Review of Pink Floyd's The Piper At The Gates Of Dawn

Released 1967

"Across the stream with wooden shoes
With bells to tell the king the news
A thousand misty riders climb up
Higher once upon a time."

After being desparately disappointed with Ummagumma, I spent a long time neglecting the pre The Dark Side Of The Moon albums, focussing an unhealthy amount of time on The Wall in particular. Given that I spent an inordinate amount of time under my headphones, I swear for a while that I could hear Roger Water's manical screams as I went to sleep most nights. Not good.

I had read so much about Pink Floyd's first album, and was geniunely intrigued to see if all the fuss about Syd Barrett was warranted, but I was loathe to be let down once more. Everywhere I turned it was clear that it was considered to be a pivotal album. The fact that it was recorded at Abbey Road studios at the same time as Sgt. Pepper only added to the intrigue. But, and it was a big but; I hated the cover. I hated the cover because it was both a world away from the classic Hipgnosis styled seventies sleeves and because it was so 'fake' and mainstream. Where  the sleeve for The Dark Side Of The Moon was as sophisticated and cultured as the music within, I imagined that The Piper At The Gates Of Dawn would be annodine and uninspired. I knew that the photo session which produced the final sleeve image was shot on the same day the band appeared on Top Of The Pops, which in itself made me sneer in derision.

Being a cheapskate, I eventually succumbed due to the fact that I was able to snap up a new copy on Woolworth's 'Nice Price' label, complete with the yellow and black label which impossible to remove in it's entirety. Being a bargain reissue, this was a very glossy version knocked our as cheaply as possible by EMI with a plain white inner sleeve, no lyrics and no frills.

As well as being a cheapskate, I was a miserable pessimist who fully expected to be unimpressed, much as I was with Ummagumma. What I got instead was a real surprise. The spacemen sound effects at the beginning of Astronomy Domine rooted the album to the time of it's release which was at the height of the space race, capturing the zeitgeist instantaneously. I was delighted that the use of sound effects which were on later albums used as integrally as any instrument, were present at the onset of their recording career. Sound effects aside, this didn't have too much in common with anything else I had heard by the band thus far. Given my extensive reading about their early performances, I was quickly able to imagine this track being played live at The Roundhouse: along with wobbly light shows, yellow tinted glasses, velvet jackets and prolonged jangly bass driven solos. Gorgeous. I quickly felt foolish that I had somehow disregarded my obsession with the peiod over a terrible album cover and a poor reaction to Several Species Of Small Furry Animals.....

Lucifer Sam again was clearly a product of the age, showing a very different bass style from Roger. I love tthe phasing of the special effects tapes appearing seemingly at random. This was so obviously the product of a band that was - at the time, at least - in its element on stage.

Matilda Mother was in a similar vein, with added manic backing vocal and classi,c almost spoken lyric which was a common theme amongst their peers. Three tracks in and it was clear that Rick Wright's keyboard parts were as much a part of the signature early Floyd sound as Syd's lyrical and vocal styling. I couldn't distinguish Syd's vocal delivery from a dozen other singers of the age. That's not to say that I didn't appreciate it; more to point out that his real influence was in a creative sense: the central instrumental part of Flaming, for example was more prog than psychedelic space rock, and I couldn't help but think that Syd was steering them down this explorative path.

I loved Rick's jazzy keyboard and Nick's lazy drumming intro to Pow R, Torch H. When combined with Roger Water's trademark screams and some free form guitar work from Syd, this is, for me a real highlight; incredibly atmospheric, slightly scary and indoubtably extraordinarily innovative at the time.

I saw Take Up Thy Stethoscope and Walk as having a large Byrds influence in the guitar playing. Roger's bass playing is tremendous here also.

Interstellar Overdrive became a firm favourite of mine from the very first time I played it. It felt to me as though it was improvised in the studio, with Syd meandering over the huge filthy bass line. I used to regularily turn the volume up throughout this track to potentially dangerous levels whilst studying. It has thus become almost imprinted upon me note for note.

To be frank, The Gnome has always left me uninterested; I struggle to associate this as being a Pink Floyd track in any real sense. Again the whimsical nature of Chapter 24 is barely redeemed by the variety of keyboard styles (and a cowbell!) This was so utterly dominated by Syd's weirdness, which, to this day, I suppose I've never fully understood.

