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 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.
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