Chick Corea’s 10 essential performances
Chick Corea, the pioneering keyboardist and bandleader who died Feb. 9 at 79, will be forever regarded as a crucial architect of jazz-rock fusion.
It’s a fitting one-line tribute. Whether on his own, leading the collective Return to Forever or accompanying giants like Miles Davis (on landmark albums including “In a Silent Way” and “Bitches Brew”), Corea helped enrich the lexicon of jazz, merging its harmonic language with the heaviness (and amplification) of rock and funk. But no description, even one this broad, can encompass a vision so limitless.
Here are 10 of his elite studio and live performances.
“Miles Runs the Voodoo Down” (1970): Corea and Joe Zawinul form a wall of Rhodes on this slinky, funky cut from Miles Davis’ “Bitches Brew,” punctuated by John McLaughlin’s ice-pick guitars and Davis’ sighing trumpet. The rhythm section is so dense, it’s hard to savor it all: two electric basses (Dave Holland and Harvey Brooks), two drum sets (Don Alias and Jack DeJohnette) and the congas of Juma Santos. Good thing it lasts 14 minutes. The keyboardists shift from question marks to exclamation points — one moment prodding against the groove, the next soloing in colorful bursts of noise. “Trust yourself” was Davis’ philosophy, Corea said in 2020. “When he says, ‘Play what you don’t hear,’ he means, trust your imagination. Trust yourself to say, ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do next, but I’m just going to do it because it’s fun. Because I love it.’ ”
“Chris” (1970): Corea splatters electric piano all across this nine-minute monster from guitarist Larry Coryell’s “Spaces,” a pillar of early fusion. The arrangement seems to teeter between
structure and improvisation, straight groove and cosmic freedom. The lineup is the definition of a supergroup: Corea and Coryell, plus McLaughlin on guitar, Miroslav Vitouš (later of Weather Report) on double bass and Billy Cobham on drums.
“Spain” (1973): The rare fusion tune with a shelf life as a jazz standard, “Spain” remains Corea’s signature composition — covered by artists as different as Stevie Wonder and Béla
Fleck. The original, from Return to Forever’s “Light as a Feather,” is untouchable: Over nearly 10 minutes, the keyboardist’s hands joyfully pirouette across the Rhodes, his mellifluous melodies matched by Flora Purim’s tranquil coo and Joe Farrell’s fluttering flute. The chorus, with its clipped keyboard phrases and enthusiastic hand claps, ranks alongside Weather Report’s main “Birdland” theme as one of the catchiest moments in fusion history.
“Space Circus, Part I”/ “Space Circus, Part II” (1973): In its infancy, Return to Forever already rivaled the intensity of most ’70s rock bands. But it sounded positively massive on its third album, adding two new recruits (powerhouse drummer Lenny White and guitarist Bill Connors) and letting Stanley Clarke switch to electric bass. The group showed its full dynamic range on this two-parter from Return to Forever’s “Hymn of the Seventh Galaxy,” opening with Corea’s dreamy Rhodes theme before erupting into tightly clenched funk. Connors’ bruising guitar and Clarke’s distorted bass drift into psych-rock territory — but even when the keyboardist lays back a bit, his steady chords remain the heartbeat of the ensemble.
“Song to John (Part I)”/ “Song to John (Part II)” (1975): Corea’s acoustic piano slips into sumptuous New Age territory on the first half of these tracks from Clarke’s “Journey to Love,” trading fanfare with Clarke’s bowed bass and McLaughlin’s acoustic guitar. The group nails down an intense Latin groove on the second half, with McLaughlin
and Corea sparking fireworks. In the liner notes, Clarke dedicated the two-part piece to John Coltrane — and it lives up to the billing.
“Sorceress” (1976): The definitive Return to Forever lineup — Corea, Clarke, White and guitarist Al Di Meola — splintered after the 1976 album “Romantic Warrior.” But as this funky odyssey proves, they went out at a near peak. White is credited as composer here, and his fidgety drum groove certainly keeps the engine running. But “Sorceress” also finds Corea at perhaps his most versatile, keyboardwise — weaving in atmospheric pads, squiggly synth leads and Latin themes on acoustic piano.
“Spanish Fantasy” (1976): Corea was always influenced by Latin music, explaining “that flavor, I find, is mostly in everything I do,” to Billboard in 2019. “It’s a part of me. I don’t know how to differentiate it.” But he never plunged in more deeply than on his 10th solo LP, “My Spanish Heart.” The record peaks with this whiplash fourpart suite, which sprawls from elegant string and brass sections to acoustic piano interludes to the tastiest jazz-rock rave-ups this side of Steely Dan’s “Aja.”
“Homecoming” (1979): Corea and Herbie Hancock, two of fusion’s elite keyboardists, embarked on an acoustic duo tour in 1978, and the pair, both veterans of the Miles Davis bands, interlock to a startling degree on the two live LPs that emerged from those dates. One highlight is a 19-minute version of “Homecoming” from “CoreaHancock,” expertly merging their instruments into one organism. They move from beauty to ugliness on a dime — midway through, the piece morphs into a section of guttural grunting, percussive pounding and prepared piano madness.
“Rumble” (1986): Like most fusion giants who survived into the mid-’80s, Corea embraced the colors and contours of the time, forming his Elektric Band with drummer Dave Weckl, bassist John Patitucci and alternating guitarists Scott Henderson and Carlos Rios. The rhythm section runs free on this neon-coated number from “The Chick Corea Elektric Band,” defined by its twisting, Zappalike rhythms and Corea’s comically bright synthesizers.
“Crystal Silence” (2008): Corea reteamed with vibraphonist Gary Burton for the Grammy-winning, double-disc live LP “The New Crystal Silence,” built largely on reworked pieces from Corea’s back catalog. The duo had collaborated on and off for decades, and the music here feels appropriately natural and livedin — even full-blown Zen, like on the expanded take on “Crystal Silence.” Captured in crisp, studio-level fidelity, Corea and Burton trade phrases and counterpoint patterns, with the Sydney Symphony Orchestra rounding out that breezy conversation.