It's strange that 'Englishness' is often celebrated as a key feature of much of the best of prog. Where I will concur on this front with respect to bands like Genesis and Traffic, where the music is absolutely enhanced by the clear identity given by the band's origins, in the case of Syd Barrett era Pink Floyd, for me, it actively detracts from the appeal. However, I'm sure that I am in the minority in this regard.

That said, it is impossible not to like Bike for the very same reasons. The English eccentricity which infuses every aspect of this track makes it a fascinatingly odd and endearing piece.

Overall, this is one my of least played Floyd albums, but one I have a great affection for and wouldn't be without.
 

Review of Blind Faith's Blind Faith

Released 1969

"I'm taking the chance to see the wind in your eyes while I liste.
You say the can't reach me, but you want every word to be free.
Hard to cry today.
Well, I saw your sign and missed you there"

This is one of those albums which I have absolutlely no memory of physically buying. Given that I'm still at that phase in my chronology where I should be able to distinguish between whether or not a purchae was pre my time at University, I find this very odd.

Around this time, I was still largely unaware of Steve Winwood, other than his renowned talent as the teenaged front man of The Spencer Davis Group. I had heard of Traffic, but not heard any of their work. I had mixed opinion of Eric Clapton too. Through my obsession with Led Zeppelin and connection to Eric through The Yardbirds, I had collected most of EC's pre-Cream work, including the infamous 'Beano' Bluesbreakers record which inspired a whole generation of budding blues guitarists. I'm sure I would have had a Cream Greatest Hits of some descrition. I started to lose interest though with some of his seventies output; for instance I ended up becoming a  fan of The Allman Brothers on the back of Layla as oposed to seeing this as a masterwork of Claptons, while the drift towards MOR with the I Shot The Sherriff era of his work left me cold.

As such, I can't precisely place where and when I set out to purchase Blind Faith's eponyomous album. I can only assume that I was heavily influenced by a friend at University who had a strong devotion to the blueser end of the prog spectrum. We both loved Free for example. I know that he later introduced me to Traffic, therefore I can lay the blame squarely in his court.

To this day I am puzzled by the cover; both in terms of it's relevance to the musical content and how it remains uncensored when much less offensive pieces of sleeve art have fallen the way of the nanny state.

I didn't have too many preconceptions about the album prior to purchase and most likely saw it as one of those purchases which was almost expected: a record collection without a copy of Blind Faith was not a record collection which could be taken seriously.

My immediate reaction was one of huge surprise that I hadn't realised just how good Steve Winwood's voice was. As I had only known him as a mainstream pop artist, to hear such a strong blues rock voice was a real treat. His style bestrode so many genres; from psychedelia, across blues, mainstream classic rock whilst retaining a soulful quality. Had To Cry Today was more experimental than I expected; having much in common with the later drifting jams of The Allman Brothers, but with a more intense rhythm. Clapton's contribution was a simple yet effective recurring blues driven motif, which on first listen I thought was workmanlike, until he starts soloing in a way which I've never heard him play before or since; much more fluid with more space between the notes, fully embracing the hippy vibe. What really made me sit up and take notice was the remarkalble solo which starts after around six minutes and forty five seconds, where notes bounce rapidly from speaker to speaker; a brilliant moment which tapped directly into the zeitgeist; perfectly channeling the very spirit of the age in eight seconds. Listening to this on headphones now, forty years (for goodness sake!) after it's release, these eight seconds capture everything I love about the cultural movement of the late sixties. Sublime.

Can't Find My Way Home begins with a delicious acoustic guitar and wonderfully understated drumming from Ginger Baker. I find it impossible to describe the intensity of Steve Winwood's vocal delivery on this track. It is such a beautifully measured three minutes or so which again appeals so strongly to anyone who has indeed been so wasted that they can't find their way home. I often listen to this track mentally picturing the wandering gait of a drunken journey back from the pub.

Well... All right took much longer to grow on me, being more piano orientated with quite an obstrusive drum pattern from Ginger. I prefer the second  half of the track which feels more free form and has more of the spirit of the previous tracks.

Presence Of The Lord is the weakest track on the record for me. It feels too personally aligned to Eric and less of a band effort. The key strength of the album as a whole is the feeling that it is a true band vision in the very best sense of the word. One of the reasons I am so passionate about the musical output of (primarily) 1967 - 1976 is the sense that musicians often created pieces of art which felt as though they could have been born of out a live take in the studio, such was the quality of the muscianship. Blind Faith's only album is one of the greatest examples of this: four tremedous musicians at the peak of their careers working as one.

