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.

Review of Rainbow's Rising

Released 1976

"Hot wind, moving fast across the desert.
We feel that our time has arrived.
The world spins while we put his dream together. A tower of stone to take him straight to the sky. Oh I see his face!"

Categorising Rainbow Rising as a prog album will surprise some and perhaps anger others. Most would agree that the three MKI Deep Purple albums could reasonably be classified as prog or 'proto' prog. It is generally thought that the MKII albums moved into the realm of more mainstream classic rock; live many tracks were extended to twenty minute or more of extended instrumental workouts. However, such jams were seen as indulgent rather than improvisational, with little regard given to applauding the virtuosity of the musicianship employed. Whilst I would largely agree with this common view, I have long felt that Ritchie Blackmore's creativity could, in the right band, have resulted in more typically prog like output.

Occasionally, as the prog section of my record collection grew, I would reappraise other albums already residing on my shelves through my new 'prog filter'. Looking again at Rainbow Rising, I believed there was a reasonable argument to view this as Mr Blackmore's closest dalliance with the prog rock genre.

One aspect of this incarnation of Rainbow which is often overlooked is Tony Carey's keyboards. While I wouldn't place him anywhere need the premier division of established keyboard players, the opening strains of 'Tarot Woman' heard in isolation would more readily label the album as resolutely progressive as opposed to mainstream. True, the lyrics which follow don't count as Ronnie James Dio's most imaginative, but the sum of the constituent parts raise it above the norm.

'Run with the Wolf' and 'Starstruck' in the hands of lesser musicians would come over as good solid, but not much better than average rock songs. The three key players; Ritchie Blackmore, Ronnie James Dio and drummer Cozy Powell, all are arguably at the peak of their careers, each appearing to push and stretch the rest of the group, raising the bar significantly.

It isn't until Stargazer that the full potential of the band is realised. Blackmore has admitted that he borrowed very heavily from Led Zeppelin's 'Kashmir' for this track, to create a huge eastern tinged behemoth of a riff. In my opinion he takes it to a much greater place infinitely superior to it's ancestor. The chemistry between each of the instruments and RJD's vocal is extraordinary, stretching themselves impossibly far until the climax of the song under-scored by the Munich Philharmonic Orchestra, producing, for my money, one of the most successful marriages between a rock group and an an orchestra. The energy of the group is inspiring, in particular that of Cozy Powell. To think that he used to play Stargazer and A Light In The Black, both heavily driven by a furiously intense rhythm back to back in concert without a pause is remarkable.

Technically, Rainbow's Rising is as accomplished as many premier league prog bands. To label it as 'just' a rock album is unfair and elitist and ignores some very real talents.

Review of The Nice's The Thoughts of Emerlist Davjack

Released 1967

"I'm going back, going back to be young again, to find the time to develop my mind and be kind".

This was very much an impulse purchase. I say that not by way of apology, or to intimate that I'm embarrassed to own an album adorned by four young men wearing nothing but cellophane. No, indeed I only mention it as this impulse was further evidence to show that often, the best record buying decisions are those made on on the spur of the moment.

The market which visited our local town on a Tuesday and Saturday over the course of perhaps two years fuelled my record collection with some of the very best (and very cheapest) albums I have ever purchased. If I knew then what I know now, I'm sure I would have swept up many many other similar gems, if only I'd recognised them at the time.

The Nice were completely unknown to me. I was attracted by two things: a) that this clearly originated from the period of music in which I was interested and b) the thickness of the record sleeve. Some original editions of late sixties and early seventies albums were presented in incredibly thick, almost industrial strength cardboard. Forty years on, most people, I think, consider these to be aesthetically unappealing and cumbersome. For me they have a glorious charm and are infinitely more appealing than a CD jewell case.

Turning the record over I noted the band members names, and consequently the logic behind the albums title. I was familiar with the name Keith Emerson and I thought I knew one of the other names: was it from Roxy Music?

Seeing that this was from as early as 1967, I paused, suddenly unsure that this would appeal to me. As this was the first time I had encountered the band, and although I knew Keith Emerson's name and was aware of ELP's stature in the prog rock genre, at that point I had only heard Fanfare For A Common Man and was sure that this wasn't entirely representative of their 'oeuvre'. Could it be that this was a more pop orientated group which Mr Emerson had been glad to leave behind?

Then again, this was another £2.50 proposition. If I hated it, I could always pass it on to one of my younger brothers.

I groaned as soon as I heard the opening of the first track. This was very firmly rooted in the sixties, both in terms of production and it's nonsensical "pa,pa,pa,pa, pa, pa..." refrain. But then the pace and the time signature changed and (as I later learned) the very distinctive keyboard sound takes the lead and dominates everything from there on in. I could identify this as a prog record within the first minute of the first song, simply due to the keyboards. There were classical leanings and manic, furiously fast runs interspersed with more delicate but still decidedly odd signatures.

The other three band members struggled to keep up. The guitarist was equally manic and, in my opinion, very underrated, but was constantly in the shadow of the flamboyant keyboards. For the first time with any album I had owned up until that point, I found myself preferring the instrumental tracks: the vocals jarred badly with me, suiting neither the instrumental ambitions nor the genre itself.

Whilst I was mildly intrigued with the album as a whole, considering it not to be the embarrassing intrusion in my collection which I had expected, I was overawed when I heard Rondo. There were very strong similarities with the Jon Lord and Ritchie Blackmore dual at the climax of Deep Purple's Child In Time, except the pace of this was yet more frenetic and unhinged.

In 1967, from what I knew about The Nice's contemporaries, this must have received an explosive reaction, such was their energy and willingness to explore uncharted territory. This must surely have been one of the very first prog offerings. But what was the first? I had to go back to my books and find out.