heroic past, but Winwood's doleful vocals are in vain.
At times the album's bleakness is chilling: The gloomy "Graveyard People" and the grim "Walking in the Wind" have a moody power. But other cuts are enervating, particularly when Winwood sings faintly or flat, or when the band, succumbing to the import of the words, becomes listless. Occasionally, even in the middle of what is otherwise a muscular song, the music suddenly turns anemic as a result of either a poorly conceived arrangement or inadequate production. Winwood's increasing enthusiasm for jazz compounds this problem. "Graveyard People" is an attractive mix of Soft Machine and Herbie Hancock, but the extended jam on the dadaistic "Dream Gerrard" is laughable. Winwood attempts an awkward jazz piano solo and Chris Wood's saxophone is skimpy. New Jamaican bassist Rosko Gee acquits himself more nimbly but he is scarcely audible.
What's heartening about When the Eagle Flies is that Traffic appears to be moving in the right direction—away from the loose, interminable, nodding-out riffing with which it has dawdled for the past couple of years. The album's finest tracks are sharply defined and relatively concise songs, and as Traffic returns to its original quartet configuration, Winwood seems to be rediscovering his talent for composition. Since neither Winwood nor Capaldi is a particularly remarkable soloist, the new stress on structure frees them from improvisational burdens they have rarely been able to assume successfully. As an embellisher, Winwood is superb. Playing very little guitar here, he marshals a panoply of keyboards, bathing one song in melancholy mellotron washes, spicing others with pungent synthesizer accents and interweaving organ with electric and acoustic pianos.
Due to the cursoriness of its production, the vagueness of a few of its tunes and the quirks of some of Winwood's more mannered vocals in emulation of jazz, When the Eagle Flies is uneven, but its somber intensity and Traffic's change of course recommend it. (RS 173)
KEN EMERSON