It is Steve Winwood's vocal and keyboard playing which dominate Sea of Joy. His portrayl of emotion is pretty much without parallel. The violin dominates the latter half of the track. It shouldn't work in the context of a predominantly blues based framework, but somehow it does.

Do What You Like is the high point of the album. I hear similiarities in the production of this track and very early Chicago; when they were still The Chicago Transit Authority. I admire Ginger Baker's restraint; it would  have been very easy to add standard rock fills in the open spaces between the keyboards and the free-form vocals. Clapton's guitar styling in this track must surely have influenced the very young Carlos Santana ( who played Woodstock a month after this was released). Indeed it does have a latino feel for much of the track. It is usually very hard to say anything positive about a drum solo, but it nearly works here. It is indulgent and it is distracting, and it does take a few listens before a certain level of annoyance begins to vanish.

Although I may have originally only set out to fill a gap in my record collection, I now have a great deal of affection for this record. It utterly captures my favourite era of music in a way which is unique and endearing. Truly indispensible.

Review of Queen's Queen II

Released 1973

"So listen mothers everywhere
To just one mother's son
You'll get forgotten all the way
If you don't let them have their fun
Forget regrets, and just remember
It's not so long since you were young."

I've chosen to step temporarily out of the strict chronology of this blog with good reason. I chose The Dark Side Of The Moon as my first review based on the fact that, at the time, I considered it my first true encounter with prog, which started my life long love affair with the genre. It was only upon reflection that I began to acknowledge the prog credentials of several other albums which I knew and loved pre-Floyd. On that basis, I have allowed myself the license to occasionally step backwards and interrupt the natural historical flow of this blog. Therefore I feel duty bound to include a number of examples from bands like Led Zeppelin and Queen who exist very much on the fringes of the genre but whom, in my opinion, and after all it is my blog, warrant inclusion.

Like most men of a certain age, my first conscious memory of Queen was their mammoth stint at number one in the singles chart in Christmas 1975 with Bohemian Rhapsody. After buying the single and the album it came from, I started to investigate the rest of their catalogue. I can't say for certain, but I think Queen II was my first port of call.

This was probably due being drawn to the album and the cover's reproduction in the video for the aforementioned single. I'm sure that this would have confused me at the time; in fact I'm sure that there were many newly interested Queen fans in 1975/76 who would have purchased Queen II in error, thinking it was their latest release.

Looking at the cover now, the prog overtones are obvious. The black outside of the gate fold with the iconic group photograph was contrasted by a remarkably camp glossy white picture with the group resplendent in fur and jewels. The monochrome theme was continued with 'side black' and 'side white'. It may be urban legend or just the fading memory of a middle-aged closet glam rock fan, but I'm sure there was a limited edition press with a white vinyl on one side and black on the other. It would be nice if it were true.

It wouldn't be accurate to call Queen II a concept album, but it has that kind of feel. Procession has a very prog like introduction; grand and opulent, accurately portraying the feel of a medieval procession with Brian May's glorious idiosyncratic resonating pulsating guitar over a simple bass drum. If it wasn't for the early Queen trademark proclamation of "no synthesisers" adorning the sleeve, you'd swear that a keyboard opened Father to Son. Hearing the vast harmonies once more as I type this, I can't help but smile at the effectiveness of the combined three voices which is still so effective even after several hundred plays. The second half of the track leans very heavily on May and (as he still was then) Meddows-Taylor, heavily aping Page and Bonham. I particularly love the sustained distorted note Brian plays at three minutes and twenty four seconds and the clever transition from bombast to balladeering as the song comes to a close. Very accomplished for a second album.

The segue from this to White Queen is also typically prog; all moody sound effects and combined acoustic and electric guitar. Again Brian's solo at two minutes and forty seven seconds which starts acoustically before heading in the direction of Wishbone Ash is sublime.

Although not blessed with the finest set of vocal chords, Brian's performance on Some Day One Day is one of his better moments. The drifting, phasing of the guitar is beautifully restrained and gets better and better with age.

At the risk of waxing emphatically throughout the entire review, I again adore The Loser In The End. This is a classic Roger Taylor narrative with excellent underrated vocal and, as always, drawing the very best out of Brian May. I always think Roger wrote in the same vein as Ian Hunter: with tremendous humor and a strong visual style. All in all, a pretty faultless 'side white'.

