Review of Emerson, Lake & Palmer's Brain Salad Surgery

Released 1973

"Welcome back my friends to the show that never ends
We're so glad you could attend. Come inside! Come inside!
There behind a glass is a real blade of grass, be careful as you pass.
Move along! Move along!"

From the time I first began to develop my own independent interest in music, Emerson, Lake & Palmer belonged to that select number of bands who had a benign omnipresence but whom remianed utterly beyond my ken. Groups like ELP, Yes and Led Zeppelin were the sort of bands that the boys two or three years above me at school would be into. They were all over the serious music press, but because they didn't have a presence in the singles chart, they retained a mystical intangibility as monstrous behemoths, bestriding continents occupying stadiums and enormodomes, inciting a religious fervour to those in the know. I'm sure most men of a similar age to myself will recall seeing ELP play Fanfare For The Common Man in something to do with the Olympics in 1976. They appeared big in every sense of the word.

Of course, as I read more and more about prog and the classic early seventies period which I came to love, it was immediately apparent that ELP were held almost solely responsible for the death (or at least extended cull) of the great age of prog. These three men have, to this day, borne the huge weight of responsibility for applying Herculean levels of excess and thereby incurring the wrath of punks eager young pretenders, in turn inciting musical revolution and the subsequent fizzling out of their own career.

Having picked up on Keith Emerson through the blistering debut by The Nice, I had high hopes for my first airing of an ELP album. I had also enjoyed Greg Lake's vocals on the first King Crimson album. I was intrigued to hear how these well respected earlier efforts were transformed into a prog monster, reviled by so many.

I have a confession to make in that although I am counting Brain Salad Surgery as my first encounter with a full ELP album, I'm fairly certain that I had come across one of The Works albums some time earlier. Try as I may though, I have no recollection whatsoever of this true first experience.

I'm sure a significant percentage of impulse purchases of Brain Salad Surgery have been based on the quality of the HR Giger sleeve work as on anticipation or knowledge of the music itself. Although I believe the term 'Brain Salad Surgery' is a euphemism for a sexual act, the gothic coldness of the blue grey sleeve accurately reflects the tone of the whole piece.

The grandeur of their sound was somewhat surprising. Jerusalem was staged as if addressed to an audience seated in a cathedral as opposed to a stadium. This was a style of keyboard playing which I was largely unfamiliar with. Given that he was all but a household name, it struck me as odd that Keith Emerson's mode of playing was not commonly copied by subsequent generations of keyboard players. I suddenly felt a bit like a prog virgin all over again, which wasn't unpleasant; I was glad to have my eyes opened.

I was aware of Toccata as an early eighties track by the oddly popular Sky. This was very different interpretation. Way more aggressive with a stunning chugging bass line and the first full airing of the vast cavernous drum sound of Carl Palmer. It was only half way through this track that I realised the obvious: there was no guitar; just bass, drums and keyboards. Or was there? I checked the sleeve and saw that Greg Lake was credited with six and twelve string guitar as well as the bass. Well, so far, I was struggling to pick this up. There appeared to be a large gap where a guitar should be. As such, there was a clear distinction between ELP's sound by comparison to The Nice.

I found the production on Brain Salad Surgery quite grating at first, especially with regard to the vocals. Having heard Greg Lake in several other guises since, I didn't think this did him any favours. I'm sure others would disagree, believing that it suited the epic nature of the music.

But then I got to Still...You Turn Me On and the production instantly worked. And there was the guitar. I guessed that back up musicians must have been used when performing this live. Obviously a big departure from their signature sound, Still... was a pleasant surprise: a simple and effective, uncharacteristically restrained track which could be sung along to.

I still struggle to say anything positive about Benny The Bouncer. I cannot see it as anything other than filler; a humourless waste of two and a bit minutes. A shame really. Especially when considered alongside the huge twenty nine minute plus epic Karn Evil 9. To be honest, it took a few spins for me to appreciate this track. I now consider it to be the pinnacle of their career and one of the most successful 'suites' in prog. Yes it's indulgent and overblown, excessive and self conscious, but it pushes the prog envelope to the same degree as Close To The Edge (the track) or A Plague Of Lighthouse Keepers. And, like the very best prog, even after several hundred plays, I am still hearing new sounds and themes from all three musicians.

It is not difficult to see why ELP inspired the reaction they did, however it is reassuring to be part of a club that smugly smirks in a self knowing way, delighted to by perverse enough to enjoy ELP and Brain Salad Surgery in particular.

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 King Crimson's In The Court Of The Crimson King

Released 1969

"The rusted chains of prison moons
Are shattered by the sun.
I walk a road, horizons change
The tournament's begun.
The purple piper plays his tune,
The choir softly sing;
Three lullabies in an ancient tongue,
For the court of the crimson king"

I seem to begin so many reviews with a confession for a very simple reason: my tastes have changed, often dramatically over the years. What I find interesting is that the change is always one way: I've yet come across an album which I once adored and now abhor. Yet there are so many times when I've purchased an album with high expectations only to be crushed with disappointment, often to the point where there has then been a new addition to the local second hand record shop's bargain box within twenty four hours of the original purchase. Needless to say, King Crimson's ground-breaking debut album falls very squarely into this well populated category.

I couldn't pick up a music magazine or music book without being reminded from every quarter that In The Court Of The Crimson King was one of the most important albums of the prog rock genre, in all likelihood the very first album to be labelled as such.

Likewise, there always seemed to be a copy of Barry Godber's iconic pink and blue screaming face peering out from amongst the twenty seven copies of 10cc's Greatest Hits and 461 Ocean Boulevard in the seond hand boxes.

It was hard not to be seduced by the sleeve; the front back and gate fold all drawing any self-respecting prog fan desperate to familiarise himself with the finest proponents of the foundations of prog.

