Review of Jethro Tull's Stand Up

Released 1969

" Spent a long time looking for a game to play. My luck should be so bad now to turn out this way. Oh, I had to leave today just when I thought I'd found you. It was a new day yesterday, but it's an old day now."

I think that this was one of the first albums I bought when I moved up to Glasgow. It was either bought from Lost In Music in DeCourcey's arcade behind Byres Road in Glasgow or it was one of my last purchased from the outdoor market in Helston in Cornwall.

Either way, I shall be honest and say that my purchase was driven by a combination of the bands name (with echoes of O Level History) and that this was an original copy, designed to look like a wood carving complete with pop-up band members in the gate fold sleeve.

I knew nothing about Jethro Tull when I took the album home (or back to the halls of residence), but gauged from the year of it's release and the line-up of musical instruments, including flute and hammond organ, that this would be a worthwhile of spending £2.

The only flute playing I had come across thus far on my prog rock odyssey was by Peter Gabriel. I associated the hammond organ more with mainstream rock music than more obviously definable prog rock music, so I was intrigued to see what sort of animal Jethro Tull might prove
to be.

From the outset, I was surprised that this was considered a prog rock record. This was very competent, extremely worthy rock music, but it's roots were an odd combination of blues and folk. The rumbling drum and bass guitar and intermittent organ of the opening track is punctuated by Ian Anderson's highly unique vocal delivery, which was much more akin to the folk genre than any other, thereby potentially alienating a huge number of music fans in the process who couldn't see past the stereotypical image of the folk singer with the woolly jumper, the pint of real-ale with a finger in his ear, warbling on about past times and past peoples.

However neither the subject matter or the musical accompaniment has a great deal in common with folk per se, providing a unique dichotomy between the vocal and the instrumentation which
leans it nicely prog direction. On my first listen, the nasal vocal and blues rock accompaniment to A New Day Yesterday made me curious; curious as to when a normal style of singing would begin. In the same way that Peter Gabriel jumps from voice to voice, I expected Ian Anderson to suddenly shift gear and be more conventional. Realising fairly quickly that this wasn't going to happen, I found myself moving from curious to 'oh dear'.

With Jeffrey Goes To Leicester Square it started to fit; the flute, the various acoustic accoutrement's and the voice certainly fitted together, being resolutely folk and no worse for it.

I realised that I had heard Bouree before and loved the clever merging of classical music and mad grunting that somehow worked well as an innovative proggy instrumental.

The remainder of the album continued to add to a cornucopia of musical types. I began to warm to the very tight rhythms, blistering guitar interludes, gentle acoustic asides and the inexcessive use of flute. My curiosity regarding the vocal had morphed into a fascination.

Yes there was a wide use of instruments employed in a wide range of musical styles, but I struggled at the end of the album to see it as a prog release. If I had to sit down with a prog virgin and select examples from my record collection which demonstrated the various traits of prog, I would struggle to find any credible moments on Stand Up. It's a fine, fine album but prog? I don't think so.

I learned in the next few years of the generally regarded 'classic' Tull albums such as Aqualung and Thick as A Brick, which any measure are clearly shining examples of the genre. I subsequently went back and reappraised Stand Up, thinking I'd missed something. Even now, many years on, my opinion is unaltered.

Review of The Beatles' Abbey Road

Released 1969

"He roller coaster, He got early warning,
He got Muddy Water, He one Mojo filter,
He say one and one and one is three.
Got to be good looking, 'Cause he so hard to see"

Having groaned and grimaced my way through the review of 90125, I can say with genuine delight that I have been looking forward to recounting my initial experience of Abbey Road ever since it saw it peering over the horizon.

Abbey Road was one of the albums in a big black LP case which was entrusted to me by a Helicopter Pilot from RNAS Culdrose whilst he was on manoeuvres. ( I realise how dubious that sounds, although I can proudly and honestly state in a deep manly voice that he only opened my eyes through the delights of his record collection). Moving on.

