Needless to say, tonsil hockey did not ensue. Now let me make it clear, I don’t blame John McLaughlin for my not getting to make out with my date. But he certainly didn’t help.

I’m very excited about the John McLaughlin/Chick Corea show that’s coming uppart of this year’s Hong Kong Arts Festival (and which will have taken place by the time this column is printed). Only a handful of international jazz stars ever make it to the SAR, so the fact that this historic pairing is including two nights in Hong Kong is cause for celebration indeed.

In case these names are new to you, both Corea and McLaughlin got their start as sidemen back in the 60s, Corea on keyboards, McLaughlin on guitar. They came together for the first time on some ground-breaking albums for Miles Davis, including In a Silent Way and Bitches Brew. Commercially, each found success in the 70s, leading different jazz fusion groups.

As big a jazz fan as I am, I could never get behind fusion. I’m certainly not a purist, but so much of what these guys churned out in the 70s combined over-dependence of the then-new electronic synthesizers (which sound so dated now) with playing as fast as humanly possible. It seemed like all of Miles’s “children” leapt onto the fusion bandwagon – Chick Corea with Return to Forever, John McLaughlin with Mahavishnu Orchestra, Wayne Shorter and Joe Zawinul with Weather Report, Herbie Hancock’s Head Hunters – and whatever lessons they learned from Miles were tossed away in favor of dumbed-down instrumental pop music that owed more to prog rock than jazz. It was frustrating because these musicians were clearly capable of so much more.

Thinking back, I realize that I saw almost all of these fusion bands play live at one point or another. I remember one show in particular because it was one of the most godawfully inappropriate concert pairings in history – when Harry Chapin opened for Mahavishnu Orchestra, around 1972 at the Capitol Theater in Passaic, New Jersey. (Other front runners for all time worst pairings might include Roger McGuinn playing solo acoustic opening for King Crimson and Bruce Springsteen opening for Anne Murray.)

I was 18 years old and worked up the courage to invite this hot 17-year-old girl to go with me. I figured she’d at least enjoy Harry Chapin’s folky story telling songs - back then he was still riding off his first hit, Taxi, but hadn’t yet reached his career high Cats in the Cradle. I’d met Chapin a few months earlier at a party for Cheech and Chong during which most people did what you’d expect people to do at a party for Cheech and Chong. But Harry was remarkably genuine and nice, even though his wife kept rolling up her eyes as if to say, “Why the fuck are you wasting your time talking to these kids when you should be pimping your album to the business execs in the room?” But I digress. A digression from a digression, I wonder if there’s a special name for that. (Yes, there is. It’s called “jerking off.”)

At any rate, cute girl at my side, we went to the concert. As I predicted, she found Chapin’s music completely charming. He sang his tales, the audience swayed back and forth, my date was smiling and I started thinking that I could look forward to a little tonsil hockey after the show.

And then, Mahavishnu Orchestra came out on stage. John McLaughlin, Jan Hammer (who would later find huge success with the theme to Miami Vice), Jerry Goodman, Rick Laird and Billy Cobham. All of them dressed completely in white. McLaughlin stepped up to the microphone and asked the audience for a moment of silent meditation before they began playing. My date looked at me with a “oh this is going to be sweet and nice too” look. And then they started playing. Really fast. And really fucking loud. “Sonic assault” might be a better term for it.

“Um, I need to go to the toilet,” my date screamed in my ear after a couple of minutes. After 15 minutes, she still hadn’t returned. I looked around the auditorium and I realized that every second seat was empty. I don’t mean to be sexist but for the most part the remaining audience was all male and the seats that their dates had occupied for Chapin’s saccharine tones were now all vacant.

I decided to go look for my date. I found the ladies toilet. It looked like a thousand women had simultaneously decided to squeeze into a 100 square foot space. It was a teeming mass of female humanity, arms and legs sticking out at odd angles, threatening to fuse into some new mutant species. I screamed out, “Is Valerie in there somewhere?” The mass heaved, pulsed, vibrated a bit and then she was magically deposited at the front door. “Um, er, it’s okay, we don’t have to stay for the entire show, we can leave now,” I stuttered. And we left. Needless to say, tonsil hockey did not ensue. Now let me make it clear, I don’t blame John McLaughlin for my not getting to make out with my date. But he certainly didn’t help.

In the years since then, fusion died the death it deserved (it’s still big in Japan, of course) and both Corea and McLaughlin have proven their worth dozens of times over, releasing a variety of projects that showcase their eclectic, wandering interests as well as consummate musical skills. McLaughlin is now 66 years old, Corea is 67. And it’s only now that the two of them have decided to join up for a tour, the first time they’ve worked together since the Miles Davis days.

The rest of the “Five Peace Band” includes saxophonist Kenny Garrett, who most decidedly is not Kenny G and who impressed the hell out of me ages ago when I saw him live playing with Miles. Bassist Christian McBride is one of the masters of his instrument. Vinnie Colaiuta is on drums and he was simply amazing when I saw him with Jeff Beck two years ago in Tokyo. (Colaiuta will not be coming to Hong Kong; he’ll be replaced by Brian Blade, who has a fairly impressive list of credits to his name but is relatively new to me.)

The live double album, Five Peace Band, comes from their fall 2008 tour of Europe and was released first in Japan, probably to capitalize on their appearances there, and I suppose it will eventually be released in the rest of the world as well. I couldn’t wait, I ponied up for the expensive Japanese import in order to get a preview of what to expect when they perform at the HK Cultural Centre. And guess what? The album surpasses my expectations: Great ensemble playing, great solos.

The eight extended tracks hit many of the high points of their varied careers but the highlight for me is their 20 minute take on In a Silent Way/It’s About That Time, on which they’re joined by Herbie Hancock. All of Zawinul’s themes and riffs are there, but the solos take it in a new direction. This is not simply digging up a 40 year old bit of music and reverently recreating it, this is alive and joyous. The final track, Someday My Prince Will Come, a standard often associated with Miles, is a duet, just Corea and McLaughlin, piano and guitar, playing runs around each other for seven astounding minutes.

In the liner notes to the CD, Corea says, “we’ve just scratched the surface of what more might be done with this collaboration.” If that’s true, the shows here should be mind-boggling and I hope all of my readers were able to go. If you didn’t, then run don’t walk to pick up this CD and check them out and hear what you missed.