Review of The Moody Blues' Days Of Future Passed

Released 1967

"Cold hearted orb that rules the night, Removes the colours from our sight.
Red is grey and yellow white, But we decide which is right.
And which is an illusion? Pinprick holes in a colourless sky,
Let inspired figures of light pass by, The mighty light of ten thousand suns, Challenges infinity and is soon gone. Night time, to some a brief interlude,
To others the fear of solitude. Brave Helios wake up your steeds,
Bring the warmth the countryside needs."

The Moody Blues have a very odd position in the pantheon of prog history. Despite seven very strong albums in the late sixties and early seventies, and the undoubted claim of Days Of Future Passed as the first true prog album, they are rarely lauded today in the way I feel their pedigree should warrant. While many of their contemporaries still gain countless column inches forty years on, it is rare to read a retrospective of their early career in the same way you might encounter Yes, King Crimson or many others who emerged around the same time. Perhaps this is because, for a while anyway, The Moodies crossed over and enjoyed success in the mainstream, all but abandoning their progressive roots altogether. However, they were not alone in that regard, and I for one will continue to champion their myriad virtues in this humble blog.

In previous reviews of albums by The Moody Blues, I have described how I was effectively made caretaker for a friend's record collection for an extended period, and that this weighty LP box contained a full set of the classic Moodies first seven albums. I should explain. for any pedants reading this, that I am discounting the very first Moodies album as an unspectacular (but nonetheless, very successful) unremarkable 'beat combo' offering in the same manner as Genesis fans (which incidentally includes me) discount From Genesis To Revelation, seeing Trespass as the first real Genesis album.

The cover was reminiscent of a film soundtrack, and, from my youthful perspective, bore no prog credentials whatsoever. The fact that it was their first album proper with their new line up, so soon after the pedestrian Go Now, didn't particularly excite me either. Of course, like the rest of the Western world I was familiar with Nights In White Satin, although at the time, only knowing it as a single, I probably saw it as fairly MOR; undoubtedly a good pop song but nothing special.

Thus it became one of many albums which I didn't fully comprehend or appreciate until it occupied one side of a C90 cassette, and I was playing it on a Sony Walkman on one of the interminably long coach trips I had to take between Redruth and Glasgow.

It was definitely one of those "this-is supposed-to-be-a-classic-although-I doubt-it" begrudging listens. With fourteen hours ahead of me, I had a lot of cassettes to divert me and I knew that I better get it over and done with.

Were I to review that first full run through giving my nineteen year old response, this would be short and grumpy review. It is only fair to superimpose my more mature, gently greying view, all these years on.

The album begins very softly with an almost imperceptible reverberating percussion which builds to a climax introducing a full orchestra. As a nineteen year old, I would have groaned and thought, 'yup; piss poor soundtrack nonsense'. Now I am old enough and wise enough to realise what incredible new ground The Moodies were making with Days Of Future Passed. Decca had seen sufficient potential in them to bestow free reigh of all the latest technologies, along with a full orchestra and a seemingly bottomless budget. This was 1967; pop/rock bands playing with orchestras on a concept album was new, completely untried. Pop bands did play along with orchestras for TV specials for the masses, but this was something different.

The delivery of the opening spoken verse (see top of this review) indicates just how different this was. With the benefit of hindsight, it is easy to reference future Moodies releases which would also use a spoken opening, as well as future borrowings of this device by other prog bands (both Tommy and Quadophrenia both use the overture device as witnessed here, for example), but at the time, you would have to ask; just who was their audience? This wouldn't have appealed to a pop audience, surely? Nor the classical audience either, as it was a bit too far out there for the 'straights'.

Dawn Is A Feeling has a curious blend of classic sixties pop sensibilities in the chorus, blended with a more sophisticated drama in the verses. Where, on a traditional prog album , you might expect to hear a mellotron or keyboard solo, to hear the mellotron accompanied with a full orchestra is a strange thing first time around, a huge sound, and one which must have caused much scratching of heads by the 'straights' and much excited stroking of chins by aspiring progsters.

The Morning again has much of the standard pop whimsy which would have been commonplace amongst specifically their pop contemporaries, but the chorus introduces swathes of mellotron and vocal harmonies. The orchestral accompaniment can jar occasionally and date the music very firmly as a sixties oddity.

