This sublime group has rather rapidly taken over top spot as my favourite Spanish Prog band, a nudge beyond Rafael Pacha, only due to the impeccable quality throughout their 5-album discography, from 1997’s debut “Transformation” up to today’s subject matter, “Seven Hills’. Only one personnel change to announce, drummer Miguel Diaz replaces Marco Anderson, the remaining cast revolving around the incredible guitarist Raul Mannola, fluid keyboardist Denis Bilanin, Nill Oliveira on elastic bass, and Juan Carlos Aracil providing flute, a perfect detail to their flamboyant jazz-rock/fusion stylistic. While some pundits will undoubtedly mention the Mahavishnu Orchestra as an influence, I am afraid I will not take that well-trodden path, as there are some overt differences, namely the preponderant Spanish colorations as well as the soft sheen of the flute which transport the stylistics into a parallel universe perhaps by still ‘miles away’ from the legendary combo. One common point to note, is all five instrumentalists are exceptionally talented, and Raul Mannola is undoubtedly going to stun a few guitar fans into abject awe.
The title track wastes little time in settling the listener into a comfortable mindset, a vivid reminder of just how manicured the interplay between them has endured over the years. Nearly 10 minutes of supple instrumental cohesion, the rhythm section setting the breezy pace , a musical travelogue of sorts where each instrument has a voice and a reason. The Aracil swirling around the divine, the electric guitar dancing along until it finally decides to break off the tender embrace and venture out of the comfort zone, the piano switching into rousing organ alliance that gets the juices flowing. The insanity has only just begun, as Raul rips to shreds his fretboard with raging bull fury, adding velocity to the anger, the flute coming to the rescue as if to heal the open wounds. Up to Bilanin to reveal his Brian Auger fetish with a rousing Hammond spotlight, just as intense as the axe assault, Oliveira and Diaz thrashing mightily along for the ride. What a slap in the face, I feel refreshed already !
My beloved e-piano appears to lead the band on “Blues for LC” , a tribute perhaps to either Larry Carlton or Larry Coryell (perhaps both), eventually shoring the line-up into the heady groove, a platform for Mannola, Aracil and Bilanin to trade massive slices of flurries, one wilder than the other. A slow burn finale puts out the fire, but gently.
Oliveira gets to initiate the next arrangement, his eventful bass guitar lighting up the runway on “Day Five”, nudging along his bandmates into a jungle feast of notes, where dense musical fruits hang from the surrounding trees, each musician picking theirs at random, savouring every bite. Bilanin goes on a piano splurge, cymbals akimbo, as if racing through an Amazonian clearing. When the bass pops, the brain gasps in delight. What an exhilarating thrill.
Diaz has his turn introducing the choppy “Feel the Cool Wind “, a temperamental breeze that may switch into a gale at any moment, the flute keeping the suspense alive and well. The electric guitar first carves a swath of oblique patterns, almost Picasso-esque, until the bass and flute decide to reembrace once again, the prefect opportunity for Raul to play mind games with a wide variety of playful interventions, capturing perfectly the idiosyncrasies of an upcoming storm. The insatiable e-piano returns for another romp in the wet fields, reminding one of a Brazilian dude called Deodato. Fun.
“No Return” has Raul featuring his acoustic guitar skills, a Spanish tradition to say the least, and his spot is exemplary, ably assisted by a brash rhythmic pulse, eventually revving up the engines, a slow and deliberate electric build-up that aches to explode. The only negative is that I could have enjoyed another 10 minutes of this!
“Wise Raven” is definitely a finale to crow about (sorry, I had to!), a 9 minute + masterclass in bluesy jazz-rock that pretty much serves to sum up what this band has to offer. Like the petulant bird, the track is altogether brash, cocky, even pesky at times, the insistence verging on mania, with endless ebb and flow, push and pull. The Aracil flute figures to once again behave like a soothing nurse, allaying any fears that madness may prevail. Does not stop the playing to be fast and furious. The scintillating electric guitar rant gets bullied along by that throttling keyboard undertow, and Raul just takes off into the wild blue yonder. Diaz even gets to pummel his kit with notorious abandon, as if playing in concert and earning applause. Forty-one minutes of unrelenting action, emotion, spills and thrills. Que maravilla!
This is a band wholly deserving of major recognition, keeping the legendary spirit of past-jazz-rock greats smiling with appreciation from above (Chick, Jaco, Joe, Wayne, Larry, Allan etc..). Muchas gracias, senores!
4.5 clear lights