Evans' arrangements uplift Hendrix's blues and create a memorable set that retains jazz improvisation and personality.
The moment this album opens, you're inside a large ensemble—woodwinds and brass layered thick, saxophones curling around a foundation of piano and rhythm section. It sounds like jazz, but the harmonic language and the blues-drenched melodies are pure Hendrix. Gil Evans doesn't shrink from the source material; instead he expands it, giving each composition room to breathe while keeping its teeth intact. David Sanborn, Howard Johnson, Billy Harper, and John Abercrombie don't merely play these arrangements—they trade lines, build solos, negotiate the terrain between rock energy and jazz sophistication.
Evans recorded this in 1974, well into his later years, working from Hendrix compositions that might have seemed an odd fit for a big-band treatment. But Evans had always trusted his instincts about orchestration. The arrangements are neither precious nor apologetic. When a Hendrix piece calls for blues feeling, the orchestra swings hard into it. When it needs space for soloing, Evans pulls back and lets the players have it. This is a straight conversation between two instrumental vocabularies, neither trying to school the other.
Allmusic reviewer Scott Yanow recognized what was happening here, calling it a set that retains the improvisation and personality of jazz. The album has circulated longer than most late-career Evans projects, partly because Hendrix's melodic gift translates so well to orchestral reharmonization, and partly because Evans simply knew what he was doing. This isn't a curiosity; it's a session where two different musical temperaments met with mutual respect.