Review of The Moody Blues' On The Threshold Of A Dream

Released 1969

"Now you know how nice it feels,
Scatter good seed in the fields.
Life's ours for the making,
Eternity's waiting, waiting, for you and me".

As a teenager, I lived in close proximity to the largest RNAS Helicopter Station in Europe. Most of the pilots who visited the local pub where I had a summer job conformed to type; upper-class misogynist robots usually with the personality of a pot plant. However, one chap only a year or two older than me, whose name eludes me, was a walking contradiction; he had the naval haircut and uniform but was a hippy at heart, regularly smoking non-naval issue doobies just beyond the olfactory reach of his peers. Whilst on duty he entrusted me with a box of his beloved vinyl. Thus I was exposed to several bands for the first time, most of them with some merit. Central to this collection was the first six albums by The Moody Blues.

These were all original editions with some of the most elaborate prog rock sleeves ever produced. I will scatter reviews of the remaining five albums as this blog progresses, choosing though to start not chronologically, but with the one, which at the time struck me as the most eccentric and endearing, and this was against some very stiff competition.

What a bizarre bunch The Moody Blues were; transmogrifying from a mainstream sixties pop band into one of the first purveyors of experimental prog almost overnight. I knew that The Days Of Future Passed was often cited as one of the leading contenders for the very first prog album. Whether or not that is true is redundant, as over the course of their next five albums in particular they pushed the envelope of convention more than most and for which they are given surprisingly little credit, being accused without too much fear of contradiction as being the most pretentious band of their ilk. Even when it didn't work - which could be quite often - they had to be applauded for their bravery.

Like all of their earlier work, On The Threshold Of A Dream suffers from claustrophobic production especially around the vocals. A terrible shame this, as both Justin Hayward's lead vocal and their harmonies are, in my humble opinion, woefully underrated. In The Beginning, which opens the album, is very much of it's time; featuring Justin Hayward's whacked-out stoner cod philosophical musings interrupted by a, gasp, computer. No way, man! Far out!

Even in the midst of a concept album, The Moody Blues could be relied upon for their ear for a good tune enabling them to cross over and gain frequent success in the singles charts. Dear Diary works both as a strong single and as an integral part of the central characters main journey. The spoken diary entry at the end is deliciously daft. In fact, most of the tracks, unusually for a concept album, stand up surprisingly well on their own.

Flicking through the gate fold sleeve's inner booklet, there is a vague story; something about space travel and the dawning of consciousness weaved through beautifully obtuse artwork portraying goodness only knows what. The hysterically hirsute band photography must be eternally embarrassing to them now.

There is a real sense that this is an album of the sixties and, whilst it is indisputably a prog record, it is a world away from say Genesis' Trepass made within the next twelve months but which is an album of the seventies. For example, the gorgeous Never Comes A Day is underpinned with a harmonica which tends to harken back to their days as a beat band, whilst the use of the mellotron on the other hand pulls it forward into the seventies. I am certainly generalising, but I found it fascinating that this sits so neatly on the cusp of the decade change.

Acoustic guitars and flutes are the order of the day, with electric guitars taking a secondary role. Are You Sitting Comfortably? is as accomplished a piece of pastoral English-ness as anything Genesis are so often revered for.

The spoken words of The Dream introduce the final four track suite of the album. Such a feature must have been a revelation at the time. Hardly exciting or likely to get the pulse racing, but decidedly different. The Voyage on the other hand, is awash with vast orchestral mellotron which leaps above the sub-standard production as a beacon of brilliance, stupendously clever and outrageously daring in it's day.

Invariably I listen to the album I am reviewing, doing my utmost to try to capture the feeling of playing it for the first time, at present, this is approximately a quarter of a century ago. Almost always it is exceedingly difficult, as the process forces a simultaneous contemporary reappraisal, and separating the two can be challenging. Regardless, the experience of replaying On The Threshold Of A Dream twenty odd years on today has just reaffirmed it's status as a marvellous, marvellous record which I'd encourage anyone unfamiliar with their work to acquaint themselves with.