Jimi Hendrix- The Cry of Love; Rainbow Bridge (ALBUM REVIEW)

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Despite the fact all the numbers on Jimi Hendrix’ The Cry of Love  and Rainbow Bridge have been issued in different contexts many times in the past, it’s tribute to the lasting power within the music that, sans historical content or additional numbers, the (re)issue of  these titles on vinyl and CD (the latter for the first time), inspires some provocative thoughts.

Foremost of which is that the late guitar icon might well have benefited by an objective third party in the role of co-producer, similar to that of  his original mentor, former Animals bassist Chas Chandler. In contrast to the ultra-commercial approach Hendrix’ manager Michael Jeffery oversaw for  their initial posthumous releases in the wake of the guitar icon’s untimely demise (under the aegis of engineer Eddie Kramer and drummer Mitch Mitchell),  a single powerhouse album might be derived from a pared down assembly of these nineteen tracks. This strategy was recorded in the last years of Jimi’s life, as a project conceived as a double album called First Rays of the New Rising Sun.

The hypothetical sequence would exclude “Belly Button Window,” a clever idea, but non-essential as is “Astro Man,” a nod to Hendrix’ fondness for comic book heroes that sounds like nothing but a throwaway. Likewise too informal for its own good is “My Friend,” otherwise well-intentioned as a riposte to hangers-on. “Look Over Yonder” sounds like a mere re-write of “House Burning Down” from Electric Ladyland, while the studio version of “Star Spangle Banner” is redundant pure and simple given the live version from Woodstock is regarded as definitive.“Dolly Dagger” and “Earth Blues” sound incomplete, the former in particular half-baked, but the latter not much less so even with its topical bent. And “Straight Ahead” is superfluous given the keepers from the collection of tracks spread over two CDs.

“Freedom” alone renders that aforementioned tune redundant in both its chord patterns and theme, the latter re-enforced via Jimi’s use of the third-person for “Ezy Ryder.” Yet those songs derive directly from “In From the Storm” and “Room Full of Mirrors,” statements of deliverance and redemption, not to mention templates for slashing hard rock riffing. On the other end of the dynamic spectrum, there’s the ever so delicate likes of “Drifting” and “Angel,” quiet expressions of patience and optimism, the corollary of which is “Night Bird Flying,” Jimi’s objectification of the expectant state of mind this hypothetical album symbolizes; the Bernie Grundman remastering  reveals  guitars layered  in all their glorious detail here and on the instrumental “Pali Gap:” jazz-rock fusion years before the germination of the genre, it proceeds directly from the exploratory approach Hendrix took in the studio and on stage at this juncture of his career.

The resounding bottom in this mix comes to the fore prominently in this eleven-minute live rendition of ”Hear My Train A Comin’” (actually an excerpt from one of the best modern day archives releases, Live at Berkeley), reaffirmation of how ideal for Hendrix was his latter-day rhythm partnership. Mitch Mitchell’s drum patterns echoed the detail of the guitar, which only rendered indispensable the stalwart presence of Billy Cox’ and his comparatively simple bass lines as anchor for his comrades. Mitchell and Cox are the constants of multiple personnel appearing on The Cry of Love and Rainbow Bridge, the conclusion of which, “Hey Baby (New Rising Sun)” is a tranquil yet purposeful declaration of  Hendrix’ direction both personally and creatively .

If it seems fatuous to render obsolete almost half the tracks on these two discs, consider the arbitrary placement of these same cuts in previous collections. Programmed with this logic, these recordings bring to resounding fruition the emotional power of the songs, the depth of impact  few of Jimi Hendrix’ contemporaries (or subsequent progeny) could match.

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