There is only a small handfulof albums where the first time I placed the stylus on the vinyl, pressed play on the cassette player or the CD player, where I can now, many years later fully recreate the entire sense of that moment, such was the immediacy and intensity of the experience. That day in the summer of 1985, when I first played Abbey Road is one of those precious moments.

I've possibly got this a bit wrong, but I think I'm correct in saying the original pressings of Abbey Road were the only ones to list Her Majesty on the sleeve and that it was omitted in later years. Either way, I'm fairly certain that the copy I was entrusted with was an original.

Obviously the sleeve is iconic, perhaps more so even than Sgt. Pepper. A simple concept but engendered with so much significance simply because it was the last true recording of the world's most influential pop group. Having visited the spot where the famous photograph was taken, it is astonishing how culturally significant it still feels all these years on.

I came to Abbey Road a tad weary from over exposure to Sgt. Pepper and unenthusiastic at the prospect of having to endure Octopus's Garden; which I still consider the second most irritating track recorded by The Beatles, after Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da. Mind you, as it was The Beatles it was still invested with a certain charm. Before hearing the album in it's entirety I would never have considered it a prog rock album.

As I say, the moment the rolling drum and bass emerge from the hiss of the stylus moving into the first track will stay with me forever. It was instantly and emphatically hypnotising, entirely captivating and jaw-droppingly 'right'. It oozed quality from the first note. I was stunned. Although I knew The Beatles were capable of more than just proficient pop, I had no idea they had produced anything so far removed from pop as this. This was a rock record.

Or was it. I'd forgotten about Something; George Harrision's finest moment, which was, for many the definitive pop song. Whilst Something itself was a million miles from prog, the contrast in styles in the first two songs was a very prog like technique.

Or so I thought. It would be a real stretch to categorise Maxwell's Silver Hammer as prog like. Typical for McCartney it was twee, largely daft and considered odious by his estranged writing partner. Oh! Darling again was very McCartney, although with an excellent lead and harmony vocals, it (just) rises above ordinariness.

Four songs in, and awaiting the shudderingly terrible Octopus's Garden, I was extremely sceptical about the formidable reputation of the album. With the exception of Come Together, it was never too far away from mainstream pop: proficient, but pop nontheless.

I almost certainly skipped past most of, or all of Octopus's Garden and was then pleasantly surprised by the massive leap forward in quality with I Want You (She's so heavy). From the sublime lead guitar, the many changes in tempo, the simple but brilliant bass guitar theme, the sterling drum working to the wonderful hammond, I was utterly impressed and knew in an instant that this was a classic track. It, for me, lays to rest the nonsensical argument that Ringo couldn't drum. The sudden, unexpected ending lends it a grand menace. I like to think that this was a the result of a particularly fruitful and enjoyable jam session, where the four of them actually got on.

That it moves with a very short break into the hugely different Here Comes The Sun can only make you smile and appreciate the ultimate genius of The Beatles: capable of such a wide variety of styles, often in the same album.

I'm glad that I was unprepared for the suite on the second side. If I had known it was coming it may have lessened the impact. I would never have associated The Beatles with a twenty minute suite of music. I find it very hard to listen to the second side of Abbey Road without a tear or two in my eyes. This is for several reasons. First and foremost it is one of the most beautifully accomplished suites of music I am aware of: it all appears so effortless. Secondly this was the swansong for the band: although relations between them were all but over, the manner in which their various contributions mould together to produce an incredible whole, reveals just how desperately sad it was that the world would never again hear the result of the their collaboration.

That they could barely look at each other in the studio, but could bring together the separately conceived basic tracks for Mean Mr Mustard, Polythene Pam, She Came in Through The Bathroom Window, and run them together so expertly makes me wonder what they could have been capable of if they enjoyed being in each other's company more.

I defy anyone not to well up during Golden Slumbers; invested with added significance due to its role as the epitaph to The Beatles career. McCartney's has never delivered a better vocal.

The final guitar solo, shared between Harrison, Lennon and McCartney is achingly poignant. If they could find the space for each other in this way, why did it have it to end?

