Throughout jazz history, there is perhaps no greater convergence of fiery experimentation and boundless talent than the players that made up Miles Davis’ band during his electric period.

While Davis was leading them through incredible albums like In A Silent Way and Bitches Brew, the rest of the ensemble was creating fiercely exciting records in their own right. Chick Corea formed Return to Forever, Herbie Hancock was in the middle of his ambient Mwandishi period. Joe Zawinul released a solo record and formed the supergroup Weather Report. Tony Williams dove deep into funk fusion with Lifetime.

But it was John McLaughlin who had perhaps the steepest rise.

While the rest of these players had deep resumes by the time they started working with Davis, McLaughlin was a complete rookie. He had appeared on only three records, and only one of those was as bandleader. Tony Williams invited him to move from London (what sort of jazz scene did London have, anyway?) to the United States to join Lifetime. The night before record In a Silent Way, Tony introduced John and Miles at a party. I don’t know what happened at that party, but Miles invited him into the studio.

After that, McLaughlin was everywhere. He played on nearly every Miles Davis record until 1989. He played with Miroslav Vitous, Wayne Shorter, Stanley Clarke, and Larry Coryell.  He would even go on to collaborate with Santana.

But he was more than just a sought-after sideman. He was a brilliant bandleader in his own right, as demonstrated in his work with the spectacular Mahavishnu Orchestra.

While the basic premise of jazz fusion was combining jazz with rock and roll elements, no one rocked harder than Mahavishnu Orchestra. The Inner Mounting Flame found McLaughlin and company combining his jazz chops with his admiration for Jimi Hendrix and his fascination with Indian music. The result is a disc of unrelenting psychedelic rock that would go on to inspire groups like King Crimson and The Mars Volta (yes, King Crimson debuted before this, but they played for a long time).

McLaughlin’s molten licks are the obvious standout, but this isn’t a solo record, and it doesn’t play like one. He engages in aural battle against violinist Jerry Goodman and keyboardist Jan Hammer. Hammer adds to the chaos with his frequent experimentation with a ring modulator. Bassist Rick Laird and drummer Billy Cobham keep things tied to earth, setting some of the most furious grooves in jazz history.

“Meeting of the Spirits” kicks off the album with a breakneck tempo and intense fretboard acrobatics. “Noonward Race” rides a tight groove as McLaughlin, Goodman, and Hammer trade solos. “Dance of Maya” moves at a slow, menacing pace like it’s dragging a body through the desert, eventually crashing into a surprisingly sincere blues rock section before returning to do more violence.

It isn’t all chaos and frenzy though. “Dawn” would be a proper ballad were it not for McLaughlin’s volcanic guitar tone and an explosive interlude in the middle of the track. “You Know, You Know” is a patient, restrained tune in an odd time signature that was sampled by Massive Attack, Mos Def, and more.

It’s telling that while most of Davis’ players were making their own incredible records during this period, none of them were breakthrough hits. Inner Mounting Flame, on the other hand, made it to number 89 on the pop charts. And rightly so. This is a fiercely experimental record that manages to be surprisingly accessible without pulling its punches.