There were also a few serious prog nerds in the halls of residents at the University of Glasgow. These guys were conversant with bands like Gentle Giant, Family, Pavlovs Dog and The Mahavishnu Orchestra; bands with an almost mystical unobtainability which made me coo pathetically in admiration. Mind you, they didn't have girlfriends. However, they would nod wisely, tugging their wispy beards and roll up the sleeves of their jumpers in enthusiasm at the mention of ITCOTCK. I had to see what the fuss was all about.

After exactly thirty seconds of mostly nothing, a sax and powerful guitar screams out the instantly recognisable riff of 21st Century Schizoid Man. The heavily distorted vocals, furious drumming veers from hard rock to more jazz influenced sections with the sax given at least equal time as the discordant guitar. The guitar solo was unlike anything I had heard before and seemed far removed from any form of rock I was familiar with. I looked at the year of release and was startled by the weirdness and strength for 1969. I could see why it must have caused a stir at the time of release. The band was incredibly tight; the drumming was outrageously precise. This was very strange but oddly hypnotic. Perhaps not what I expected, but worth a second listen at least.

On my first listen, from that point on, it all fell apart. I Talk To The Wind was a soft and directionless piece of whimsy, totally at odds with the preceding song and so obviously rooted in the late sixties, that I had to wonder if the two songs were by the same band. I thought it was terrible and willed it to stop.

Again, first time around Epitaph seemed a weak and inconsequential effort. I wasn't much fonder of Moonchild. I could see similarities with The Moody Blues and perhaps Barclay James Harvest, but all seemed very weak and not at all inspirational. The title track had it's moments, but seemed to wander on forever. As the needle ran off the into the centre groove, I removed the LP and put it back on the shelf, sneering at the gulf between its reputation and my nineteen year old opinion of it. Very soon afterwards, it too joined the many copies of 461 Ocean Boulevard and 10cc's Greatest Hits in the local second hand shop.

It would be unfair to end the review there.

I have of course revisited the album and am astonished by what I now see as one of the bedrocks of my record collection. But why do I see it differently? Simply being several years older is part of the reason. I can now contextualise the album in ways I couldn't when I was nineteen. I overlooked many things then: the adorable vocal of Greg Lake, the lush mellotron; in many ways unsurpassed since, the skill of the musicians in producing something genuinely unique which paved a path followed and exploited by others and above all the beauty of the title track. When I listened to this once more after a space of almost twenty years, I couldn't understand how I had missed this gem. I can only reason that as a teenager, my ability to appreciate more the subtle nuances of music weren't fully developed.

To be able to revisit a piece of work after two decades and find it so compelling is an incredible experience and a privilege. If I Talk To The Wind was absent, this would be a strong contender for a top five album for me.

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 Chicago Transit Authority

Released 1969

"Listen. If you think we're here for the money; you could be right, you know. But the bread is not too good here"

On spotting this in the same market where I found The Twelve Dreams of Dr Sardonicus, just a week or two later, I stumbled across a very battered copy of the eponymous album by Chicago Transit Authority. This was a double album, being offered for £1. Checking the vinyl quality, I was surprised to see that it was more or less immaculate. Yes, the outside of the gatefold sleeve was illegible in places, with coffee cup rings and other oily stains. But the inside was fine with unmarked black and white photographs. A bargain.

Whilst the name Chicago Transit Authority meant nothing to me, I was familiar with Chicago, who, at the time in the mid eighties were at their commercial peak. They were in the midst of a long run of AOR radio friendly ballads, astonishingly popular, especially in the States and considered by most serious rock fans to be phenomenally 'wet'. Their contemporary guise as formulaic large haired balladmongers, distinctive for their middle-eight horn sections, was hugely incongruous with their presentation in this, their first outing.

As this was the same line up, I wasn't surprised to hear the horn section and nor the mainstream vocals of Peter Cetera. However the similarities between the two incarnations stopped there. For a start, this album felt as though it could have been recorded live in one session, incorporating a high level of improvisation. There was a real sense of urgency and of purpose with the drums and percussion very much to the fore, totally at odds with the modern band I was familiar with; utilising motifs from rock and jazz. There were also at least two other singers contributing lead vocals.

The real surprise, regarding the musicians, was Terry Kath, the lead guitarist. I had read that he had accidentally perished during a 'pretend' game of russian roulette in the mid seventies, still a young man. What I was unprepared for was the uniqueness of his contribution, providing very heavily distorted and feedback driven solos of incredible quality and dexterity. I had also read that his bandmates believed he was second only to Hendrix in terms of his virtuosity, also that Hendrix himself was seriously impressed by Kath's dedication to his art. Having listened to this album several hundreds of times in the intervening years, I am still amazed that he never appears in lists of great guitarists.

Another large surprise on the first listen was the close association the band and it's music had with the social unrest prevalent in Europe and the States as the sixties drew to a close. There is the inclusion of chants from the student riots in Chicago in 1968 and a clear political emphasis in songs like Liberation, a 15 minute largely improvised instrumental jam with some of the finest indications of a group all playing as one in perfect accord that I have come across.

To further the separation from the Top of The Pops friendly guise of the band, there was a track, Free Form Guitar, which was just that: eight minutes of cleverly controlled feedback. Very daring and, as far as I'm aware, unheard of at the time.

My own favourite track was a cover, I'm a Man. Again, this was essentially a jam. Massively exciting for the listener and, by all accounts the group at the time.

But was it prog? Long instrumental tracks, truly inspirational muscianship, a political theme or concept all contrive to make it borderline prog, although, for me there are two or three minutes in the last third of the aforementioned Liberation, which is so dark and angular that it would make Robert Fripp of King Crimson's eyes bleed.

Twenty five years on, this is still one of my top five all time albums.