An odd album; from the sublime to the ridiculous, from godawful pop to raucous psychedelic prog worthy wig-outs, it has moments of unsurpassed brilliance as well as moments that make me cringe. The end result, with the iconic sleeve, side long suite and its inherent historical significance cannot fail to leave all but the most cynical of prog rock fans reverent and respectful of its value.

For me, it's The Beatles greatest hour. Had they stuck together, I would love to know what the next album would have produced; I think it could have been a prog epic.

Review of Yes' 90125

Released 1983

"Talk the simple smile Such platonic eye
How they drown in incomplete capacity
Strangest of them all
When the feeling calls
How we drown in stylistic audacity
Charge the common ground
Round and round and round
We living in gravity"

The fact that I have attempted to write this review four times is entirely symptomatic of the frustrating experience I have each time I listen to the album.

Why I chose to purchase 90125 as my fourth Yes album remains a mystery to me. It was probably heavily influenced by the fact that at the time - mid 1985 - Yes were still riding high on the success of this, their most commercially successful album by a country mile. When flicking through the 'Y' section in any music emporium, the ubiquity of the hideous silver sleeve must have burned it's sickly way into my being. Of course, Owner Of A Lonely Heart was played as often on the radio as Kayleigh. I'd almost certainly also seen the video, complete with blonde highlights, silly outfits and drum machines akimbo.

Why then, was it not plain to me that this was a very different animal to the prog monster albums of their which I already owned and loved? Goodness only knows?

Mind you, there is the horrible possibility that I've conveniently forgotten that I may have actually liked it first time around. I don't think so, but who knows.

My wife has just this last week, bought the latest Depeche Mode album whose sleeve shares a remarkable similarity with 90125; sharing the same metallic silver background and pastel awfulness in the foreground. This speaks volumes to me. Yes, it was a different line-up. Yes, it was a different decade, and they were undoubtedly, and ultimately very successfully achieving the objective of reaching a different audience, but the degree of difference served to alienate a large number of the long-standing fans.

I am conscious that, at the time I bought 90125, I wasn't the biggest Yes fan in the world and that my view is largely coloured by my perception many years later and with over twenty of their albums on my shelves. While this has coloured my judgement, I find it difficult to put my current view to one side.

There are some redeeming aspects of the album, though few and far between. Without Jon Anderson's involvement, I very much doubt that the album would have enjoyed a second listen. In many respects, in sharing some of the vocals with Trevor Rabin added a worthwhile dimension to Jon's styling; he was forced out of his comfort zone and produced a very pleasant result. Although I have no time for Mr Rabin's horrid MOR vocal growling, when combined with Jon's unique delivery, the result is not half bad. Throw Chris Squire's solid background vocals into the mix and it's no surprise that commercially this worked so well. Old school Yes fans took some solace in the fact that Jon's nutty mysticism was kind of still there, not completely eradicated by the Journey-Foreigner-REO Speedwagon-esque glossiness of the overall effect.

Old school Yes fans would have originally been delighted that Tony Kaye was coming back into the picture. Many of us favour his approach over that of Rick Wakeman. We were all then bemused in the resulting departure in style from anything remotely Yes-like keyboard wise on 90125. It's all special effects and very contemporary and not what most fans expected or wanted.

The rhythm section of Chris Squire and Alan White is still present, but not immediately recognisable as such. I've always felt that Alan White's background as a more straightforward rock and roll drummer meant that he probably relished the opportunity to branch out from the odd time signatures and get back to familiar territory. Chris Squire's contribution, like Jon Anderson's remains relatively unquashed, such is the distinctive nature of his playing.

As a Yes purist, I struggle to say anything positive about Trevor Rabin's role on guitar. He was no doubt was the main change from the norm and he obviously was very successful in doing what he set out to do. For me, and for many others, his style was just not Yes-like.

I don't like being negative in reviewing any album, but, as a prog album, 90125 fails on practically level. At least for me.

Review of Pink Floyd's Meddle

Released 1971

"And no one sings me lullabyes
And no one makes me close my eyes
So I throw the windows wide
And call to you across the sky...."

