Let's be real for a second. If you mention George Benson In Flight to a hardcore jazz purist, you’re probably going to get a heavy sigh or a lecture about how he "sold out." They’ll point to his early 1960s work with Jack McDuff and say that was the real George.
But they’re missing the point. Completely.
By the time 1977 rolled around, George Benson wasn't just a guitarist; he was a phenomenon. He had just come off the massive, world-altering success of Breezin’, and the pressure to follow up a triple-platinum record is the kind of thing that breaks lesser artists. Instead, Benson and producer Tommy LiPuma went back into Capitol Studios and doubled down on the magic.
The result? George Benson In Flight. It's an album that captures a specific, golden moment in music history where jazz, soul, and disco weren't enemies—they were roommates.
The "Nature Boy" Gamble
The album kicks off with a cover of "Nature Boy," and honestly, it’s a ballsy move. Taking a song famously owned by Nat King Cole and trying to make it your own is dangerous territory. But Benson doesn't just cover it. He reclaims it.
You’ve got those lush Claus Ogerman string arrangements swirling in the background. Then, George starts that signature scat-along-with-the-guitar thing. It’s effortless. It’s also incredibly technically difficult, but he makes it sound like something he’s doing while making coffee.
People forget that "Nature Boy" wasn't just a "smooth" track. It’s actually quite haunting. The way the Mini-Moog (played by Ronnie Foster) snakes through the arrangement gives it this slightly futuristic, late-70s edge that still feels fresh.
Why the lineup mattered
Look at the credits on this thing. It’s basically a "Who’s Who" of the greatest session players to ever walk the earth:
- Harvey Mason on drums (the man is a human metronome).
- Stanley Banks holding down the low end.
- Jorge Dalto on the clavinet and piano.
- Phil Upchurch handling rhythm guitar chores.
When you have a band that tight, you don't need to overproduce. You just let them groove. On a track like "The Wind and I," you can hear the telepathy between the players. It’s funky, it’s precise, and it has that "In Flight" energy that defines the record's title.
The World Is A Ghetto: 9 Minutes of Pure Fire
If you want to argue with someone who thinks this album is "too poppy," just put on the cover of War’s "The World Is A Ghetto."
It’s over nine minutes long.
Benson takes his time here. He isn't rushing to a chorus for a radio edit. He’s exploring the fretboard with the kind of bebop-influenced speed that reminds you he could outplay almost anyone on the planet. The soloing is fluid, harmonically complex, and—most importantly—it swings.
Critics like Robert Christgau weren't always kind to this era of Benson, giving the album a C+ and calling it "palaver." But critics aren't the ones still listening to this record fifty years later. Fans are. There’s a grit under the polish of "The World Is A Ghetto" that people often overlook because the production is so clean.
The Unheralded Masterpiece: Valdez in the Country
"Valdez in the Country" is the only instrumental on the album. It’s a Donny Hathaway tune, and George plays it with a level of joy that’s infectious.
Honestly, if you’re a guitar player, this track is a masterclass. The octave playing, the thumb technique, the way he sits just slightly behind the beat—it’s perfect. It’s the kind of track that makes you want to go practice for six hours and then immediately give up because you’ll never be that smooth.
What the charts didn't tell you
George Benson In Flight hit number 9 on the Billboard 200. It went Platinum. For a "jazz" record, those numbers are insane. But the real impact was cultural. Benson was proving that a black artist from a jazz background could dominate the mainstream without losing his technical soul.
He was competing with disco giants and rock legends, and he was winning.
He wasn't just playing notes; he was creating a vibe. That "In Flight" vibe is about sophistication. It’s about the feeling of being in a high-end lounge in 1977, wearing a silk shirt, and feeling like the world is finally opening up.
Actionable Insights for the Modern Listener
If you’re coming to this album for the first time, or returning after a decade, here’s how to actually appreciate it:
- Listen on Vinyl if possible: The original 1977 Warner Bros. pressing has a warmth in the low end that digital remasters sometimes crush. The interplay between Stanley Banks' bass and Harvey Mason's kick drum is much clearer.
- Focus on the "Comping": Don't just listen to George's solos. Listen to how Phil Upchurch plays rhythm guitar behind him. Their chemistry is the secret sauce of the LiPuma era.
- Study the Scatting: If you’re a vocalist, listen to how George mimics his guitar lines. He’s not just making random noises; he’s singing actual jazz licks.
- Compare to "Breezin'": Listen to both albums back-to-back. You’ll notice In Flight is slightly more experimental with its textures (thanks to more prominent synthesizers).
George Benson In Flight isn't a "soft" version of George Benson. It’s a fully realized version of an artist who refused to be put in a box. It’s a record that rewards deep listening just as much as it works as background music for a dinner party. And that, really, is the highest compliment you can pay to a piece of art.
Go back and listen to "Everything Must Change." The way he handles those vocals? That’s not just a guitar player singing. That’s a master at work.
To get the most out of your George Benson collection, start by hunting for the 180-gram Pure Pleasure reissue or an original "Burbank" label Warner pressing. Ensure your playback system is balanced to highlight the mid-range where George’s Ibanez (or D'Angelico at the time) really sings.