This week In Guitar Virtuosi 05/52

1 . Carlos Santana . Once It’s Gotcha (w/ Wayne Shorter & Patrice Rushen)

“Once It’s Gotcha” arrives as a peculiar entry on Santana’s 1987 album “Freedom,” which marked a shift back to the band’s Latin rock roots after their dalliance with ’80s pop gloss failed to ignite much enthusiasm.

The track is a multi-layered piece co-written by Cohen, Coster, and Johnson, featuring Carlos Santana’s fluid guitar work and restrained vocals.

Supported by a tapestry of percussion from Latin jazz stalwarts like Armando Peraza and Raul Rekow, the song flirts with complexity through its interplay of keyboards by Tom Coster and Chester D. Thompson.

The real intrigue lies in its live renditions, notably a Munich Philharmonie performance where Wayne Shorter’s exploratory saxophone and Patrice Rushen’s dexterous keyboard flourishes pushed the song toward a hypnotic jazz fusion territory.

Despite its promise, the album struggled commercially, peaking modestly on the U.S. Billboard 200. Still, the track endures as a reminder of Santana’s fluctuating creative trajectory in the ’80s.

Lifted from : Columbia publish Santana’s fourteenth album . ‘Freedom’ featuring Buddy Miles as . vocalist (1987)

2 . John Scofield . Acidhead

“Acidhead,” John Scofield’s opener on his 2002 album “Überjam,” lands with an electrified slap, catapulting listeners into a heady experiment where jazz rubs elbows with funk and electronic wizardry.

The track blurs genre boundaries, layering Scofield’s signature guitar work over an inventive soundscape peppered with sampled effects and unconventional textures.

Recorded at Avatar Studios in New York, the composition finds itself nestled in the curious space between precision and chaos, as musicians Avi Bortnick, John Medeski, Jesse Murphy, and Adam Deitch contribute to its controlled mayhem.

Medeski’s instrumentation veers delightfully off-road, from striking the clavinet strings to conjuring noises that hover between jungle ambiance and sci-fi alien transmissions.

The use of stereo effects and distortion doesn’t so much ask for attention as demand it, bouncing sound between speakers like a restless child hurling ideas into the void just to see what sticks.

While the track could devolve into overindulgence, Scofield and crew keep things tethered to a rhythmic core, showcasing their ability to flirt with experimentation without losing balance.

Positioned as the album’s mission statement, “Acidhead” signals a determination to sidestep convention, favoring gritty fusion over polished tradition.

It’s an invitation, or perhaps a dare, to rethink what modern jazz can be when cross-pollinated with electronic and hip-hop undertones.

The result feels less like a jam session and more like the sonic equivalent of abstract art—provocative, fragmented, and deliberately not for everyone.

Lifted from : Verve publish John Scofield Band’s album . ‘Ãœberjam’ (2002)

3 . Bill Frisell . Outlaws

Bill Frisell’s “Outlaws” wears two distinct coats, each tailored to the album it resides in, but both well-steeped in the guitarist’s idiosyncratic amalgamation of jazz, Americana, and eccentric charm.

The version featured on *With Dave Holland and Elvin Jones* is a sprawling 7:55-long dialogue, where Frisell’s guitar becomes a traveler crossing the highways of jazz fusion and dusty Americana landscapes. Partnered with Dave Holland’s impeccable bass lines and the late Elvin Jones’ muscular drumming, this “Outlaws” feels earthy yet cosmic, captured during sessions that balance raw improvisation with disciplined cohesion. Its springy rhythms and unhurried pace provide ample space for interplay, but it runs the risk of veering toward indulgent meandering for the less enamored ear.

Meanwhile, the *Blues Dream* incarnation of “Outlaws” is a leaner 4:19 and comes dressed in the technicolor hues of a septet. With Greg Leisz’s steel guitar gliding alongside brass contributions from Ron Miles and a host of others, the track becomes a kaleidoscopic swirl of jazz-folk storytelling. Commissioned by the Walker Art Center, the album marries folk’s narrative warmth with the intricate architectures of jazz, but the condensation here trims any fat, giving the song an immediacy that sidesteps the occasional longueurs of its sibling version.

Across these iterations, “Outlaws” underscores Frisell’s penchant for cross-genre curiosity—that sweet spot between a steel-guitar prairie and a smoky jazz cellar. Each serves its purpose: one as a caravan ride through an open expanse, the other a brisk, colorful postcard from the journey. What remains constant is Frisell’s sly ability to make introspection sound expansive, even if the terrain occasionally loops back on itself.

