It begins with "The Cisco Kid," a song just teeming with imagery about Cisco and obese buddy Pauncho. Sittin' down by the Rio Grande, drinkin' wine and "eatin' salted peanuts from the can" C.K. and Pauncho are no more than a fantasy in the minds of the ghetto youth singing their praises, but an important fantasy because it allows them hope, heroes, and a temporary respite from the harsh realities of ghetto existence. "Where Was You At," which follows, is a true delight, a soulful get-down cut from the Isley Brothers mold. Shit, man, just the kinda funk you need to get off on the good foot! These two cuts are truly Watts and Harlem unleashed--ghetto life at its most brazen.

"City, Country, City" is a tour de force energizer in which everybody gets his musical rocks off. Through a series of solos ahead of varying rhythmic percussion accompaniment, War attempts to convey the hustle and bustle of a ghetto day, sandwiched between the comparative calm of morning and night. It works well despite one terrible flaw, a total failure to communicate the desperate urgency of the situation. Somehow the boiling rage and pent-up frustration never seem to surface. By totally ignoring the blues heritage so richly ingrained in ghetto life (a major component of Savoy Brown and Santana in similar albums), War ends up conveying the mistaken impression that ghetto-dwellers are content with their lot. Given the fact that even black ghetto youth are similarly ignoring this heritage, the absence of a significant blues component in War's music is understandable, even factually accurate. Nonetheless, it's regrettable.

"Four Cornered Room" is a Temptationesque choral ballad, mildly interesting but hardly worth the eight and a half minutes devoted to it. But the title track is simply the most successful use of the "Groovin'" motif since the Rascals tantalized urban America with the prototype. A study in casual, laid-back musical discipline, it soothes savage passions, lulling them to sleep to be awakened only by the stark, sudden refrain, "the world is a ghetto." Charles Miller's sax solo is magnificent, as definitive a statement of emotion as can be imagined.

While they've yet to reach perfection (as they insist on demonstrating with self-indulgent crap like "Beetles in the Bog"), War has reached the point where they're becoming a significant force in the jazz and soul fields. Add a pinch of da blooze and they could well be artistic knockouts.