Lunch Break is probably the greatest casualty of this on the album: the first half sounds like the soundtrack for a terrible Peter Sellers film from that period. However, the second half of the track introduces Jefferson Airplane type keyboard effects and frankly wonderful harmonies. At three minutes fifty, the band collectively take off on a remarkable guitar and bass frenzy; very Byrds-like. Suddenly it is not difficult to imagine this being played at the Roundhouse in London admist swirling light displays just after The Pink Floyd have finished their set without it sounding anything other than perfectly suited to its surroundings.

The prog credentials are heightened further with The Afternoon. The mellotron here is as effective as anything on In The Court Of The Crimson King. There is an effortlessness by which the band switches between prog passages, orchestral arrangements and a pop based chorus which is quite unique. I defy anyone currently lumping The Moodies into the average prog bracket to retain that view after listening to The Afternoon.

Without getting caught up in the actual comparative chronology of Days Of Future Passed and Sgt Pepper, or indeed any other 1967 album claiming to be the first to be labelled as prog, I strongly believe that the former has to be the stronger contender, based if nothing else on the large number of prog motifs which became the norm on later albums by most of the the classic prog bands in the seventies.

The Evening ( like the rest of the album) does a very credible job of creating an atmosphere relative to the title of the song and the concept of the album as a whole. Its probably true to say that the Eastern inflections used here are not as successful as those Mr Harrison used on Sgt Pepper. This is remedied, at least in part, by the space-rock chorusing in the middle section of the song and the sublime set up at the end of the track for what is arguably the highpoint of the album.

Although I had heard Nights In White Satin a hundred times before, hearing it for the first time in the context of the album is, dare I say it, akin to a religious experience. I cannot hear it now as the climax to the album without a tear in my eye. On one level it is a classic pop song whilst on another it is a brilliant fusion of all what was emerging as prog at the time: mellotrons, classical leanings, a flute solo, a timeless concept and an excellent vocal performance.

I urge you to to put any prejudices to one side, put the album on, select track one, put on some headphones, turn the volume up as high as you can bear, close your eyes, lie back and be amazed.

The spoken finale is suitably cinematic, emotionally intense and absolutely worthy of its classic groundbreaking status. Possibly the misunderstood album in prog.

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 Marillion's Misplaced Childhood

Released 1985

"And a ring of violet bruises, they were pinned upon her arm. Two hundred francs for sanctuary and she led me by the hand to a room of dancing shadows where all the heartache disappears And from glowing tongues of candles, I heard her whisper in my ear "'J'entend ton coeur", I can hear your heart".

I have a confession to make. In the summer of 1985, I had Marillion's logo embroidered into my denim jacket. I know, I know. I was young and I was foolish, I had big hair, smelt of patchouli oil and could be found, in my private moments, throwing Fish-like poses and no doubt pouting in a meaningful way. If my youngest brother is reading this, he will testify to the acute embarrassment of having a Marillion fan in the family.

In the rock music press in the eighties, Marillion were feted as the champions of contemporary prog rock with countless column inches given over to their colourful career progression. As a fan who had followed them closely it was a rare treat to have such exposure to the trials and tribulations of a prog rock band in the here and now.

Although the fans still loved Marillion, the critics weren't fond of Fugazi and their were rumours of drink and drug problems within the band and a definitive feeling that their next album had to be good or the honeymoon period would be over.

Marillion then did something almost unheard of amongst prog circles; they released one of the most successful singles of the 1980's - Kayleigh - and swiftly followed it up with another - Lavender - and thereby secured themselves a successful, albeit very brief residence in the upper echelons of the pop charts. As undeniably catchy as both singles were, I along with many other Marillion fans raised a quizzical eyebrow at this distinctly non-prog direction, and feared that the follow up to Fugazi would spell the end of the prog renaissance. To see the splendidly mulleted Fish dancing his way through the video for Kayleigh was enough for any self respecting prog fan to consider unpicking their logo from their denim jacket.

The album packaging was reassuring. Mark Wilkinson produced one of the finest sleeve designs of the eighties which was very, very prog with themes from the last two albums such as the jester, the magpie making appearances. It was a bit glossy overall, but then again it was the eighties.