If the first side was a relatively light and acoustic offering, then the second was a much more agressive affair. 'Side Black' commences with the thunderous Ogre Battle. Led Zeppelin are 'borrowed' from extensively once more with a very tight performance from all four players, moving through a variety of time signatures with ease and aplomb. The rapid pace continued with the larynx threatening gymnastics from Freddie who undertakes vocal challenges which would squeeze even Percy's lemon. This is, chronologically speaking, the first Queen track that wholly reveals the definitive sound which would dominate their peak output: excellent harmonies, the big guitar sound, strident piano etc, etc.

For many bands, a one minute eighteen track would be mere filler. How Nevermore can be such a huge, magnificent and yet delicate work of art in such a brief time span is a mystery to me. It has all the faculties of an epic side long suite but achieves it in less than ninety seconds.

The March Of The Black Queen once more highlights Freddie's unique vocal style, with shades of opera, wide screen cinema, psychedelic guitar and camp multi-tracked harmonies, swapping between Freddie and Roger. Astonishing.

Funny How Love Is works as a strong illustration of the boundaries Queen were pushing in terms of studio production. I'm no expert but I'd be surprised if this didn't feature a record number of vocal tracks all the time of its release.

I hadn't heard the original version of Seven Seas Of Rhye on their first album, so I couldn't share in the surprise and delight of hearing a new version. I was simply as over-awed by how it could be both intensely complex and delightfully hummable at the same time.

Queen went on to make bigger and better albums, but in terms of witnessing a band hitting it's stride and obviously enjoying itself in the studio, I don't think they ever improved.

Review of Mahavishnu Orchestra's Birds Of Fire

Released 1973



I hadn't heard of Mahavishnu Orchestra until my third day at University. Not just their music, but even that they existed in the first place. This surprised me, as despite my tender years, I considered myself extremely well read when it came to my prog rock history. I may not, at that time, have heard Gentle Giant or Tonto's Expanding Headband for instance, but I was conversant with who they were and their key works, ready for my eager attention in the coming months and years. But, at the age of nineteen and one day, Mahavishnu Orchestra had passed me by completely.

On this third day at University in Glasgow, I was still wandering around aimlessly, exploring both the city itself and the nooks and crannies of the halls of residence, including the library, where I found myself early in the evening. Amongst the predictable hushed calmness I encountered the odd sight of a comatose male figure, upside down on one of the chairs with a bad perm brushing the floor, clutching an acoustic guitar, and surrounded by a sizeable collection of high strength lager cans. Righting himself to something approximating vertical, he introduced himself via an impenetrable accent as coming from the extreme western arm of Scotland. Through a barrage of almost tourette level obscenities, he enquired about my musical preferences. It was during the remainder of that evening that I was introduced to the wonders of John McLaughlin et al, along with Robin Trower and, ahem, Journey.

I'll admit at this point, that as far as Mahavishnu Orchestra (by the way, it has always frustrated me as to why the definite article was deemed unnecessary as an appendage) goes, this has, to this day, been the only album of their that I've ever heard. Strange really, as for a while a few years later, I got very heavily into Santana, including his 'Devadip' phase where he recorded a couple of albums with John McLaughlin, which I enjoyed at the time. I also love Bitches Brew which I consider to be the most underrated prog album of all time. Anyway, for whatever reason, I never got further than Birds of Fire.

The title track provided probably my second or third experience of prog violin (as opposed to fiddle) after Curved Air and Gong, and certainly the most extreme style of playing to date. In fact, there are a large number of extremes on this track. From the frenzied drumming and impossibly fast guitar soloing, it really is a baptism of fire into this region of prog.

Of course, many would argue that this has no right wearing any form of prog label. After all, the musicians all contributed most of their careers to pure jazz or jazz fusion. I would argue, with absolutely no pejorative intention, that this album has been hijacked from the fringes of fusion by the prog contingent, seeing as many typically prog-like motifs as jazz influences.

Either way, moments such as the guitar solo on Miles Beyond will leave any music fan with their mouths open. Whether playing of this virtuosity is jazz, fusion, prog or indeed stands alone is really irrelevant, in terms of 'progressing' the musical form, this is a fascinating album.

