The tracks are masterful composed and deftly played. Especially the two longer tracks, “Doctor Honoris Causa” (From the liner notes: ”Dedicated to Herbie Hancock for his Honorary Doctorate at Grinnell University in Des Moines, Iowa”) and “Double Image” (”A concept of what man thinks he is as opposed to what he really is”). “Doctor Honoris Causa” is a patient work of ambience that unfolds through a slow modal pattern with a steady, gentle drum pattern, gaining momentum as it goes. “Double Image” is a frenetic Bitches Brew style free-for-all that would make it onto Live-Evil. Both tracks are equally effective, showcasing the duality of man Joe was talking about.

Between these two ten-minute-plus tracks are two shorter pieces. Joe’s own version of his composition “In a Silent Way” (what did I tell you? Mastermind. Also, “Impressions of Joe Zawinul’s as a shepherd boy in Austria”) and “His Last Journey” (”A tone poem reminiscent of his grandfather’s funeral on a cold winter day in an Austrian mountain village”). Each are warm, transcendent ballads that ride the line between tunes and soundscapes—years before anyone would throw around the term “soundscape.”

As if the four tunes before weren’t already abstract enough, the closer “Arrival in New York” takes it even further. It’s just shy of two minutes of tape loops and manipulated recordings meant to mimic the sound of traffic and foghorns, described in the liner notes as “Joe Zawinul’s first impression of New York when he arrived here as a boy on a ship from France.”
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And while Joe’s contributions to Miles’ work would be enough to warrant any jazz fan’s attention, it’s important to note that Joe is also the mastermind behind the fusion group Weather Report, who also released their debut in the same year. Not bad for a shepherd boy from Austria.

But it wasn’t just Miles’ group. John McLaughlin would become a ubiquitous presence in the jazz fusion scene of the 1970s, playing with Larry Coryell, Stanley Clarke, rock giants Jack Bruce and Santana, and leading the power house fusion group Mahavishnu Orchestra. 

And judging by this, his debut album, it’s easy to see why he would become such a giant in the scene. This isn’t nearly as out there as most of what he’d go on to make. Save for his electric guitar, this album is played by a traditional jazz combo—upright bass, saxophone, and drums. There are moments that sound reminiscent of a pre-free Coltrane. 

Until he comes tearing down his fretboard. His playing is mostly tied to conventional jazz technique, especially on the twin lines he plays with the bari sax. But every once in a while, some rock and roll sneaks in. Some of his parts (”Argen’s Bag” in particular) foreshadow some of the more cerebral post rock acts like Tortoise or Collections of Colonies of Bees. 

Often, debut albums from pioneers are little more than a curiosity. They offer glimpses of the genius that is to come, but are still too tied to convention to be satisfying. And in jazz, even the best sidemen have put out mediocre albums as band leaders. But Extrapolation is neither of those. This is a debut befitting his legend. 

The album is bookended by two questions: “Can we get much higher?” “Who will survive in America?” The album runs through ego that would make Narcissus blush. And while Narcissus is regaining his composure, Ye turns around and turns to the viewer to display the depths of his depression. It’s littered with lines that land like a suckerpunch. “’How’s Ye doin’?’ I’m surviving. / I was drinking earlier, now I’m driving.” Ouch.

This is an bleak and honest an album as Blood on the Tracks by Bob Dylan, cleverly disguised as a club-ready banger. And his sonic palette is top notch. After the stark minimalism of 808s and Heartbreak, MBDTF is sonically excessive. There are soul horns, lush choirs, a King Crimson sample, a bit of rock and roll, and, famously, a Bon Iver remix. From ballads to bangers, Mr. West hits every box here. 
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Despite its commercial friendliness, MBDTF is a challenging and rewarding listen. Despite being only thirteen tracks, this album almost hits seventy minutes in length. None of these songs are rushed. Even the bangers reach the five minute mark. “Runaway,” the first single (released via a short film, remember) breaks nine minutes. It’s a clear message that though West is a master of pop structures and textures, he is by no means bound to pop’s limitations. 