One night in 1985, good old reliable BBC showed Pink Floyd Live at Pompeii. I'm pretty certain it's never enjoyed a terrestrial airing since, which is sad.

That was the first time I'd seen Pink Floyd perform any of their material, anywhere, so I was instantly fascinated and relieved that a band for which I'd built such a substantial pedestal didn't disappoint in the flesh, as it were.

The performances at Pompeii were so dramatically different in terms of the music itself, the visual presentation and the staging that any self respecting prog fan couldn't help but be impressed. When I learned that a number of the tracks performed that night were from Meddle, I wasted no time in setting out to find it.

Previously I had been reticent to go back beyond The Dark Side Of The Moon. I was aware of the success of The Piper At The Gates Of Dawn and had some idea of the music, which didn't yet appeal to me, and, obviously wrongly I assumed all the band's earlier work would be of this ilk.

I loved the abstract nature of the sleeve: having no clear 'meaning', but yet it felt somehow linked to Echoes. The four greasy gangly sour faced youths peering out from the inner spread of the gate fold sleeve made me smile; the contrast between these scruffy urchins and the big-haired, mascara-laden pretty boys in the the charts at the time in the eighties, really was amusing.

One of These Days was a wonderful way to start the album, building from a howling wind sound-effect and sinister bass line, it gathered momentum like an avalanche, culminating in Nick Mason's one spoken line, furious guitar rushes and relentless drumming. I found myself with a stupid grin on my face, so pleased that this was at least as good as any of the other later albums.

Things settled down a bit for A Pillow of Winds. David Gilmour's lilting vocal, slide and acoustic guitar producing an overall effect not unlike the general mood of Wish You Were Here. The key difference though was - and this was true for the album as a whole - there was no concept or theme as such, underpinning the lyrics. This was a collection of individual songs, penned by individual band members show-casing their musical talents, without any recourse to an over-riding focus. The lyrics were simple, uncomplicated and untainted by the mania of Roger Waters.

Fearless maintained the mellow mood, although tinged with slightly psychedelic motifs, a hypnotically slow rhythm, all capped with the gradual introduction and eventual complete takeover by a rendition of Rodgers & Hammerstein's You'll Never Walk Alone, as sung by Liverpool FC's Kop. Mad, but it worked.

San Tropez caused a literal turning of the head. What was this? Roger Waters singing a warm and friendly ditty? Surely not. Could this be the same man who would scream with truly frightening existential angst into the microphone less than a decade later. The jazzy piano and brushes on the drums was so upbeat, that I could hardly believe this was a Pink Floyd song. On the first listen, I really wasn't sure what to make of it.

Having seen Seamus performed at Pompeii, I was prepared - just about - it's unfathomable nuttiness. Yet another musical style was employed; this time a blues track accompanied by a howling dog. Yes, it was a varied album, but was it smacked of a lack of direction.

Echoes of course will be the main reason that anyone would buy Meddle. A side long epic with the most significant contribution on the record by Rick Wright. Along with numerous and more obviously Floydian keyboard stylings, his shared vocal with David Gilmour on this track is one of prog rock's greatest moments.

Because I was so familiar with TDSOTM, I was thrilled to hear strong connections with the later album.

I was struck by how clearly this was a genuine team effort. All four members appeared to work as a cohesive unit with almost equal emphasis afforded to each of their respective contributions. Whereas Roger Waters would later dominate all aspects of the bands sound and finally allow David Gilmour but three brief solos on The Final Cut, here was a band sparking off each other, producing a space-rock jam, allowing each other vast areas of space in which to experiment.

As a headphones experience, Echoes is hard to match. I'm sure I wrecked my long term hearing by exposing myself to the repeating high pitched reverberating piano note played at unhealthy volumes over and over again several times over the years.

For me, the greatest part of the track is from about sixteen and a half minutes in with the dueting between Rick Wright and Nick Mason sounding at times not unlike Tubular Bells, climaxing with David Gilmours magnificently distorted guitar.