I was prepared to expect two side long 'suites' of continuous music which was markedly more ambitious than their previous efforts. I therefore had mixed expectations based just how effectively these commercial singles could reside within prog-like suites.

Pseudo Silk Kimono provides a very prog like prelude to the two singles which ran back to back and, although I was loathe to admit it, worked very well as part of the concept. These ran in turn into possibly the strongest part of the album, the five part Bitter Suite. Fish's lyrics were much more accessible and becoming more accomplished with each album. Yes, the first part was particularly silly and perhaps unnecessarily theatrical, but it certainly worked. It wasn't difficult to imagine it being 'acted out' on stage. The feel of this first side was undeniably prog, but it was also extremely listenable and flowed very well indeed.

My problem with it then and so some extent now, was that it was too straightforward and not complex enough. Now, if you have read my last review - of Genesis' Foxtrot - you'll no doubt wonder what it would take to satisfy this fussy seventeen year old: I saw Foxtrot as impenetrably complex and Misplaced Childhood as too simple. Obviously there is a conundrum here. I put it down to my tender years. Twenty five years on though, I now acknowledge Foxtrot as a masterpiece and view Misplaced Childhood as 'interesting' but not great.

The second side is, to be fair, much more complex and probably better for it. This side touches more emphatically on Fish's chemical diversions and subsequent psychological issues and is more edgy, denser and has more soul and substance.

I couldn't fault the playing or the writing especially. It was just less challenging than their previous albums. For these reasons, it has been far and away their most commercially successful album. However, for me it ranks as the weakest of the four Fish era albums.

Review of Genesis' Foxtrot

Released 1972

"MARK HALL OF STYX ENTERPRISES (OTHERWISE KNOWN AS 'THE WINKLER')
"I represent a firm of gentlemen who recently purchased this
house and all the others in the road. In the interest of humanity we've found a better place for you to go, go-woh, go-woh"

It wasn't until I purchased my third copy of Foxtrot that I saw any merit in it whatsoever. It now sits safely within my top ten albums. I can't think of any other album in my collection which has bewildered me as much as Genesis' third album proper.

There was a notable raising of the bar between Trepass and Nursery Cryme; a growing confidence and ambition, which dared to venture into realms of lyrical eccentricity that could only be carried off against a backdrop of highly proficient musicianship. As Foxtrot was their next album chronologically, and it contained the infamous side long Supper's Ready of which I aware of by reputation only, I was keen to see if the upwards trend had continued.

Paul Whitehead had again been employed to produce an inexplicably appropriate sleeve design, which, while it appeared to have little logic of itself or any obvious connection to the music, somehow it gelled perfectly. There was also a clever reference to the artwork of the previous album on the rear sleeve with the croquet hammer again being readied to propel a human head. Aliens dressed in full fox-hunting regalia, on horseback, on a beach, gazing out to sea (past a shark/dolphin hybrid) at a woman wearing a red dress, but with a foxes' head, who is standing on an iceberg with a submarine in the background. Utterly nuts.

For reasons I cannot explain, I absolutely hated the entire album first time around, finding nothing of merit in any way. Supper's Ready in particular left me totally cold; I saw it as a poorly connected series of shorter songs which were trying to be too clever and were failing badly. I put the album away and ultimately sold it a few years later having played it only once. Consequently, I found myself listening to the first two albums less and less, to the point where I gave up on Genesis altogether. Oddly, I did buy my first copy of The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway about six months later - only because I found a second hand copy in perfect condition for £1 - but then gave up on that in exactly the same way, reasoning that it's mint condition was due it's previous owner having had the same opinion.

Out of the blue about ten years later, when I was in my mid-twenties, I read once more about the supposed brilliance of Foxtrot and it's universal long lasting acclaim (amongst prog rock fans at least) as one of the very best examples of the prog genre. On a whim, I decided to give it another go and bought my second copy; a cassette version. Again, I found it completely unlistenable and traded it in the next day.

Thus up until about three years ago, I hadn't listened to Trepass, Nursery Cryme of any of the Peter Gabriel era Genesis for the best part of twenty five years.

In the meantime, my prog rock collection had diversified and veered off in many other directions. At every turn though I was confronted with the resounding knowledge that I must be one of the few fans of old school prog who didn't like Genesis. However this didn't make sense to me, as there had been a time when the first two albums were regular visitors to my turntable.

