What follows next requires headphones—as much as you want to believe it’s muted electric guitar, it’s really a beautiful, fascinating pizzicato on Goodman’s violin, supported by more electric piano musings. The band then throws themselves into a brief summary, only to have McLaughlin and Cobham devastate the landscape, sounding like a ferocious firefight from the worst days of warfare, with machine gun-like guitar bullets flying in front of a bombardment of cymbal-and-drum mortar explosions. The song ends as the opening phrase is once again firmly planted in the ground like a waving banner.
Track seven, “One Word,” was born in the deep realms of space in a galaxy that contains life-forms unlike any found on Earth. Beginning with Cobham’s skintight inside-out snare solo, the band frantically careens through the very narrowest of channels like a bobsled race without brakes. They miraculously arrive unharmed and safe with the rescue effort of Laird’s solo, only to mutter and fuss behind his melodic tumbling notes.
However, it’s too easy to be safe, and in a three-way argument of “my opinion, and yours-be-damned,” McLaughlin, Hammer, and Goodman take turns venting their thoughts and gestures like a three-headed alien being with dramatic, flamboyant phrases.
The climax between the tension is reached as each man/creature tries to shout down his colleague with overlapping statements that sound like a marriage counselor’s nightmare day in the office, and Cobham steps up to clear the brawl. A muscular drum solo follows as he rolls effortlessly back and forth on his tom-toms, and the double bass drum pedals thump like a dangerous blood pressure reading. A series of staccato notes signals that the band is ready to snap its chains again and breaks into a final exhausting sort of cosmic orgasm.