Over the years, like most Floyd fans, I've probably skipped from One of These Days to Echoes more times than I've played the album straight through. However, in recent years, I've come to appreciate the other tracks and therefore see the album as a whole in a stronger light. Okay, maybe not Seamus.

Review of Genesis' The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway

Released 1974

"The porcelain mannekin with shattered skin fears attack. The eager pack lift up their pitchers- the carry all they lack. The liquid has congealed, which has seeped out through the crack, And the tickler takes his stickleback. The carpet crawlers heed their callers: 'We've got to get in to get out We've got to get in to get out'."

Hmmm.

Oh, how I wanted to love this album.

I have to preface this review with reference to my review of Foxtrot. Having nodded favourably at both Trepass and Nursery Cryme, I was downhearted by Genesis' third album. Buying Foxtrot for the first time as a seventeen year old, I was frustrated by what I saw as a self-indulgent and unnecessarily self-indulgent piece of nonsense. I was so disappointed by Foxtrot that I ignored it, along with the first two albums for over twenty years. Inexplicably, desperately and expensively I relented a few months later and splashed out a not inconsiderable sum on a brand new copy of The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway.

I suppose, at the time, I hoped that I had misjudged Foxtrot as a momentary aberration, and that Lamb would restore my faith in the band.

Oh dear.

What a difficult album. Difficult in every sense: difficult to listen to, difficult to rationalise, difficult to understand just what on earth the band were trying to achieve, and unfortunately, difficult for me to like.

There are very few albums that I'll admit to not being able to listen to all the way through. But Lamb is very close to the top of that very small list of albums. To this day, I think I'm correct in saying that I haven't persevered for all four sides. To be honest, the prospect of sitting down to listen to the album to prepare this review is not one which I have approached with much enthusiasm. I'm sure many prog purists would reel back in horror that I would consider reviewing an album which I haven't yet sat all the way through. However this blog is intended to be as much about the experience of listening to the album (especially the first listen) as it is about the music itself.

It all starts off promisingly enough, with a lovely tinkling piano intro from Tony Banks. There are some genuinely wonderful moments easily on a par with any of the previous albums I had been exposed to. The key difference between TLLDOB and those other albums was very quickly apparent. Lamb had a concept, a very bizarre and not entirely convincing concept penned by Peter Gabriel, underlying it which bewildered everyone, including the remaining members of the band. My feeling is that the oddness of this may have made sense to Mr Gabriel but removed any focus or sense of purpose for the music. This may be an argument with a dodgy foundation as lyrically the previous albums were always eccentric and 'out there'. Because the concept is given so much emphasis on the sleeve, the listener (or at least this listener) feels compelled to concentrate on the alleged story rather than be caught up in the isolated islands of weirdness of separate tracks on their other albums.

To date, once I get beyond The Cage, it is this concentration which is the problem as I invariably lose interest. Usually it happens around Back In NYC which doesn't work for at all.

Of course there is an argument to say that this is the ultimate prog fest. From the sleeve design and the nutty concept to one of the most extensive collections of forever changing time signatures, to paraphrase Spinal Tap's David St Hubbins; there is possibly no other album which is 'none more prog.' If this is case, why am I complaining? This is a prog rock blog after all.

As I have mentioned before in other reviews, it can take years and years for some albums to click. I also stated that I had to buy three copies of Foxtrot and wait for twenty five years to pass before I moved from an initial not inconsiderable dislike of the album to its present status as one of my top ten albums. I really hope that Lamb one day reveals a magnificence to me in the same way that Foxtrot did.

Two final points.

Firstly, I am currently listening to the intro to Carpet Crawlers which is utterly wonderful. This gives me great hope that more greatness will follow.

Secondly, I mentioned earlier that following my first listen to Lamb, I put it, Trepass, Nursery Cryme and Foxtrot away for a quarter of a century. When I rebuilt my Genesis collection, I redressed my original omission of Selling England By The Pound, having skipped right past it from Foxtrot to Lamb first time around. Had I not made that omission, I have no doubt that my appreciation of all of these albums would have changed overnight. Selling England By The Pound is the album I would now urge any aspiring Genesis fan to start with, so effectively has it intoxicated me. But, more of that later.