I bit the bullet and started again, first with Trepass and then with Nursery Cryme. To my delight, I probably enjoyed Trepass more a quarter of a century on, and still had a fondness for Nursery Cryme.

Third time around, Foxtrot was a revelation. I could have wept at the brilliance of Watcher Of The Skies; clearly one of the archetypal prog songs: to this day I have yet to hear more emotive use of the mellotron. This was Tony Banks' album; his DNA was stamped indelibly across a large proportion of the album, with a strength of character and control that most other keyboard players would have killed for. Peter Gabriel took the obtuseness of lyric displayed on the previous album into a realm which no one else could touch. Phil Collins' underrated drumming was never better.

I was stunned, with the exception of the horribly twee Time Table, the whole of the first side was a masterclass in prog. What had I heard twenty five years previously that repelled me to abandon the band in the way I did? I'll never know. My enjoyment of the album was immeasurably enhanced by the contrast between my experiences as a fifteen year old and a 39 year old.

I still held my breath for Supper's Ready. As a twenty five year old I saw it as pretentious smart-arsedness at it's very worst.

It did take a few plays to be honest, but little by little, the merits of Supper's Ready have unfolded for me, layer by layer, revealing itself as an accomplished epic worthy of it's plaudits. I still think it is overtly and unnecessarily complex, but, three years on, I am still picking up snatches of brilliance which, with each new play, build on the undoubted foundation of the first side. Of all my Genesis albums, only Selling England By The Pound is played more often.

A classic. Eventually.

Review of Barclay James Harvest's Octoberon

Released 1976

"I stepped out on the guard rail, saw the crowds slowly part Heard a voice shouting 'don't jump, please for god's sake let me move my car!'
Felt a hand on my shoulder, heard a voice cry 'just in time!'
Felt the quick push, felt the air rush Felt the sidewalk, fell in line."

I professed in my review of Everyone Is Everybody Else that I was introduced to Barclay James Harvest through my Father's extraordinary moderate interest in prog; essentially, other than BJH, his only other prog interest that I was aware of was (later period) The Moody Blues.

Although I knew EIEE almost subliminally for years, I didn't buy a copy until years later. Octoberon then became my first Barclay James Harvest purchase. I'm sure that it was a requested present for either a birthday or Christmas. I would have chosen Octoberon specifically for no other reason than it's wonderful cover. I've said before that while Genesis are usually seen as the most forthright quintessentially English prog rock band and are credited with the successful evocation of a bygone pastoral age, I feel that there are a few other bands who easily parallel this sentiment; Traffic being one and Barclay James Harvest being another. The cover depicts a fabulously ornate portrayal of a May Queen; undeniably pastorally English and the subject matter of one of the songs contained herein. I also loved the lettering. I liked to imagine that on original pressings of the album, the the lettering was embossed or even stitched in place.

The World Goes on begun with the extremely mellow acoustically lead, quite folk like theme I would have hoped for. The vocal was, and I've said this before, very Floyd-like; specifically akin I think to Rick Wright. With a gorgeous Floydian guitar solo and the expected liberal use of mellotron, this picked up where EIEE leaves off and therefore doesn't disappoint.

The pace remains sedate and stately for Mayday and indeed the whole album, hardly raising the pulse but extremely effective. Any review of either a BJH album or of their career as a whole cannot resist describing the band as nearly men, forever living in the shadow of their more successful multi0platinum selling peers, usually Pink Floyd and / or The Moody Blues. Indeed, I've done it here myself. However, I think that this view undervalues the their contribution to the prog canon. Yes, of course there are similarities between these bands, but this should be celebrated rather than derided. It may be easy to compare the closing choral section of May Day with parts of Pink Floyd's Atom Heart Mother, but that is unfair as it works in both contexts. I don't believe that critics of the band can have it both ways: if the BJH guitar style is so similar to David Gilmour, why are the skills of the Pink Floyd guitarist placed on a pedestal whilst BJH' s close approximation is seen as less valuable?

Perhaps it is Barclay James Harvest's lack of a 'message' or large theme underpinning their work which leaves them often categorised as second rate. That said, there can be few bands who have so effectively specialised in doom laden motifs and songs to slit your wrists to, and whilst perhaps they may not therefore be a band who can get a party moving along, as purveyors of this particular niche, I, for one think that they are very accomplished. I'd certainly rather spend my time listening to BJH as opposed to The Cure, for example.

