Shoot Out at the Fantasy Factory: Traffic. Island IL 34841.

Reviewed by P.F. O'Dea.

"Shoot Out at the Fantasy Factory" is a good album: well-conceived, well-played, even excellent in parts, but it never really breaks free of the stricture of Stevie Winwood's careful production and soars. The promise intimated by the title and the cover, a three dimensional mock-up of suits drifting aimlessly through space, is not really borne out by the music.

The title cut and album opener is a medium paced rocker, anchored by Reebop's shifting conga rhythm, which sounds as if it's a section from a longer song arbitrarily sliced at both ends. Winwood's production has smoothed every thing out and his vocal has been buried in the final mix. There are no crests or troughs — the sound is too uniform, too unruffled.

"Roll Right Stones", the long track that rounds out the remainder of the side represents about the same waste of vinyl as "Do What you like" on the Blind Faith album. Winwood's voice is slightly more to the fore but imparts a lyric that is so obscure as to be well nigh unintelligible. The verses are linked by an interwoven piano-sax-organ break which threatens to inject some life into the proceedings momentarily but lack of differentiation between the lead and rhythm section kills it dead. The themes are there, but the variation necessary to carry such a lengthy track is sadly lacking.

Over to side two and "Evening Blue", a ballad in the same vein as "No face, no name, no number" from the first album or the title cut from "John Barleycorn". Building slowly over an acoustic guitar introduction Winwood's vocal is fine, if a trifle inhibited and affected and Chris Wood takes a well-phrased solo against a swirling organ backdrop.

The instrumental, "Tragic Magic", drags but "Sometimes I feel so uninspired", a full-frontal approach to the mythical deficiency, closes the album on a high note. The lyrics are sung depressingly at first as they twist sharply from despair to paranoia into a guitar solo that recalls to mind some of the best of Clapton's work. There's life here, the instrumentation is crisp and well-defined, leaving you with the impression that they' are professionals, completely in control, who know exactly what they want and the best way of going about it. Although Traffic may be an acquired taste, once the listener has granted them their stylistic predilections, at their best, as on this track, they're irresistable.