Review of Pink Floyd's Animals

Released 1977

"Deaf, dumb, and blind, you just keep on pretending
That everyone's expendable and no-one had a real friend
And it seems to you the thing to do would be to isolate the winner
And you believe at heart, everyone's a killer."

Animals was a requested for Christmas present along with the 12" single of The Power Of Love. I was young, I was confused.

I sometimes wish that I'd had the sense to purchase Pink Floyd's albums in the order that they'd been released. As it was, I had leaped backwards and forwards through their discography with the consequence certain albums suffered. I'm sure that if I had bought The Wall before The Final Cut I'd have appreciated the former much more. Likewise, with the benefit of hindsight I feel that Animals would now rank higher in my estimation, if it had been the next Floyd album I had bought after Wish You Were Here.

Therefore, reading between the lines, it's fair to conclude that Animals is one of my least played Pink Floyd albums. Only Ummagumma ranks lower I'm afraid.

I really can't put my finger on why it has never had the same appeal for me as it I know it has for countless others. Indeed I know many, many others who would place it firmly in their top three Floyd albums.

Due to it's high regard amongst my contemporaries, on Christmas day 1984, I was positively moist with anticipation when we returned from the lunch time Christmas pint and I had an hour to kill before dinner.

I was aware of the infamous tale of the escaping flying inflatable pig during the photo-shoot for the album cover. Holding the 12" sleeve up close I wondered why they'd bothered of going to the trouble in the first place. Neither the outside photo or those inside the gate fold sleeve held any of the mystique of the packaging of, say, Wish You Were Here. I didn't get it.

The concept behind the album was plain enough, and obviously 'borrowed' in no small measure from George Orwell. This in itself was disappointing to me, as it remains the only instance of Roger Waters' creativity being reliant on the forethought of others.

Like Wish you Were Here and The Wall, Animals is effectively bookended by a prologue and epilogue, in this case Roger solo with an acoustic guitar.

The strongest part of Animals is the dark humour of Roger's lyrics. I think he remains hugely underrated as a lyricist and a political commentator. He is plainly someone you'd avoid if you were inclined to call the Samaritans, but there are, dare I say it, flashes of Dylanesque wordsmithery which, in years to come, will no doubt be integral to a University degree course.

As I have said previously in my review of The Wall, the juxtaposition of the voices of David Gilmour and Roger Waters is an undervalued aspect of the appeal of Pink Floyd. This is evident here, with the contrast between Roger's scathing spitting of the lyrics of Pigs On The Wing and David's lush and more melodic vocal in Dogs. It is impossible to imagine Roger singing Dogs: it just wouldn't work. That for me shows that, although subsequent events may appear to contradict this fact, Roger must have, at one time had enormous faith in the talent of his colleague, in that he could write specifically for him, knowing he couldn't possibly impart the same required emotion.

Contrast this with Pigs (Three Different Ones). This song needs Roger's angst to work. On my first listen in 1984, it was this song that made me frown and think that the balance between lyric / subject matter and instrumentation was all wrong. It was the first time that it was obvious that this was becoming Rogers band. It wasn't that the instrumentation was poor; obviously it wasn't, but it was subservient to the lyric. Yes, there were still some great guitar work: the solo in this song being the best on the album, but something was missing. I can see now that Richard Wright's influence on the album was minimal and the album suffered massively for it. Go back to The Dark Side Of The Moon or Wish You Were Here and remove Richard Wright's influence and you suddenly realise that, to a large extent, he was the glue that held the whole band together. He was, in effect, the soul of the band. And therein lies my continuing problem with Animals; it has no soul.

Sheep is, in my opinion, the strongest song on the album, being much more a band effort, cleverly constructed, using innovative technology on the vocals and is not half bad. So, why do I still sound negative? One; it's all too bitter and pointless and two; I felt cheated when I later recognised the guitar motif on the run out of the song being almost entirely replicated on David Gilmour's first solo album a year later.