The pinnacle of Barclay James Harvest's career, I believe is the song 'Suicide?'. If you are unfamiliar with it, I would urge you to acquire a copy at your earliest convenience, sit in a darkened room, remove all sharp objects and enjoy. I remember clearly as if it were yesterday (as opposed to twenty five years ago) the hairs standing up on the back of neck the first time I played this track. Why these four boys from Oldham were so obsessed with all things maudlin is unknown to me and how none of them went the way of Kurt Cobain, such is their apparent affiliation with self-induced death, is a miracle. At the climax of the song, the protagonist walks slowly to the roof of a building where, in the end, he jumps, accompanied by the most heart stoppingly effective sound effect that I've yet heard committed to record. It is genuinely disturbing but a staggeringly effect piece of music.

The oddest thing of all with BJH, is that they so skillfully combined themes of depression and death with some of the most beautiful orchestrations of the period. In a perverse sort of way, I like the fact that BJH are seen as nearly men. That way, all of their many fans, amonsgt whom I count myself, can grin smugly in the knowledge that we are members of a relatively exclusive club.

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.

Review of Genesis' Nursery Cryme

Released 1971

"Still they're invincible,
Still they're immune to all our herbicidal battering."

The downside of occasionally ordering albums from the Britannia Music Club, was that if no-one at home to take delivery, there was the risk that the postman would leave the cardboard package in a puddle. Thus, my first copy of Nursery Cryme was decidedly damp upon arrival. The vinyl itself was unaffected, and as the cover was horribly glossy, I reasoned that it would add 'character', and effectively age it to sit more comfortably with the more prestigious faded and worn second hand albums with whom it would predominantly share the shelves.

A few years later, I compared earlier matt finished and more robustly produced editions to the glossy cheap and cheerful poor version I had acquired. Mine was certainly a poor relation. The more muted colours and matt finish were much more in keeping with Paul Whitehead's menacing Victorian frontispiece. Scanning the lyrics there were also references to this period, while other songs spoke of fantastical creatures, bizarre plants or reproduced large parts of a nursery rhyme.

First impressions suggested that the odd otherworldly presence of Trepass was being continued here. A new guitarist and drummer were present, but it looked as though I might be in for more of the same.

The Musical Box was such a complex track, with more invention and ambition than many bands pack into an entire career, that it is would be simple to focus on little else. There was a sense of maturity which manifests itself in a measured and disciplined approach to the songs ornate structure.

The opening ancient strings and the space afforded to the vocal with the occasional echo effect slowly built to create real tension. The medieval feel of Trepass was evoked with deft touches of harpsichord and a vocal harmony remarkably similar to CSN, trailing over acoustic guitar, thereby producing a very English pastoral mood, further enhanced by Gabriel's occasional flute. Three and a half minutes in, there is a pause before Tony Banks mellotron wades in, building the tempo with the drums driving a sense of awaiting drama. Steve Hackett switches from acoustic to electric, violently, rapidly but only briefly, before slowing down to the 'Old King Cole' refrain once more. There is then a guitar and keyboard battle with huge distortion on the former in a style indistinguishable (to these ears only) to Anthony Phillips, especially on The Knife.

The mellotron was much more in evidence on Nursery Cryme, and was dominating the artistry of the whole album and - to my mind - was starting to define the Genesis sound, with the guitar being used sparingly to provide textures rather than lead the way. The Fountain of Salamacis demonstrated this especially well, with a wall of mellotron sound; a sound scape used to complement vocal harmonies and the guitar is barely evident.

I shook my head in bemusement at The Return of the Giant Hogweed. A narrative about the trials and tribulations about the aforementioned plant couldn't have been further removed from the standard rock song structure prevalent in my record collection. I was at a loss to rationalise why anyone would wish to construct a song around this subject matter, but I was intrigued which I guess was the point. Their musical prowess was undoubted, with much more confidence and drama than their earlier album. There were moments where my interest sustained. The folkier passages held less ambition than the out and out epic prog moments

I saw this a much bolder album daring to be different and adventurous, knowing that the virtuosity was such that no subject matter was out of bounds.

