The Context Behind « The Cry of Love »
When Jimi Hendrix died on September 18, 1970, the rock world lost one of its most daring innovators. Yet, as is often the case with cultural icons, death didn’t mean silence. Enter The Cry of Love, released posthumously on March 5, 1971 — a patchwork of unfinished brilliance, assembled by engineer Eddie Kramer and drummer Mitch Mitchell, with an eye for honoring what Hendrix may have envisioned as his fourth studio album.
Despite lacking the artist’s direct oversight in final arrangement and production, The Cry of Love is far more than an outtakes collection. It offers one of the clearest glimpses into Hendrix’s evolving sound in the months before his death — a period marked not just by technical exploration, but emotional and musical maturity. Hendrix was moving beyond the flash and fury of stage pyrotechnics into something deeper, layered, and soul-searching.
Built from Studio Gold
Many of the tracks were near-completion at Electric Lady Studios in New York, Hendrix’s self-built sonic playground. In fact, most songs had Hendrix’s approval or final guitar takes, lending credibility to the album’s artistic integrity. Kramer and Mitchell, both intimately familiar with Hendrix’s workflow, compiled the LP from over 60 reels of music he had recorded throughout 1969 and 1970.
The recording features key collaborators — bassist Billy Cox, drummer Buddy Miles, and Mitch Mitchell — under Hendrix’s loose but exacting direction. This wasn’t “leftovers” music. These were songs Hendrix intended to release. Tracks like “Angel” and “Drifting” had been earmarked for his planned double LP First Rays of the New Rising Sun, a project interrupted by his death.
Track Highlights: More Than Just Guitar Heroism
If you only know Jimi Hendrix as the man who made guitars wail and scream, The Cry of Love will surprise you.
- « Freedom » opens the album with a taut groove, letting Hendrix’s rhythmic genius shine. It’s funky, yes, but taut and unrelenting, speaking to a personal liberation that was more spiritual than sexual or political.
- « Angel » stands out as one of his most gentle and emotionally raw tracks. Inspired by a dream of his mother, it showcases his underrated falsetto and vulnerability. Think Hendrix can’t do subtle? Think again.
- « Ezy Ryder » delivers acid-fueled rock but filtered through the lens of early ’70s funk. The bassline is dirty, the lyrics oblique — it’s a protest song hiding behind a biker anthem.
- « My Friend » is an outlier: recorded in 1968 and backed by Traffic’s Steve Winwood on piano, it smacks of drunken cabaret, complete with sound effects. It shouldn’t work, but it lends texture to the album’s patchwork.
- « Drifting » closes side one and feels like a lullaby beamed from a different dimension. Hendrix’s taste for floating chord progressions had never been stronger — this is him testing the limits of spacetime through delay and sustain.
Interestingly, the album isn’t overloaded with solos; instead, the emphasis is on arrangement and layering. That’s no accident. Hendrix once said, “I want to do with my guitar what an orchestra does with harmonics.” You hear that ambition all over this record.
Commercial Reception vs. Critical Reappraisal
Upon release, The Cry of Love was a commercial success. It peaked at No. 3 on the Billboard 200 and reached No. 2 in the UK Albums Chart. Not bad for a record without a traditional promotional cycle or live tour to support it.
Critics in 1971 were relatively kind, if a bit reserved. Rolling Stone noted that the album “deserves attention” but stopped short of labeling it vital. Yet, over the decades, perspectives shifted. Today, The Cry of Love is widely considered one of the best posthumous records in rock history. It’s no longer the placeholder before some “official” final Hendrix album; it is the final Hendrix album in many fans’ hearts.
It even received a remastered re-release in 2014 by Sony Legacy, with audio oversight from Eddie Kramer — a move that sparked renewed interest among a younger generation of listeners, many of whom had been introduced to Hendrix through sample-heavy hip-hop or the obligatory « Purple Haze » listen in Guitar 101.
Legacy and Influence
Unlike the distorted mythology swirling around Hendrix’s early albums, The Cry of Love offers a more grounded and complete image of the man. Less about smashing boundaries, more about building bridges: between funk and psych, blues and jazz, rock and soul. Over the decades, artists as wide-ranging as Prince, Lenny Kravitz, St. Vincent, and John Mayer have cited this album as a formative influence.
“The Cry of Love is Hendrix’s most intimate record,” Mayer once said in an interview with Guitar World. “He wasn’t trying to prove anything anymore. It’s a soulful collection from an artist coming into himself.”
And let’s not overlook its production value. At a time when analog tape hiss and lo-fi charm dominate retro narratives, this is a record with audiophile integrity. Tracks were multi-layered, mixed with precision, and showcased Hendrix not only as a performer but as an emerging studio craftsman — perhaps the role he always wanted to grow into.
Was It the Album Hendrix Intended to Release?
This remains a hotly debated topic among historians and hardcore fans. Hendrix had left behind notes, song order possibilities, and commentary scattered across journals and studio logs, but never delivered a “final cut.” Some argue that First Rays of the New Rising Sun, compiled and released in 1997, comes closer to his original vision.
But that logic is flawed. The Cry of Love was made closer to Hendrix’s own moment in time. It benefited from the insights of people who had just worked with him. It relied on session takes Hendrix had signed off on. In short, it had contextual proximity—an advantage later compilations simply don’t have.
There’s a raw truth to The Cry of Love. It’s messy in places, sure. But so was Hendrix’s life during those final months — restless, complicated, hyper-creative. The album reflects that state of being more honestly than a polished post-mortem ever could.
Final Thoughts: Why It Still Matters
The enduring appeal of The Cry of Love lies not just in its music, but in its humanity. It demands active listening. It’s Hendrix stripped of theatrics, focused on lyrical introspection and textured soundscapes. No flames, no smashing guitars, just a man exploring the possibilities of music — and mortality.
In the end, rediscovering this posthumous gem isn’t just about reappraising Hendrix. It’s about challenging the narrative that posthumous albums are inherently lesser. When made with care — and in this case, affection — such records can offer windows into an artist’s final creative thoughts. Hendrix may not have lived to see The Cry of Love released, but if anything captures his ambition, it’s this: a sonic journal of where he was, and where he might have gone.