Reading this back, I'm struck that, overall it appears that I have very little good to say about the album. This does bother me as it currently ranks eighth on the greatest prog album chart on Prog Archives. If other like minded individuals rank it so highly, I will continue to reconsider it and, who knows, one day I might see the light. Then again.

Review of Led Zeppelin IV

Released 1971

"All last night sat on the levee and moaned, All last night sat on the levee and moaned, Thinkin' 'bout me baby and my happy home. Going, go'n' to Chicago, Go'n' to Chicago, Sorry but I can't take you. Going down, going down now, going down."

Were I in the unfortunate position that my home was in flames, and I'd managed to save all my family and the cats, the next CD I'm grab, after The Dark Side Of The Moon, would be Led Zeppelin IV.

I've had to think quite hard about whether this record warrants inclusion in a blog about prog rock albums, but ultimately I think it is such an important album, not just for me personally, but in terms of cultural iconography, that it would be petty to omit it because it may not tick all of the archetypal prog boxes. Plus, it's my blog!

I'm actually on (at least) my sixth copy of Led Zeppelin IV, having owned it on vinyl, pink vinyl, cassette and at least three CDs. My first copy was actually procured when I was fifteen or so, before TDSOTM and therefore before my prog odyssey proper began. So yes, I am screwing up my chronology, but as I've just about reached that pivotal moment in my life when I went away to 'study' at University, it seems wrong to proceed without at first looking back.

I first became aware of Led Zeppelin when a classmate in my last year of school remarked when he saw me reading a review of an AC/DC concert; "if you like Angus, you'll love Jimmy Page". After some swotting up, I noticed when handed the book list from which we had to select our school leaving present, that there was a biography about the band. The romance and glamour of the band's history had me hooked immediately. Shortly afterwards, on a holiday in France with about fifteen other contemporaries from Cornwall, there were two huge Led Zeppelin fans who further piqued my interest, largely on the back of some rather frenetic head-banging to Whole Lotta Love in the interestingly fragranced fug of a French village disco.

On my return, with my remaining holiday money I bought Highway to Hell and Led Zeppelin IV. For some odd reason, the afternoon I played both those albums for the first time is one of my clearest memories of that time. I cannot possibly justify a review of an ACDC album in a prog blog, but the exuberance and energy of that album in particular was a perfect scene setter for the wonder that is Led Zeppelin IV.

The scratchy slidey intro followed by "Hey, hey momma.." has to be the best possible start to an album. For someone reared on the NWOBHM bands whose careers relied in a not inconsiderable way to Led Zeppelin's legacy, hearing the 'real deal' caused instant goose-bumps and a literal turning of the head. The impact was absolutely instant; it was like unleashing a wild animal through the speakers. I had never heard a band play so tightly and so emotionally with astonishing fluidity. Until that point I had thought that David Coverdale and Freddie Mercury were gods, but the massiveness of Robert Plant's presence was overpowering.

Before I could recover, Rock And Roll continued the assault with drumming which made every other band I'd heard up until that point seem positively pedestrian.

While The Battle Of Evermore played I referred to the sleeve to find out who was providing the female vocal. I remembered that apparently, if you were to hold the picture from inside the gate fold sleeve length ways up against a mirror, the 'black dog' would reveal itself. The sleeve itself was very prog: no title, runes accompanying each players name and an impenetrable meaning behind the juxtaposition of the painting of the stick bearing country man and the tower blocks of Dudley.

Stairway Heaven was already known to me, of course, but when heard in context, as the band intended it to be heard against the varying styles of the other songs on the album, it seemed all the more sophisticated and not just the albatross which bestrode their career.

Misty Mountain Hop had an intoxicating hippy refrain which contributed directly to my subsequent immersion in the whole late sixties and early seventies music and cultural movement. Both Four Sticks and Going To California continued to amaze and delight me in their depth and maturity, all the time making me reconsider much of the more ridiculous aspects of my heavy metal collection.