Not a perfect album, but worth the price tag for The Musical Box. Having bought the first two Genesis albums in the order in which they had been released and having seen real progression being made, I was very keen to move on to their next release.
.

Review of Yes' Close To The Edge

Released 1972

"The time between the notes relates the color to the scenes. A constant vogue of triumphs dislocate man, it seems. And space between the focus shape ascend knowledge of love. As song and chance develop time, lost social temperance rules above".

When referring to any new book or magazine around the subject of prog rock, sooner or later, within the first paragraph or so, usually in close conjunction with King Crimson, Genesis and Emerson, Lake & Palmer, I found that Yes were almost universally acknowledged as masters of the genre. Close To The Edge was typically held up as their flagship work. As such, a dozen or so albums into my prog journey, and with The Yes Album already on my shelf and well respected, it was inevitable that I would turn to this, their fifth album, next.

As I touched on in my review of The Yes Album, I was aware of Roger Dean's logo from a young age. I actually remember sketching it on the cover of my Geography exercise book when I was thirteen or fourteen, alongside the logo' s of Black Sabbath, Status Quo and ELO. Whilst I was familiar with all of these bands, (Yes; even ELO) I couldn't have named a single Yes song or album. Now, a few years later, I was delighted that I had made the decision to purchase the first album to contain the iconic Yes logo proper. Terribly shallow, I know.

My 'Nice Price' edition of the album purchased in 1984, was single sleeve with a plain white inner sleeve. As such, it wasn't until I saw a friends older edition later at University - along with the majority of the rest of the 'classic era' albums - that I realised I was missing out on the the full spectacle of Roger Dean's fantastical landscape work.

I had been disappointed when I purchased The Yes Album to learn that Rick Wakeman wasn't yet in the group. Stories of his caped antics reached beyond the inner sanctum of the prog fan base to the mainstream. Noting that he was present and correct on Close To The Edge heightened my sense of anticipation. The fact that there were only three tracks and that the first was divided into four 'parts', with names like 'Total Mass Retain' were obvious give aways that this was a piece of prog.

I settled down in the early hours of the following morning, switched out the main overhead light, turned on the lamp with a red light bulb muted by an occasionally smouldering tea-towel, put on the headphones, placed the stylus on the vinyl and waited.

Like The Dark Side Of The Moon, Close To The Edge seemed to take an age before anything was picked up in the headphones. How to describe those first twittering sounds? I've always bizarrely pictured them as organic, pastoral or birdlike. These then quickly dissolved into a cacophony of odd time signatures, circling between keyboards, bass and guitar, round and round, repeating a complex motif, which was incredibly dense and difficult to penetrate. Like The Yes Album, the bass again appeared to dominate, weaving unorthodox patterns, further complicated by the stop /start drumming pattern underpinning it and a jazzy angular rapid guitar motif. A pattern would emerge before being replaced with another, and another. Then all would stop and Jon Anderson would utter a quick 'aaahhh' before it all commenced again become more and more complex.

After a few minutes, a form of calmness descends and an extraordinarily surreal lyric commences; utterly impenetrable and, to this day unfathomable to anyone I have ever met. Although the lyrics were nonsensical, the harmony, the 'fit' between the actual sound of the words as opposed to the meaning of the words and the nature of the music it accompanied was undeniably wonderfully effective.

As the title track moved through it's various parts, I could see why the term 'symphonic prog' had been applied to this album. Whilst much of this eighteen minute plus title track was too dense to take in that night, the centre piece - the passage preceding( I Get Up I Get Down) and including the cathedral of sound of the specular keyboard solo - grabbed my attention absolutely. I turned the volume up as loud as was comfortably possible while the reverbation of the church organ made me glow with excitment. Not since The Dark Side of The Moon had a an album pulled me in so deep and made me feel so protective of it completely.

While the utter unintelligibility of the lyrics of the epic title track and the odd but masterful muscianship made me smile, I found that I had tears in my eyes when confronted with And You
I. Although I couldn't fathom any logic behind Jon Anderson's lyrics, his delivery was impeccable and unmatched. Siberian Khatru passed in a bit of a daze; I was exhausted.

When the album finished, I immediately turned it over and played it again, recording it on the second side of my C90 cassette which already had The Yes Album on the other side. Wonderful times.