Lifted from : Elektra Nonesuch publish Bill Frisell’s thirteenth album . ‘Blues Dream’ (2001)

4 . Marc Ribot & Mary Halvorson . At The Stone (w/ Henry Grimes . Chad Taylor)

The 2014 performance at The Stone brings together four formidable minds of modern improvisation: Marc Ribot, Mary Halvorson, Henry Grimes, and Chad Taylor.

Each of these musicians carries a distinctive identity, and here they collide in what was likely a set as unpredictable as a weather report from Mercury.

The venue itself, a Mecca for experimental sound, serves as the perfect stage for their slippery, boundary-rejecting dialogue.

Ribot’s sharp, angular guitar tone, often teetering on the edge of chaos, finds itself mirrored and antagonized by Halvorson’s waveform-warping distortions and fluid harmonic approach.

Grimes—his bass playing rooted in mythic jazz history—anchors the swirling madness with a calm ferocity, while Taylor’s agile rhythms inject pulse without ever dictating direction.

What’s striking is how these four avoid traditional structure without leaning into outright entropy.

Their dynamic sensitivity could stretch a note into a hymn or collapse a melody into shards—gravity-defying magic that could come only from seasoned improvisers.

Though the setlist remains shrouded, one can imagine the air thickened with moments both abrasive and exquisite, each erupting like a question mark, not a period.

Ribot and Halvorson’s history of collaboration, from projects such as *Err Guitar*, adds another dimension—a push-pull dialogue between mutual respect and a willingness to sabotage convention.

While the details of this night may remain elusive, the essence is written in the language of risk, a celebration of what happens when four masters agree to meet but never entirely agree on where to go.

Lifted from : Mary Halvorson sits in with Marc Ribot Trio (2014)

5 . George Benson . Valdez In The Country

“Valdez in the Country” is an understated blend of sophistication and groove, an instrumental that resists flashiness while putting George Benson’s impeccable guitar technique front and center.

Originally penned by Donny Hathaway in a previous decade and often revisited by other artists, Benson’s version carves its own path, drawing from his 1977 album “In Flight,” a commercially potent work that flirted with pop sensibilities while staying true to its jazz foundations.

The track’s arrangement is both intricate and smooth, with Ronnie Foster’s keyboards and Jorge Dalto’s Clavinet adding textural layers to the funky undercurrent established by Stanley Banks’ bass lines and Ralph MacDonald’s subdued drum work.

Benson’s guitar alternates between conversational fluidity and moments of precise emotional articulation, never showing off but always commanding attention.

While “In Flight” as a whole benefits from its amalgamation of jazz, funk, and pop, this track stands apart by its unhurried precision, proving flawless execution doesn’t need to scream for attention.

Lifted from : Warner Bros. Records publish George Benson’s album . ‘In Flight’ (1977)

6 . James Blood Ulmer . President Of Hell

“President of Hell” by James Blood Ulmer is the kind of track that feels both ancient and otherworldly, a sonic collision of blues, jazz, and a touch of dissonant rock ferocity.

The chaotic yet intentional instrumental arrangement unfurls like a feverish sermon, with Ulmer’s guitar slicing through the layers like an unpredictable preacher wielding his truth.

The song’s hypnotic rhythms and twisting melodies don’t beg for clarity but demand you get lost in the murk, dragging the listener into a raw and shadowy realm of sound.

Ulmer’s voice carries a jagged, almost feral edge, as if it has endured the weight of a thousand rebellions, adding a biting layer to an already intense composition.

Lyrically, it teeters on the edge of cryptic and visceral, leaning into the profound while avoiding pretension, a balancing act Ulmer often seems to relish.

The cultural weight of the blues is undeniable here, though Ulmer drags it into a jagged experimental territory where tradition both bows and contorts.

This track pushes boundaries without feeling like an exercise in rebellion for rebellion’s sake, demonstrating Ulmer’s pervasive curiosity about sound and structure.

While some might find its restless nature disorienting, the song feels like a reflection of clashing forces, a world both rotted and reborn, which mirrors Ulmer’s ongoing musical evolution.

“President of Hell” thrives in its contradictions—not quite comforting, not quite abrasive, but undeniably magnetic in its audacity.

Lifted from : Happy Birthday James Blood Ulmer. ‘Blood Alright’

7 . Otis Rush & Eric Clapton . Crosscut Saw

“Crosscut Saw” carries a storied history, shuffling between blues luminaries who have each stamped their signature on this 12-bar standard.