Coming to it as young as I did, I can't pretend that the first few listens were easy. Now, being a seasoned prog fan, I can see correspondences between this album and many, many straight bands. Celestial Terrestial Commuters for example, reminds me of the Canterbury set; especially Hatfield And The North and Caravan, while Thousand Island Park has as much in common with Gentle Giant as it does with the way Tony Banks 'staged' a mid-period Genesis track. Well, I know what I mean.

The core of the album is arguably One Word. For someone would thought Bill Bruford or John Bonham were the greatest drummers ever, I learnt to broaden my horizons when listening to the pace and precision of Billy Cobham. There is an incredible sense of menace in this track, which is as much about the atmosphere created by the playing as it is about the actual playing. There is a clinical nature to the playing which achieves the incredible feat of appearing both outrageously accomplished and sophisticated as it does effortless at the same time. I'm sure the quality of the playing must have evoked great fear in their contemporaries.

Sanctuary again has huge menace, but a remarkable beauty. I love the bass on this track. Utterly beautiful and very reminiscent of the atmosphere's created by Robert Wyatt.

Although I have owned this for many years and give it an airing on a frequent basis, I still feel under qualified to give this album the review it deserves. Listening to the middle section of Open Country Joy, I am spellbound by almost everything about it: from the country fiddle to the 'pretty' keyboards and the blistering guitar solo, it is stunning achievement. I probably need another twenty years with it fully appreciate it's depth.

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 The Beatles 'The White Album'

Released 1968

"You'd say I'm putting you on
But it's no joke, it's doing me harm.
You know i can't sleep, I can't stop my brain
You know it's three weeks, I'm going insane
You know I'd give you everything I've got
For a little peace of mind".


Of all the albums I bought during my first year of University, no memory of the actual purchase is clearer than when I stumbled across The White Album.

There was a second hand record shop in the Dowanhill region of Glasgow which, as far as I can recall, I only visited twice. I have no idea why, as, on reflection, it had possibly the most eclectic selection of late sixties and early seventies era prog rock I've every seen in one place. I only remember buying two albums from there, the first Fat Mattress album ( whose unique fold out sleeve design was the most interesting aspect of the package) and The White Album.

I don't think I had ever seen a second hand copy before, and, come to think of it, I'm not sure I ever came across another one. In fact it was highly unusual to spy any second hand records by The Beatles; other than the 'red' and 'blue' compilations, and even then, that was also rare.

Therefore I have a very clear picture in my mind of the moment when my expert album flicking finger technique stopped at an original numbered copy of one of my most sought after prizes. I, like any serious music fan was very familiar with the infamy surrounding this release. From the influence of the Maharishi to the influence on Charles Manson and 'the Family', from the heated studio arguments (and walkout by Ringo) to the legendarily obtuse Revolution 9, I had long been in awe of it's mystique. One friend of mine in particular raved (and continues to rave) endlessly about it's greatness. Holding it in my hand, it had an almost tangible power.

I wasn't put off by the fact that a previous owner had seen fit to protect all edges of the sleeve with black insulation tape. This was the real deal. It had the posters, the lyrics, the lot. I can't remember what I paid for it, but, like the fool I was, I would have paid pretty much anything.

Although I already had Sgt Peppers... and Abbey Road, I still saw The Beatles as first and foremost a pop band. Both these albums had surprised me with their obvious prog leanings, but only so far. Still, seeing the green apple spinning on the turntable, I knew I was in the presence of a culturally important work.

Back In The USSR took me by surprise. It was one of those Beatles tracks which I'd forgotten I knew and enjoyed. An uptempo Beach Boys pastiche which rocked harder than I'd remembered, it made me smile at the undoubted knack Paul McCartney had for classic pop. I knew Dear Prudence, but had temporarily forgotten that this predated The Banshees remake. Although not a favourite track of mine, I loved the segues both in and out of the preceding and following tracks. I realised very quickly that The White Album is a masterpiece of sequencing

I know that I am not the first person to state this, but I think that it is worth repeating. Both the order in which the tracks are put together and the manner by which the transitions between them is managed is sublime. The variety of musical styles on offer make this especially important. If, for example, the slower ballads had been gathered together on one of the four sides, the effect would have been less effective than the actually finished product.