Review of Marillion's Fugazi

Released 1984

"The thief of baghdad hides in islingtown now, praying
deportation for his sacred cow. A legacy of romance from a twilight world. The dowry of a relative mystery girl."

Having spent many hours rooting around in second hand record shops for albums released when I was but a child, it was something of a novelty to look forwards to Marillion's second album hitting the shops. Marillion were despised and ridiculed by the mainstream music press, famously derided as unoriginal Genesis wannabees with little talent beyond mimicry. However Script For a Jester's Tear sold very well, leading to their lengthy residency at the Marquee Club and a strong reputation as a formidable (if not overtly pretentious) live band on the wider circuit. Opening the Reading Festival in 1983 with a circa twenty minute version of the (at the time) unreleased Grendel, a vast sprawling epic with a huge nod to Supper's Ready, displayed levels of indulgence not seen for many years on stage.

It was highly enjoyable to follow current exponents of prog rock sensibilities in the face of bemusement from the majority of my contemporaries.

The review of Fugazi in Kerrang! wasn't as emphatic as their first album. In fact it wasn't particularly kind at all, quoting 'difficult second album syndrome' and questioning their subsequent appeal and staying power. I saw this as puff and bluster: a band couldn't fall so awfully from grace in the course of a couple of years and a couple of albums, surely.

I was impressed that the same artist had been employed for the cover of this second album providing a strong sense of continuity; there was a theme of isolation common to both albums - the 'bed-sit' land referred to in Chelsea Monday on the first album was present once more. A bedraggled figure with more than a passing resemblance to Fish lay sprawled on a bed amidst much chaotic detritus. The jesters outfit was in evidence, as were other familiar motifs: the rainbow and the crow. LP's by Pink Floyd and Peter Hammill lay scattered on the floor as unambiguous acknowledgements of the tortured soul's heritage. This wasn't going to be a fun record clearly.

Having recently seen Apocalypse Now, I was impressed by the (almost) direct lifting of part of the lyric of Assassing from the film. I was less impressed by the drum sound; it was very much rooted in the general trend of more popular music in the mid-eighties; the drums were bought much further forward in the mix and much less subtle than I would have expected. Hmmm, a rocky start.

I wasn't taken too much by the next two tracks either. Both were very light, had pop inflections being quite insubstantial and very much at odds with much of the first album. The primary instrument in evidence was Fish's voice. His cynical invective was taking on the role of the doomed adolescent poet, very much the tragic jester.

Having spent most of this first listen wearing an unfortunate frown, I realised with Emerald Lies and She Chameleon that something was creeping up on me, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. There was a 'coldness' and a clarity to the production that was in perfect harmony to the anguish of Fish's words. Whereas the first album was often quite lush and ornate, there was pain and pity echoed by a more sparse but symphonic guitar sound; providing a terrible tapestry of aching and pleading, which slowly drew me in.

This was an album which you would switch off if your parents walked in; so personal and indulgent and self pitying and yet so tangibly desperate and brilliant in it's execution, you couldn't possibly justify or identify with it's pomposity and misery. And yet, to hide beneath the headphones, safe from the world, wallowing in it utterly, was, what we now call a guilty pleasure.

Review of Marillion's Script for a Jester's Tear

Released 1983

"So here I am once more in the playground of the broken hearts"

Although my world changed forever when I first heard The Dark Side of The Moon, my main musical interest remained classic rock and what was known at the time as the NWOBHM.
With restricted access to live music in West Cornwall and not too many knowledgeable musical contemporaries to inspire me, it fell to Kerrang! magazine to provide my window on the wider outside musical world.
One week, among the usual album reviews for the likes of Saxon, Whitesnake and The Tygers of Pang, my interest was caught by a particularily enthusiastic review of Marillion's first album: Script for a Jester's Tear.
Much was made of the the similarities with Genesis, a band at who at the time were extremely popular for making non-rock based music. Photographs of the lead singer Fish in make-up and striking daring garish theatrical poses seemed at odds to the the Phil Collins modern day fronted version of Genesis I knew. I was intrigued. The review spoke of stunning musicianship, lengthy instrumental passages and referred many times to the 'golden age' of progressive rock music.
At the time this term would have meant little or nothing to me.