Otis Rush takes the song’s bawdiness and funnels it through his gritty guitar work and emotive vocal delivery, evident in his live Montreux performance alongside Eric Clapton and Luther Allison.

Clapton, by contrast, lends a more polished, almost subdued interpretation in the context of his 1983 album “Money and Cigarettes.”

The track here feels like a methodical exercise—calculated and professional—reshaping the raw edges of blues into something cleaner, almost antiseptic.

Albert King’s 1966 version remains the definitive take, with his sprawling guitar licks and Booker T. & the MG’s injecting a funk-inflected groove that other versions can’t quite replicate.

What sets “Crosscut Saw” apart stylistically is its Afro-Cuban undertones, diced into the DNA of its New Orleans blues roots from an era when rhythm carried as much weight as melody.

Covers by artists like Stevie Ray Vaughan or Lonnie Brooks accentuate its jam-session credentials but rarely stray from the original blueprint, leaving critics to debate whether these echoes honor or dilute the song’s keystone charm.

At its heart, “Crosscut Saw” is less about reinvention and more a testament to blues’ cyclic beauty—an intergenerational relay race where each torchbearer adds just enough color without smudging the lines.

Lifted from : Eric Clapton releases his eighth album . ‘Money and Cigarettes’ (1983)

8 . Kenny Wayne Shepherd . Woke Up This Morning (My Baby’s Gone), Baby You Done Lost Your Good Thing Now

Kenny Wayne Shepherd channels raw emotion through his renditions of classic blues staples, “Woke Up This Morning (My Baby’s Gone)” and “You Done Lost Your Good Thing Now.”

Crafted originally by the legendary B.B. King, these tracks find new life in Shepherd’s hands, blending reverence for the originals with his bold, high-voltage flair.

The live performances, such as the 2017 Pasadena set, elevate Shepherd’s technical prowess, with cascading solos that surge between control and abandon.

Shepherd’s guitar doesn’t merely play; it cries, screams, and aches, echoing the blues narratives of love, loss, and resilience with every note.

In contrast to the bombast of his strings, Noah Hunt’s vocals bring a steady, grounded presence to the emotional core of these tracks, offering a clarity that juxtaposes beautifully with the storm created by Shepherd’s riffs.

Riley Osbourne’s spotlight moment on the keyboards in “You Done Lost Your Good Thing Now” deserves its own applause; his interludes offer a warm, honeyed counterbalance to the intensity of the performance.

With tracks like these included on the 2014 album “Goin’ Home,” Shepherd reminds listeners that the blues isn’t merely tradition—it’s a conversation, one he commands fluently while nodding to its storied past.

If anything, these covers demonstrate that reinvention isn’t about outdoing the original; it’s about stepping into its shadow and letting it shape your own artistry.

The result isn’t nostalgia, but a sustained connection between generations, where Shepherd’s fierce energy intersects with a genre rooted in pain, triumph, and everything in between.

Lifted from : Kenny Wayne Shepherd Band bluesifies Pasadena (2017)

9 . Joe Bonamassa . Don’t Funk With Me (w/ Rock Candy Funk Party)

“Don’t Funk With Me” manages to encapsulate Rock Candy Funk Party’s breezy irreverence, punctuated by Joe Bonamassa’s signature guitar licks.

It’s nestled within “Groove Is King,” an album that doesn’t just flirt with jazz-funk but wears its genre on its sleeve, insisting on your attention with a brazen mix of groove and wit.

This track, while not the crown jewel of the album, operates as an extension of the band’s personality—a jazz club thrown into a blender with a funk basement party.

Trumpets trumpet, saxophones saunter, and guitars strut, all underpinned by Tal Bergman’s precise yet laid-back rhythm section, anchoring the chaos with both finesse and swagger.

There’s a theatrical touch here, too, with ZZ Top’s Billy Gibbons donning the humorous guise of “Mr. Funkadamus,” the self-proclaimed funkmaster of ceremonies.

The irony is thick, but the groove is thicker, pushing boundaries without sacrificing accessibility—a tightrope walk few bands manage without falling into pretension.

The track largely owes its spark to the collective energy of its collaborators, teasing brilliant moments without exhausting the room.

If the album is jazz-funk’s confident handshake, this song is the playful wink that comes after.

Lifted from : Rock Candy Funk Party party in LA (2018)

10 . Prince . Controversy

“Controversy,” Prince’s 1981 title track, throws societal expectations into a blender and hits the highest setting.

