Liverpool Sound and Vision Rating * * *
Creatively Chicago were one of the finest bands to have ever come out of America, they rank up there with absolute greats and their blockbuster of an album which they wrecorded live Chicagio at Carnegie Hall still rates as one of the finest pieces of music ever captured in the rawness of the stage show. Yet time moves on, the slight off putting stale, fragrant-less aroma comes out every now and then as you listen intently to the ensembles latest release Chicago XXXVI.
Form is everything at the end of the day, and yet you can win the championship by a single goal every match but it does not endear the public; you can be cheered on in the World Cup by an ever grateful set of fans but if you have won it by past reputation then what is the point?
Like the days when the beautiful city of Chicago was terrorised by the American gangster, when Al Capone ruled every quarter, something priceless has been taken from underneath the noses of the fan of Chicago, something has been sneakily devoured and whilst there a couple of tracks on the album that really get to the heart of what you want, innovation, revolution and advancement, tracks such as Naked in the Garden of Allah, More Will Be Revealed and Free at Last manage this, the rest feels as though decades have gone by but somehow Chicago is still under the similar rule of thumb.
All this aside, Chicago XXXVI is a technically superb album, it catches the vibe in its net and strangles the life out of it, but it seems to lack something tangible, something real and defining. Technically superb is all well and good, every piece of instrumentation just right and there is never a fault with work by names such as Ray Herrman, Walfredo Reyes Jr., Lee Loughnane and James Pankow who give so much to the energy being created, where it arguably lacks any type of heart is where the main stays of Chicago have departed from the originality that they gave to the world in the very early days, through to the classic Peter Cetera era and its cerebral beauty, unfortunately it feels very much like music by numbers now. You know where all the dots are, you can see the smooth straight lines connecting them but instead of seeing an innovating circle, the uniqueness of a tuneful Picasso shining through the darkness as a saxophone kicks in with the timing of church bell peeling Midday, there is a obviousness of the tired but functional square. It does the job, the sound is there but it just feels all too predictable.
Not the finest hour by a group whose history is built upon the strength of cool, of the unruffled fantasy and leading the way with abandonment, now the road map is far too clear.
Ian D. Hall