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 Asia

Released 1982

"And now you find yourself in '82. The disco hot spots hold no charm for you. You can concern yourself with bigger things. You catch a pearl and ride the dragon's wings"

When I picked up my second hand copy of Asia's eponymous first album, for one (Scottish) pound, I was unaware that this was a prog 'supergroup'. Although this is my fifty-first prog album, in as-close-as-I-can-manage-it chronological order of purchase, when money changed hands over the counter at Lost In Music in DeCourcey's arcade in Glasgow in 1985, I hadn't heard of John Wetton or Yes' Drama, had yet to hear a full album by Emerson, Lake and Palmer and was unaware of the connection with The Buggles.

I had, of course, heard Heat Of The Moment, a huge single from three years previously. One of my favourite albums of my late teens - long misplaced, I'm sad to say - was an AOR compilation called American Heartbeat. Most of the classic expected usual suspects were there, from Journey to Styx, Kansas to Quarterflash, Boston to Foreigner etc, and it also contained Heat Of The Moment. Therefore, I associated Asia with laid back American driving music rather than with the prog rock scene.

If truth be told, for some time, I actually listened to the album as an AOR album, seeing it as light relief from the existential angst of Van Der Graaf Generator or the complex signatures of Rush, not realising that Asia's band members had been responsible from some of the defining tracks, side long suites and triple live albums of the classic prog era.

Of course, I should have known better. Roger Dean's artwork for Asia is arguably amongst his most well known, due in no small part to it's huge commercial success.

The title track is one of the most ubiquitous AOR songs from the eighties. Wonderful big fuzzy riffing, stadium sized drumming, an echo laden vocal with remarkably catchy lyrics all combine to make a song which is very difficult not to sing along too and be impressed by. When I finally made the connection and noted that Steve Howe was on this record, I was stunned. I couldn't reconcile this aggressive, commercial style with the intricate playing I was so familiar with from Yes. Was there another great guitarist called Steve Howe?

Only Time Will Tell turns the commercial pop sensibility up to eleven. The keyboard intro (and repeated motif) could so easily have been from a track by Europe or Bon Jovi a few years later. It softens to a very Journey-esque, verse-chorus-verse structure, interspersed with another stunning thick powerful guitar and wave after wave of several different keyboard effects. At the time, I pictured John Wetton as a Jon Bon Jovi or David Lee Roth type poseur rather than an elder statesman of prog, with a track record in Family, King Crimson, UK et al.

Given that I had a tremendous dislike for Yes' broadly contemporary foray into commercial success with 90125, I can only put my enjoyment of this similarly styled effort down to my ignorance about Asia's pedigree. Sole Survivor would have been equally at home on 90125, which is amusing given Steve Howe's obvious displeasure in later years, when pressured into playing Trevor Rabin's 'licks' live.

The lack of variation on Asia is a bit wearing. Where there are a (very) few obvious prog moments on 90125, for example, hearing tracks such as One Step Closer in isolation, one would be mistaken for it being anything other than a straight forward pop song. An obviously well played pop song for sure, but not much more.

The intro to Time Again however, sounds like it could have been an outtake from Yes' Drama. It then veers oddly from by-the-books AOR to leaping between time signatures, never quite sure with it is pop or prog.

I think it is the eighties drum style employed by Carl Palmer which grates and frustrates: it is so formulaic and incredibly pedestrian when compared to his past performances. This is certainly true of Widest Dreams. It is clearly catchy. Catchy and horribly dull.

Without You has the same effect. It is intoxicating in its commercial sensibility, has stunning playing by Steve Howe, stupidly infectious lyrics and a keyboard accompaniment designed to get the zippos waving in the dark of an enormodome. It is impeccably done, but it still is prostituted by the nasty, nasty drumming, which, whether you like it or not, it is impossible not to tap your feet or thrum your fingers to. Before you know it, you are playing air guitar and swaying from side to side, singing along to the closing versus and chorus, thinking; "Stop it! This is silly! Where's my copy of Foxtrot?"

In short, it is an album of great contradiction: impeccable pop played by prog maestros, creating songs with hooks that you'll be singing the next day against your will.

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 The Nice's The Thoughts of Emerlist Davjack

Released 1967

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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