I was intrigued enough to seek out the album shortly afterwards. As with the first time I held my (first) copy of The Dark Side of The Moon, I was struck by the depth of detail on the gatefold sleeve, the artistic fonts and colours used and knew once more that this was a group that was trying really hard to produce something of great quality.

Being used to the standard verse, chorus, verse, chorus, bridge, versus, chorus and largely predictable lyrics of the rest of the rock bands I was listening to, reading the lyric sheet for this bizarre album reminded me of the poetry I was studying at college.

When I first played the album I was therefore quite unsure whether it would appeal to me in anyway. The title track starts slowly with accompanied vocals, with instruments joining as the pace increases and the drama escalates. I had never heard such 'naked' vocals; the singer seemed to bare his anguished soul for all to see, regardless of how vulnerable or feminine or contrived his tales. The sense of theatre, of a an event pulling the listener in to it's tortured terrible world drew me in on the very first listen.

Playing anything else in my record collection at the time (other than DSOTM) then seemed not quite right. The depth of these two records was utterly compelling, revealing layer after layer with subsequent listens, while everything else, whilst exciting and immediate felt hollow in some way.

I now had two albums linked by, by what? I wasn't sure, but I knew I wanted more.

Review of Pink Floyd's The Dark Side of The Moon

Released 1973

"Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way
The time is gone, the song is over,
Thought I'd something more to say".

My first prog rock purchase was The Dark Side of The Moon by Pink Floyd.

My love of music came from an early immersion in my parent's record collections: The Beatles, Elvis, Buddy Holly etc. The first band I decided I liked off my own back was Queen. I delighted in collecting everything they did and threw myself fully into the history of the band. Listening to Alexis Korner's 'Great Guitarists' (or similar) Sunday night Radio 1 series to learn more initially about the influences of Brian May, I was drawn further into the series and became captivated by the programmes on Ritchie Blackmore and Jimmy Page. This drew me into investigating rock music per se from the late sixties and early seventies.

I read voraciously about this classic period and fell in love with the myths and legends of Led Zeppelin. Keen to learn more about their contemporaries I gradually became aware of the better known exponents of prog rock. Fascinated by the other worldliness of the album sleeves of Genesis, Emerson, Lake and Palmer and Yes whenever I visited a record shop, I remained intrigued but did not commit myself to a purchase until I was about seventeen.

I remember very clearly descending the iron steps to the now long defunct basement record store on Menage Street in Helston, Cornwall. This was a tiny dark room with background music which was at the time completely unfamiliar to me; probably Frank Zappa or Captain Beefheart in hindsight. I felt out of my depth, but somehow knew that serious music fans were more likely to be seen here in the dark rather than down the road in Woolworths.

Thumbing through the albums I stopped when I recognised the name TDSOTM. In those days (early eighties) albums were still presented in see through plastic sleeves. I removed the album from the sleeve and rubbed a thumb across the emitted spectrum of light emerging from the prism. This had quality. It told me that this was a significant item; time and effort had gone into the design of this. It felt right. Opening the gatefold, the spectrum of light formed a repeating pulse motif across the middle, with lyrics above and below. I knew I wanted to own this piece of art and I knew that in doing so, things would change.

Later, at home, when I placed the record on the turntable, and turned on the Amstrad tower system carefully lowering the stylus onto the outside edge of the album, I swear I was holding my breath.

To first hear a pulse, to then hear sound effects, rather than just 'music', followed by mechanical noises and a soaring crescendo, all before the first track settles into a laid back almost stoned groove left me speechless. My life changed at that point. Odd time signatures, long instrumental passages, glorious female wailing, stunning guitar solos, atmospheric keyboards and lyrics that seemed to speak directly to me with absolute immediacy, all served to freeze time. I stood throughout that first listen, desparate for it not to end.

I studied the accompanying poster wondering what inspired these strange looking men pictured against a background of pyramids, flames and gongs to compose a piece of music that flowed effortlessly and beautifully across forty five minutes suite, of such complete perfection. Why wwere there two postcards? What did it mean? I had no idea, but I knew it felt right.

I felt proud and priviledged just to hold the complete package. I wanted to both shout it out loud and keep it utterly to myself at the same time. I lay back on my bed, put on my headphones and listened to it once more straight away.

I was hooked. My appetite had been whetted. I wanted more and was overwhelmed at the thought of the unknown world I was about to tap into.