop to free. He disliked very free jazz, which he played for a while, but he did like Cecil Taylor, Pharoah Sanders, Sonny Sharrock, in whose company he recorded with Wayne Shorter - which was a sign - and the great Shepp of the Impulse albums.

In 1972, McLaughlin had already lived several lives. To begin with, there had been his first band with John Surman, Tony Oxley, Brian Odges - the cream of the British free scene (Extrapolation, 1969); his friendship with Dave Holland, who had facilitated his joining Tony Williams’ Lifetime in which he learned great freedom (Emergency, 1969). His path crossed those of Jimi Hendrix and Buddy Miles. Then came a three-year collaboration with Miles Davis, an edifying experience, following which, he took the name of Mahavishnu, becoming a disciple of Sri Chinmoy Ghose and releasing a solo album that served as a milestone: My Goals Beyond (1970). He then formed the first Mahavishnu Orchestra with Jan Hammer, Jerry Goodman, Rick Laird and Billy Cobham (The Inner Mounting Flame, 1971).

In 1972, he met another of his guru’s disciples, Carlos Santana: Love Devotion Surrender. When John arrived on the lakeshore, he was a thousand years early, a thousand years ahead of his time. In fact, he was neither ahead nor behind, as this question is meaningless in his career. But he had explored nearly all the crucial issues of the time and was already elsewhere. He was just over thirty years of age.

Over the years at Montreux - facing the lake, surrounded by the Alps that give the air its superb transparency with, far away in the distance, Chillon Castle, where Byron was imprisoned – in exceptional conditions (lighting, technical crew, sound, exactitude, hotel industry, spirit of the audiences, Claude Nobs’ enthusiasm), forty-four different musicians were to perform alongside McLaughlin. Among them, temperamental bassists, a legendary gypsy Flamenco artist, an Indian mandolin player, a few pop icons, a classical violist, four moustached Hispanics, as many violinists as percussionists of all styles and a few Miles defectors.

Miles came to Montreux as often as, or more often than John. That can be checked. Musicians, like painters, call each other by their first names: the public would do well to stick to surnames. Miles Davis therefore came to Montreux as often as, or more often than John McLaughlin. They never played there together.

Between 1969 and 1972, McLaughin contributed to seven of Miles’ albums: In a Silent Way, Jack Johnson, Bitches Brew, Big Fun, Get Up with It, Live/Evil, On the Corner. Scarcely had he entered the studio for In A Silent Way, with a Gibson Hummingbird flat top acoustic, in awe at finding himself in that exceptional situation, than the red light was turned on and the tapes started turning. There was big money involved. John saw Miles come sauntering over, lean forward, trumpet in hand, move his lips to his ear and murmur in that seductive toad’s voice, which had been sculpted with the burin of his rages: “John, play like you don’t know how to play."

Miles completely transformed his playing without him realising it. The sorcerer’s definitive gift.

After Miles

McLaughlin speaks of Miles as he speaks of music: with serenity, exactitude, and precision. He delivers his judgements on music with good-humoured assurance. He makes no mistakes. He knows that Miles hated repeating himself, could not stand it when something he said was not understood immediately. It is a rare characteristic, a sign of the impatient generosity of those who give everything.

McLaughlin has a keen sense of debt, of loyalty, of history. It is this that has allowed him autonomy and the possibility of breaking away. He is permanently paying off his debt to Miles and to those who taught him. He knows the price of discipline.

He believes in discipline, in technique, and in the relationship of mastery: His smile and his taste for freedom are rooted in it. As for speed, would anyone reproach Coltrane or a performer of Liszt for playing too many notes ? Like Miles, the exact notes must be played at the right time. Their number has little importance. That said, he has a natural ease and unlimited possibilities in his hands.

What was he to do with it all ? At the age of eleven, he played until his fingers bled.

He knew that when Miles invited him to collaborate with him in 1969, when John was twenty-eight, it was already too late. He had learned too much fundamental freedom in Tony Williams’ Lifetime. Backstage, in front of Sly Stone, he and Larry Young had danced like crazy. He could no longer devote himself to one person exclusively, even if that person was Miles. Particularly as the latter himself was pushing him, saying: “Put your own band together. The time is right."

Fifteen dates at Montreux

20 August 1972, 7 July 1974: Mahavishnu Orchestra. The first time as a quintet, with around fifty cases just to transport Billy Cobham’s drumkit. The sound was extraordinary. The second time they performed as an eleventet, with Jean-Luc Ponty and his blue violin, a female altist and violinist, and Michael Walden on drums.

McLaughlin’s biographies always read rather like a career plan that has been put together by organised demiurges. This is only a retrospective impression; it is impossible to fathom such a singular genius.

An attempt should be made to see certain other aspects: the solutions of continuity (the break-up of Mahavishnu); the alternation of acoustic and electric, the permanence of acoustic beneath electric; the art of separation (L. Shankar); the music’s spiritual approach at the risk of sacrifice (Shakti’s split); the pleasure of encounters; love; the role of oblivion and non-knowledge, the pleasure of playing and happy accidents; the passion of playing.

