Classic Recordings, Al Di Meola, John McLaughlin, Paco de Lucía - Friday Night in San Francisco

Imagine we could all have one ride in a time-machine (only a matter of time, eh Mr. Musk?) that would transport you to a historic concert in the past... where, when and who would you choose to see? The Ellington band’s rebirth at the Newport Festival in 1956? Catching Ornette and the boys during their Five Spot residency in 1959? The Beatles at the Cavern Club? Maybe you could cheat and visit Woodstock for the full weekend? Last saturday I pulled out my copy of Friday Night in San Francisco, the legendary meeting of Al Di Meola, John McLaughlin, and Paco de Lucía at the The Warfield Theatre on 5th December 1980, and thought, as I do each and every time it gets a spin, “wow, I wish I’d been there”. It’s one of the most infectious, life affirming records I know; three brilliant guitarists at the top of their game, feeding off the appreciative energy coming from the boisterous audience, cheering them on to even greater heights of virtuosity.

Perhaps one of the reasons that Friday Night in San Francisco is so purely enjoyable is that it was recorded in 1980, a time when the musicians had paid their dues in the excesses of the seventies fusion explosion, so despite the ferocious strumming and picking flying about, they sound genuinely relaxed. McLaughlin had come up through London’s rhythm & blues and jazz scenes, recording one of the classic albums of British jazz, Extrapolation in 1969, before moving to New York in the same year to join Tony Williams’s Lifetime, through whom he was introduced to Miles Davis, making some of the key contributions to Bitches Brew. The hugely popular jazz fusion of his Mahavishnu Orchestra and the Indian crossover of Shakti followed in the seventies. Al di Meola made his name when he joined Return to Forever in 1974, and had gained a somewhat formidable reputation as the fastest picker on the fusion scene. He also had a deep love of Mediterranean culture, especially flamenco. Unlike the others, Paco de Lucia’s style was a product of the music of his native Spain, and became one of the proponents of the new flamenco style that introduced elements of jazz into the sound palette.

So, on to the music. There is a sense of democracy about the proceedings, the first three tracks being duos, starting with a medley of Di Meola’s jubilant ‘Mediterranean Sundance’ and de Lucia’s ‘Rio Ancho’. The pair had already recorded ‘Mediterranean Sundance’ on di Meola’s smash hit album Elegant Gypsy back in 1976, so the synergy between them almost five years later is nothing short of breathtaking, and sets the tone perfectly for the album as a whole. There’s inevitably an element of good-natured competition between the musicians, that’s where a large part of the excitement derives, but it’s always a team effort where the music comes first. They support each other, taking turns to lay out choppy rhythms for the other to solo over, switching roles at the drop of a hat. This opening salvo is so irresistible that, on first exposure to the record as a teenager, I often found it hard to get beyond it without skipping back to the beginning for another ride.

Up next, McLauglin enters to join Di Meola for Chick Corea’s ‘Short Tales of the Black Forest’, which dials down the intensity slightly, and frequently has them playing for laughs; tapping on the sound boxes, allowing for almost awkward silences, and at one point teasing, and then quoting the theme to the Pink Panther, much to the delight of the crowd. These were regarded as super-serious musicians, especially McLaughlin at the the height of the Mahavishnu Orchestra in the seventies, so it's a thrill just to hear them letting their hair down.

McLaughlin duets with De Lucia on Egberto Gismonti’s ‘Frevo Rasgado’, where the sensuality of the melody is never drowned out by the fiendishly fast picking that buoys it along, or even the blatant duelling that closes the track out. The ‘live’ element of the album is drawn to a close by all three trading licks on Di Meola’s ‘Fantasia Suite’, another fine example of his knack for an effervescent melody. The opening section has them whipping through runs in unison, before a more melancholic moment of twilight beauty, a moment of repose before the goose-bump inducing statement of the grand theme at around 3:40. All distinctions of who is playing what and when fly out of the window as they speed to the finale (the stereo placement helps us pick out the players, with de Lucía on the left channel, McLaughlin in the middle, Di Meola on the right). McLaughlin’s ‘Guardian Angel’ makes for a pleasing epilogue, and even though it was recorded in a studio a few months later, it feels perfectly at home next to the live recordings.