The song isn’t shy about confronting rumors swirling around Prince’s identity—sexuality, race, religion—all poured out with a sly grin and a deliberate refusal to clarify.

The track’s synth-forward arrangement juxtaposes a playful melody with lyrics that challenge boundaries, offering lines like, “I wish there was no black and white / I wish there were no rules.”

Prince even audaciously recites the Lord’s Prayer mid-song, an act that feels at once provocative and strangely earnest.

The groove sneaks in under your skin, and the disco-tinged rhythm section practically dares you to stand still while it commands your attention.

Commercially, it caused modest waves on the Billboard Hot 100, yet it dominated the Disco chart for six weeks, proving its rightful home beneath mirrored balls and flashing lights.

Its 1993 re-release saw a resurgence in the UK charts, underscoring its enduring appeal and bold commentary.

The accompanying B-side, “When You Were Mine,” from Prince’s previous album, adds a bittersweet layer to an already eclectic package.

Prince plays both provocateur and poet, smiling wryly as he reshapes pop’s idea of what it can be.

Lifted from : Prince comes to New-Jersey (1982)

11 . Steve Hackett . El Niño

“El Niño,” a track from Steve Hackett’s eclectic album “The Night Siren,” appears to be an instrumental tempest wrapped in progressive rock finery.

Released on March 24, 2017, this piece channels the volatile forces of the weather phenomenon it’s named after, fusing sharp guitar riffs with swirling orchestral layers curated by Hackett and Roger King.

The album serves as Hackett’s musical tapestry of global unity, featuring performers from numerous cultural corners, but “El Niño” distinguishes itself by leaning heavily on Hackett’s signature knack for melding intricacy with immediacy.

Performed live during his 2018 tour with the Genesis Revisited Band and Orchestra, the song gains added gravity, benefitting from the vibrancy of orchestral backing, captured vividly during a Royal Festival Hall gig in London.

While the studio version is meticulously structured, the live rendition amplifies the track’s urgency, offering something less polished yet undeniably compelling.

Hackett’s technical prowess propels “El Niño,” but it’s the interplay between the familiar soundscapes of progressive rock and the unpredictable dynamics of orchestral arrangements that provides intrigue.

The result feels like a sonic storm—not subtle, nor particularly restrained, but evocative and bold in its execution.

Lifted from : Steve Hackett’ . ‘Wuthering Nights: Live in Birmingham’

12 . Toni Iommi . Supernaut, Sabbath Bloody Sabbath, Megalo

Black Sabbath’s **“Supernaut”** is like a scorching riff-fueled freight train that refuses to brake—ironic for a band whose name conjures imagery of doom and gloom. Fueled by Tony Iommi’s wah-wah pedal sorcery, this track from *Vol. 4* locks into a groove so infectious it reportedly snagged the admiration of icons like Jeff Beck and John Bonham. The band doesn’t overthink it; they double down on the riff and let Ozzy Osbourne’s nasal chants ride the wave. The track’s enduring appeal, including a revved-up industrial cover by 1000 Homo DJs, shows it’s an earworm that refuses to curdle over time.

By the time **“Sabbath Bloody Sabbath”** rolls around the following year, the band trades relentless groove for layered bombast. Tony Iommi emerges as a tortured artist pulling riffs out of personal despair, including what’s revered by fans as “the riff that saved Black Sabbath.” It’s heavy, it’s complex, and it’s raw—all attributes Slash and Brent Hinds salivate over. Yet, like a band running on creative fumes, it rarely graced live setlists in its full glory, with Ozzy’s aging pipes ensuring it had to be trimmed or omitted in later years. A heavyweight song struggling under its own significance, if you will.

Then there’s **“Megalomania”**, lurking deep within *Sabbath Bloody Sabbath’s* shadow but with an undeniable edge. At nearly ten minutes in runtime, it oscillates between pensive introspection and volcanic crescendo, making it more cinematic than headbang-worthy. The inclusion of “Megalomania” in Sabbath’s farewell tour medley felt less like a triumphant swan song and more a nostalgic curtsy for die-hard listeners. With Tommy Clufetos subbing in on drums during the band’s 2017 finale, it served as a bitter reminder that time spares no one, not even rock royalty. Together with fragments of “Supernaut” and “Sabbath Bloody Sabbath,” it stitched a patchwork of past glories, albeit one sewn with the frayed threads of legacy.

Lifted from : Black Sabbath play . last one in Birmingham (2017)