The questions, like the music, are omnipresent. What can be done with that vital energy, that elegance ? How can they be sustained ? What does moving towards perfection imply ? How can the desires of the other be responded to ? What can you do when all the musicians on the planet want to play with you and you with them ? How can appeal be acclimatised ? What can be done with success, with anticipation ?

And yet more questions: Vibrato or legato ? What if playing legato resulted in the flowing of long harmonic rivers, without rushing anything, discreet, with ascents that are all the more subtle in that they are hidden beneath brilliant virtuosity, with notes held like captive pleasure before they plunge into the depths of great secrets ?

In 1976 and 77, Shakti succeeded Mahavishnu. McLaughin broke away from Sri Chinmoy and went back to the six-string acoustic guitar: L. Shankar on violin, T.H. Vinayakram (ghatma and mridangam), Zakir Hussain on tablas. The following year, the group was more composite.

15 July 1981: a staggering duo, Chick Corea and McLaughlin. As Miles said, “the guys I used to play with knew how to do everything; today, they know how to do one thing really well, but only one…" Chick Corea and McLaughlin are among the last musicians who know how to do everything. Together, in public, they have enough energy and self-oblivion to lose themselves in the music, the interplay, the surprises - in what they do not know.

The adventure was repeated with Paco de Lucia (15 July 1987). In the meantime (1984), Mahavishnu reappeared, with Bill Evans (Miles’ blond saxophonist) and the incredible Jonas Hellborg on bass.

Then came a historic concert featuring many: the encounter with Carlos Santana (1993), when we notice, the Montreux performances were not so frequent. The trio Free Spirits (1995), the Heart of Things three years later (1998), the Remember Shakti (1999) and Shakti (2001).

Let us dwell a moment on the collaboration with Paco de Lucia. In the beginning, the specialised press knew very little about the man they saw as “very flamenco". In effect, Paco de Lucia is one of the 20th century’s greatest flamenco artists. Like the blues, McLaughlin had known (loved) the flamenco art since his teens. His achievement was understanding them, making their encounter possible, deflecting the great gypsy’s playing without taking away any of his personality. The audience immediately heard the secrets of the formula. In a milieu that is quite delicate psychologically (musicians in general, jazz, rock and pop performers in particular), something resulted from a remarkable form of wisdom, humour and generosity, from an interplay that can be perceived in many of the recordings: As a frontman, McLaughlin knows how to make himself discreet.

His questions are essential. He has been working on the guitar since the age of eleven. If two days go by without him having played he is miserable and irritable. His school, Miles and Coltrane. His questioning: why are there so few guitarists with them and none who plays in that style ? Why does he feel isolated ?

He turns this isolation into a means of acquiring more knowledge. He defines the limits of his celebrated technique. He does not over-estimate them, does not under-estimate them either. He knows his technique is a dynamically evolving state. Improvisation requires oblivion, you have to know a great deal to venture into unknown areas. He was the first to use complex altered scales, bent notes and odd meters with innovative distortions, power and rhythms. As he says, “the most beautiful thing is to play something for the first time in your life".

Does he have a formula ? Yes. Find a teacher, whatever he or she is worth – the student will very soon find his bearings - stay sincere, move towards the complex, dominate the instrument and commit yourself to exercises as you commit yourself to meditation. “Write down random sets of chords, then play them rhythmically - 6/8, 4/8, 3/8, 7/8, 5/8, 9/8, 11/8, 13/8, 21/8 – anything you want. Start with the first string and slowly play four quarter-notes to the measure – all downstrokes. Next, while maintaining the same tempo, switch to alternate strokes and start progressing from eighths to triplets to sixteenths to sextuplets to thirty-seconds to thirty-second-note triplets to sixty-fourths and back down again. Try with odd rhythms too, five, seven, etc. Divide five into two plus three. Go from one group to another without losing fluidity, work on several strings... Eventually you start finding chinks in your knowledge, and then some lights in the darkness."

Losing yourself in music is like starting to find yourself. It is what is called luck. You are laid bare in improvisation. You become aware of an infinite ignorance that you had forgotten. You lose sight of playing without ceasing to observe it. Zen Buddhism opened the doors of non-knowledge for him. Ramana Maharsi (Venkataraman Aiyer) was his first reading matter; Milarepa (1052-1135, Poetic Songs), Lao Tseu, Hatha Yoga soon followed. McLaughlin found his own variant. It can sometimes be heard in his music.

What do you do when you know too much and you know that this too much is nothing ? You move closer to knowledge, paradox, the mysterious enigma of levels of conscience. There is nothing dazzling, artificial or overwhelming in his playing: like the Greeks, like Bach, like great Afro-American and Indian music, McLaughin confines himself to precision, rigour and the humility of mathematics.

His smile comes from that interiority. What is curious about his enterprise is the continuity, permanence, persistence, and the adherence of the widest and most fervent audiences, to which this very important Montreux series testifies.

One evening, without warning, his favourite guitar, a Gibson J200, broke of its own accord. It exploded suddenly, with no apparent reason.

~ Francis Marmande

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