I didn't know it at the time, but When The Levee breaks was to become one of my favourite tracks by anyone, ever. From the mouth organ intro to the gorgeous spiralling guitar, the stunning drumming and the genre defining vocal performance, it really is a phenomenal tour de force, which only gets better with each fresh hearing.

Even as a teenager, I knew that I had stumbled across one of the most important albums I would ever own.

There are very few perfect albums. Even TDSOTM has flaws; On The Run never quite worked for me, being a very mild interruption to a perfectly paced album. Looking at my music collection now, I am struggling to spot any flawless albums, other than Led Zeppelin IV. There isn't a single note, moan or drum beat I'd change. Perfect and practically prog.

Review of The Who's Tommy

Released 1969

"If you want to follow me, you've got to play pinball And put in your earplugs, put on your eyeshades You know where to put the cork".

Given that, in my formative years, like millions of other adolescent boys, I was heavily into the mainstream, hardcore rock bands, like Led Zeppelin, Deep Purple, AC/DC and the like, it was perhaps surprising that, for many years I saw nothing of any substance in The Who. Of course I was familiar with them, but not much more than Pin Ball Wizard if truth be told, and even then, and indeed to this day, I still prefer the version with the Elton John vocal.

Even when, during a summer job, working behind the bar in a posh Cornish pub which was frequented by Pete Townshend, I wasn't really in awe when serving him. Respectful of course, but if it had been Lord Percy Plant or Roger Waters I would have been a dribbling mess, but with Mr Townshend, I was nothing more than curious.

When The Who played Live Aid, I was surprised and impressed by their presence on stage. Shortly afterwards, when I stumbled across a copy of Tommy for rental in the local library (how cool was I?), I decided to give it a go.

I knew by osmosis that it was a concept album: one of the first. I also knew that it had a very strong reputation, so I expected to be impressed. I suppose at the time, I viewed as a rock album first and a prog album second. Having a concept and beginning with an Overture made me nod appreciably in anticipation.

I was unprepared for the sedateness of the piece. As The Who had a reputation for thuggery and power chords, I set the graphic equaliser on my trusty Amstrad to maximise the bass, only to be surprised by the orchestrated moderate pace of the opening. When Pete Townshend took the first few vocals rather than Roger Daltery, I was also taken aback. He may have earned the right to sing whatever he liked as he had written the whole thing, but his voice was even less appealing than Roger Waters and added little.

There was no doubting the core strength of the band. On Amazing Journey, I saw the first glimpses of the legendary rhythm section of Moon and Entwhistle. It was also the first point where I could see where Pete Townsend had gained his reputation as a formidable guitarist as well as his acknowledgment of Jimi Hendrix as an influence.

Amongst the occasional flashes of cleverness and progressiveness were tunes that had no more value than novelty items; Cousin Kevin and Do You Think It's Alright?, for example.

Of course, in the context of the album's story, Pinball Wizard itself takes on a much stronger role. In the main though, I struggled to maintain any real interest and thought the basic story was very sixth form; great idea on paper, but poorly realised. Sides three and four were again linked together by painfully weak songs that were no more than snippets, such as Miracle Cure.

I recognised some of the latter sections from a recent late night airing of the Woodstock Movie on VHS, but struggled to reconcile the iconic performance of the songs on Yasgur's farm with the fairly lame delivery on record.

As it finished, I was glad that I had only rented the album and not invested any of my hard earned cash. I didn't thing it was terrible, just that it was largely undynamic, unimaginative and uninspired. I could just about understand, based on the Woodstock performance, why they had a loyal following, but I felt hugely let down by the lack of 'specialness'.

It took a few more years, as well as increased exposure to other fans of The Who, before I felt compelled to give them another try.

All these years on, I now own most of their classic period albums and, in later reviews, you'll learn that at least two others rank very highly in my estimation. Until I heard the live version of Tommy on the Deluxe version of Live At Leeds and saw the movie, I maintained that Tommy was overrated, and I guess I still do. Both of these versions did increase my appreciation, but only so much. It's hard to see Townshend and especially Moon in full flow and not be impressed.

In the end, good but not essential.