Chicapah The adage “you can’t judge a book by looking at the cover” is never more appropriate and fitting than when discussing the jazz-related merits of Gino Vannelli. Many of his LP illustrations (and none more so than this one) are so embarrassingly macho that they not only border on but blatantly cross over into the realm of the absurd. Maybe the fact that he’s a “northern boy” conceived and reared in Canada explains his need to exaggerate his chick magnet persona to the nth degree. I really don’t know. I never saw Neil Young or any of the dudes in Rush baring their furry chest hair while glaring menacingly like a feral moose in rut, standing guard over his latest flimsily-clad female conquest as Gino does on the front of “Storm at Sunup.” Maybe he just had an overactive libido and/or low self-esteem. Whatever the reason for his silly posturing, it’s ridiculous enough to force me to keep the album sleeve out of sight so I’m able to enjoy the excellent music without bursting into laughter.

The fact is that the two Vannelli brothers and their revolutionary band were often extraordinary and quite daring in the early stages of Gino’s career. Joe Vannelli and Richard Baker didn’t just toss in samples of the newest state-of-the-art synthesizer technology; they made it the very foundation of their musical identity. On the album that preceded this one in ’74, the remarkable “Powerful People,” the group eschewed guitars altogether and relied solely on keyboards, drums and percussion to assemble the record’s formidable wall of sound. For “Storm at Sunup” they relaxed their defiant stance against stringed instruments and real horns a bit yet still they restricted them to making brief cameo appearances in a few of the cuts. Most of the music you hear on this disc was generated through Joe and Richard’s painstakingly layering synthesizer notes to manufacture a cohesive tapestry (the advent of polyphonic synths was in its embryonic stage in the mid 70s) and the result was nothing short of breathtaking. Graham Lear’s top-notch drumming and John J. Mandel’s fiery percussion warrant a considerable amount of admiration, as well. And once you learn to ignore Gino’s inane chauvinism you’ll have to admit that, in the role of the band’s only songwriter and vocalist, there’s obviously more to his talent than what so grossly assails the eye.

The album starts with a hint of obligatory synthetic thunder rolling in the distance followed by a dramatic, Broadway-style vocal-over-electric-piano introduction wherein Gino informs the lucky lady who was the most recent recipient of his lust that “if I could choose I’d calm this dawn/but the storm is me, insensible and free/now that you know I’ve come here to go/you’re suddenly sad you’ve been mine.” (I didn’t make that up. Lyrics were never Vannelli’s strongest suit.) Next comes several waves of lush, synthesizer-generated orchestration that crash repeatedly over Graham’s dynamic drumming before the band suddenly accelerates to warp speed. Joe delivers some jazzy electric piano while sprinting atop the dizzying tempo before guest Jerome Richardson rips into an exhilarating soprano saxophone ride. During all this pay close attention to Baker’s fantastic synth bass runs. They’re spectacular. The song’s ending is as grandiose as its entrance but they cleverly let a sustained note rise and linger as if suspended in air and it leads right into Lear’s drum intro to the strong Latin rock beat that drives the impressive “Love Me Now.” The tune sports an ultra-tight track, a delightfully unconventional chord progression and absolutely stunning synths. Word-wise, Gino continues his womanizing ways. “Yes, I know how much you need me/but I just patronize with this affair/’cause all my life I’ve needed to be/a man with a mind full of craves,” he callously confesses. I hope he has sought therapy by now.

“Mama Coco” is a Brazilian-tinted, rocking barnburner of a song that possesses a superb jazz atmosphere. Graham’s drums and Mandel’s percussion are particularly pleasing and guest guitarist Jay Graydon’s exuberant contributions give the number an electrified kick in the pants that jolts it into overdrive. The title is rather self-explanatory as to the subject matter but try not to choke on your Chablis when you hear Vannelli sing “Mama Coco, feed me woman food.” Don’t say I didn’t warn you. “Father and Son” is a jazzy ballad delivered sans drums or percussion of any kind. Gino does a decent job of vocalizing but this sentimental address to his daddy clearly shows that, without his crackerjack band, he’s just another, albeit boisterous and flashy, cocktail lounge crooner. At nearly eight minutes in length, “Where Am I Going” qualifies as the album’s most involved and multi-faceted cut. It, of course, is arranged with a theatrical flair in mind but by now that’s to be expected. Another compelling Latin groove propels this number that graciously allows Lear’s drums to shine brightly while Vannelli sings “losing directions from growing infections/poisoned desires of reaping life so young.” (A little too much personal information, perhaps?) The track drops into a luxurious interlude midway through before the group literally explodes into another fast-paced segment where Jay shreds on his fretboard impressively and the band’s hard accentuations stimulate your nerve endings. They wind up back in the samba room where they prepare you for the pompous, overdone climax that’s a wonder to behold.

“Keep On Walking” is a torch song ballad that’s unexpectedly unpretentious. Gino’s words tell us that he has yet to find his soul mate but his “…faith in (her) reality keeps me hanging on.” In the meantime he’ll recklessly sow every wild seed he’s got left in his pouch, thank you very much. The star attraction of the tune is Joe and Richard’s deep synthesized string orchestration that’s beautifully dense and awe-inspiring, especially for that era. “Love Is A Night” is next, a funky rocker with captivating keyboard effects that push the group’s jazzy agenda. Graham’s skillful drumming grabs the spotlight once again for most of the song but the huge (and I mean HUGE) synthesizers in the spectacular instrumental movement are a prog rock lover’s wet dream. Since he sings “love is a night/who really cares if it’s wrong or it’s right/and all that I know/you’ve been some life and love on the road,” any girl that foolishly succumbed to his quasi-masculine charms had been duly forewarned. “Gettin’ High” is the closer, an abrupt change of scenery in that it’s a laid-back venture into light jazz territory. Richardson’s tenor sax ride is sufficiently sleazy and the band’s quick dash into percussion land makes for a surprisingly unconventional detour. And lyrically it would seem there’s hope for our boy yet. “I was a buckin’ bronco bomb/I loved me a billion black and blue eyed blondes/I never thought I could change/yep, sure is pretty strange/I got a babe of my own,” he sings. How fortunate for her!

This was Gino Vannelli’s finest hour. Little by little on his subsequent records he and Joe veered their sound away from the progressive jazz/rock vibe that made his music so invigorating and gradually ingratiated themselves to a more contemporary and mainstream clientele. But for a few years in the mid 70s his albums and live shows were not to be missed. In concert the group would knock the walls down with power and pizzazz and, despite what you may think of his flamboyant image and mannerisms, no one in the audience could take their eyes off of Gino. Personally I would’ve suggested a haircut, a dialing back of the unchecked, testosterone-fueled machismo crap, shirts that would button down the front and a pair of loose-fitting corduroys but that’s just me. Maybe it was his gauche, in-your-face presence that made him stick out to the average Jack & Jill, thus giving him a marketable edge over the dull-by-comparison competition. Kinda like running a 4-star restaurant but having to put a guy wearing a chicken costume out on the curb to attract business. But in my case, and for a lot of my musician buddies, it was and still is the high-quality music he wrote and that his gifted cohorts expanded on using their exploratory, jazz-influenced talents that makes me want to pull this album out and play it from time to time. This is primo stuff.