This makes tracks like Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da almost palatable. On it's own, it is easy to see it as irritating as Octopus's Garden on Abbey Road. However, sandwiched between Glass Onion and Wild Honey Pie, it indicates the unparalleled wealth of talent which these four musicians. The mucking around during last few seconds on the outro of Ob-La-Di also move the track out of the realm of mere whimsy, to something slightly different; pushing boundaries even on a simple pop track.

The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill , whilst hated by most Beatles fans, has more inventiveness in it's three minutes and fourteen seconds than the majority of their peers could muster in a whole album. Yes, it's got a guest appearance by that annoying Japanese woman, but listen again to just how much is going on. It's not the throw away track many would have you think it is.

Again the 'Ay-Up' segue into While My Guitar Gently Weeps is genius: serving to effectively connect songs which would otherwise be poles apart.

On my first listen, it was during Happiness Is A Warm Gun that I first had that shiver down the back of my neck when I realised how darn good this album was. I also shook my head in disbelief in amazement of how far these four mop tops had come in such a short period of time. This continued with I'm So Tired. By the time of The White Album, Lennon was clearly enjoying the emerging militant poet persona with which he was becoming adorned.

To this day I cannot understand what on earth Charles Manson heard in Piggies that inspired his actions. I love it's irreverence, simple bass line and harpsichord and I think again it's transition into Rocky Raccoon is superbly realised.

I'll admit that I was less enamoured by the last four tracks of the second side of vinyl. None of these are terrible songs; far from it, just not as inspired as the rest of the work.

The third side kicks off in wonderful style with Birthday, which sees McCartney really start to stretch out on his vocals. The best thing about this song for me is that one can almost hear a direct line leading back to their earlier days, shaking their heads together while hundreds of girls screamed in unison. Four or five years on though, this was more sophisticated, more knowing.

Yer Blues picks up where I'm So Tired leaves off: cutting humour, a strong blues influence, an excellent rhythm section which gets progressively more grungy. At two minutes and seven seconds in, the whole group steps up a gear and, despite popular myth, they appear to be having a good time. The guitar solo is typically underrated for a Beatles Track.

Mother Nature's Son is a partner piece to Blackbird in my mind. Both gorgeous. Many are quick to criticise McCartney for his pop sensibilities without listening to what else is going behind a seemingly innocuous lyric or simple song structure. Again, go back to Mother Nature's Son and listen to the many levels of instrumentation going on in the background.

The clever juxtapositions between tracks continues with the upbeat Everybody's Got Something To Hide Except For me And My Monkey. Ringo's drumming is particularly strong. It surprises me that a band so intent on imploding can still sound as though they are a fully functioning unit.

To fully appreciate Helter Skelter, it is important to contextualise it's aggressive style and polemic approach. This was released before (just before) the MC5 and The Stooges launched their trademark radicalism on the American public. Sound effects were rarely heard and a screaming Paul McCartney was certainly not on the radar. All the above and the false ending with Ringo's 'I've got blisters on my fingers!!' were all so 'un-Beatle-like'. Of course, if you put all of this to one side, it would be easy to dismiss it as tame in light of many bands trading in a similar genre since, but this was The Beatles. This was 1968 and it was groundbreaking.

Long, Long, Long is one my favourite tracks on the album. The roots of so many other later bands can be traced back to this track. From More era Pink Floyd to Dark Star era Grateful Dead this is hugely influential. The atmospheric keyboards, manic drums and wailing is very, very prog. Lovely.

Revolution 1 threw me for a minute or two. I'd forgotten that there was a slow and fast version. Either way, this was classic pop which only Lennon could produce.

Honey Pie, Savoy Truffle and Cry Baby Cry lull the listener into a false sense of security. Three simple and variously daft and beautiful tracks which of themselves are pleasant and effective but brilliantly employed to set the stage for the centrepiece of the album, Revolution 9.

Revolution 9 on first hearing is just confusing and odd. With each subsequent listen, I become more convinced that this is one of the greatest pieces by the Beatles, or, to be fair, by John Lennon. There is beauty, menace, drama, invention present in layer upon layer of wonderfully paced staging for which he was woefully misunderstood at the time. The ripples emerging from the pebble which Lennon dropped in the pool of progressive rock are still being felt today.

There is a remarkable majesty by which the incoherence of Revolution 9 fades into the orchestrations of the cinematic Good Night. Two songs were probably never greater at odds. Side by side they produce a closing to the album which is tear-jerkingly moving.

This is my favourite album by The Beatles and a top five album any day of the week. I don't see this changing.