WHAT. IS. THIS? Is it jazz? Is it rock? Is it a bus route? No one knows! What it most definitely is... is a lot. This debut from Chicago (back when they still had a full name and presumably dreams of restraint) hits like a brass section got drunk and kicked down the studio door yelling “WE’RE IN CHARGE NOW.” There's a guitar solo? Swamped. There's a melody? Drowned. There's vocals? Somewhere under the trombone avalanche. At times it’s thrilling—like watching a marching band invade a rock concert. But often, it's just like watching. And the tracks go on! “Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?” Me, I do. It’s too long. “Free Form Guitar” sounds like someone attacking a jet engine with a cheese grater while high on wood varnish. The rhythm section's tight, and when they lock in (Beginnings, Questions 67 and 68) it’s like a funk-rock Voltron. But you have to dig through several metric tons of horn-based exuberance and improvisational indulgence to get there. It’s loud, it’s brash, it’s occasionally brilliant, but mainly it’s what happens when no one tells the seven-piece band, “Hey fellas… maybe not all at once.”