And if that isn’t Kanye West, I don’t know what is. He is the paragon of pop superficiality and celebrity excess, yet he is also an artist of the highest caliber. And between the youthful exuberance of his early albums and the defiantly non-commercial later works, My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy remains his best work.

That being said, I haven’t actually spent much time with this album. I think the first time I listened through the entire time was just a few days ago (I never had the patience for the Wishing Well suite). 
Don’t get me wrong: I absolutely love this record. The triple punch of Always & Never, Welcome Home, and Ten Speed (of God’s Blood and Burial) is absolutely perfect. And the album doesn’t really slope off after that. The entire disc (even Wishing Well, as I know now) is a masterpiece. Like In Keeping Secrets, this album finds Claudio & Co. churning out track after track of their hook-laden progressive metal. 
Read that again. I swear it’s not an oxymoron.
Usually, progressive metal concept albums about comic books written by the lead singer aren’t this catchy. Tunes like “The Suffering” and “Once Upon Your Dead Body” are straight up pop-rock master strokes. “Welcome Home” recaptures the spirit of Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir,” and doesn’t leave wanting. Ballads like “Always & Never” and “Welcome Home” were pulled straight of some hair metalist’s notebook. If this album isn’t as good as In Keeping Secrets, it’s just a notch below. Good Apollo is certainly mixed better though.
And so while I’ve never taken the time to properly get to know this album, I’m looking forward to it. Like a kid in high school that I never really talked to but I just knew was super cool, only to build a close friendship with them later in life. That happens, right?

Then came 2008… 

The subject matter was paired with a very specific aesthetic: all of the songs are sung, not rapped, drenched in autotune, accompanied by a retro Roland 808 drum machine. The resulting record is basically a concept album—and one that a lot of Kanye’s previous fans hated.

The autotune in particular was a sticking point for people. Why sing an entire album if you can’t sing? But naysayers missed that the effect’s use was entirely aesthetic. Such heartwrenching tunes sung in a robotic vibrato creates a powerful aural irony that makes these songs more affecting, not less. Anyone who wrote the album off also missed Kanye’s incredible sense of melody. The tunes he writes here are engaging and catchy. 
By all accounts, this album should not have worked. But its limited sonic palette and narrow subject matter ended up creating a laser focused album that succeeds because of its singular vision. 
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And if this album set the stage for a Kanye that was completely unconcerned with satisfying cultural expectations for his output, all the better.

On the longer songs, “Closet Chronicles” and “Hopelessly Human,” the group gives themselves permission to get proggy. Through their long runtimes, the group changes tempo, mood, and style on a dime.  

The natural standout is the heartbreaking ballad “Dust in the Wind.” However, it doesn’t have the potential it could have on a truly great album. This sort of track would do great as a penultimate track on a concept album: a deep breath before the storm of the finale. Here, it’s just a pretty detour. 
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All of this isn’t to say that prog bands should stay away from pop. Genesis, The Alan Parsons Project, and Yes all turned their progressive leanings into pop masterpieces with stunning success. Kansas falls a little short—even if this is, apparently, most people’s favorite Kansas album?

And while all of that is certainly true of this record, it doesn’t mean it isn’t fun. And this album’s popularity certainly shows it—this record has been through almost every record collection on earth.

The lead opener, the famed “Carry On the Wayward Son” is the most immediate track. But it doesn’t go easy on the prog tendencies—half of its five minutes are spent ripping through solos.

It’s a good look at what to expect, but don’t expect the rest of the songs to rock this hard. Hooks (and vocals in general) are far and few between on this album, saddled between lengthy instrumental passages that are, if nothing else, deftly played, traveling everything from baroque to metal. There are even a couple spots that feel a bit hoedowny.

While most of the tracks sound like they could have been radio hits in the 70s, the closer, “Magnum Opus” goes full prog. It’s a six movement suite that breaks eight minutes—most of that time spent without vocals. Is it bloated and self-important? Sure. But’s it’s hella fun too.
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And that’s the story of this record. It indulges in all of prog rock’s cardinal sins, and still manages to be an enjoyable listen. Nowhere near as painful as certain other prog records.