Review of Pink Floyd's Meddle

Released 1971

"And no one sings me lullabyes
And no one makes me close my eyes
So I throw the windows wide
And call to you across the sky...."

One night in 1985, good old reliable BBC showed Pink Floyd Live at Pompeii. I'm pretty certain it's never enjoyed a terrestrial airing since, which is sad.

That was the first time I'd seen Pink Floyd perform any of their material, anywhere, so I was instantly fascinated and relieved that a band for which I'd built such a substantial pedestal didn't disappoint in the flesh, as it were.

The performances at Pompeii were so dramatically different in terms of the music itself, the visual presentation and the staging that any self respecting prog fan couldn't help but be impressed. When I learned that a number of the tracks performed that night were from Meddle, I wasted no time in setting out to find it.

Previously I had been reticent to go back beyond The Dark Side Of The Moon. I was aware of the success of The Piper At The Gates Of Dawn and had some idea of the music, which didn't yet appeal to me, and, obviously wrongly I assumed all the band's earlier work would be of this ilk.

I loved the abstract nature of the sleeve: having no clear 'meaning', but yet it felt somehow linked to Echoes. The four greasy gangly sour faced youths peering out from the inner spread of the gate fold sleeve made me smile; the contrast between these scruffy urchins and the big-haired, mascara-laden pretty boys in the the charts at the time in the eighties, really was amusing.

One of These Days was a wonderful way to start the album, building from a howling wind sound-effect and sinister bass line, it gathered momentum like an avalanche, culminating in Nick Mason's one spoken line, furious guitar rushes and relentless drumming. I found myself with a stupid grin on my face, so pleased that this was at least as good as any of the other later albums.

Things settled down a bit for A Pillow of Winds. David Gilmour's lilting vocal, slide and acoustic guitar producing an overall effect not unlike the general mood of Wish You Were Here. The key difference though was - and this was true for the album as a whole - there was no concept or theme as such, underpinning the lyrics. This was a collection of individual songs, penned by individual band members show-casing their musical talents, without any recourse to an over-riding focus. The lyrics were simple, uncomplicated and untainted by the mania of Roger Waters.

Fearless maintained the mellow mood, although tinged with slightly psychedelic motifs, a hypnotically slow rhythm, all capped with the gradual introduction and eventual complete takeover by a rendition of Rodgers & Hammerstein's You'll Never Walk Alone, as sung by Liverpool FC's Kop. Mad, but it worked.

San Tropez caused a literal turning of the head. What was this? Roger Waters singing a warm and friendly ditty? Surely not. Could this be the same man who would scream with truly frightening existential angst into the microphone less than a decade later. The jazzy piano and brushes on the drums was so upbeat, that I could hardly believe this was a Pink Floyd song. On the first listen, I really wasn't sure what to make of it.

Having seen Seamus performed at Pompeii, I was prepared - just about - it's unfathomable nuttiness. Yet another musical style was employed; this time a blues track accompanied by a howling dog. Yes, it was a varied album, but was it smacked of a lack of direction.

Echoes of course will be the main reason that anyone would buy Meddle. A side long epic with the most significant contribution on the record by Rick Wright. Along with numerous and more obviously Floydian keyboard stylings, his shared vocal with David Gilmour on this track is one of prog rock's greatest moments.

Because I was so familiar with TDSOTM, I was thrilled to hear strong connections with the later album.

I was struck by how clearly this was a genuine team effort. All four members appeared to work as a cohesive unit with almost equal emphasis afforded to each of their respective contributions. Whereas Roger Waters would later dominate all aspects of the bands sound and finally allow David Gilmour but three brief solos on The Final Cut, here was a band sparking off each other, producing a space-rock jam, allowing each other vast areas of space in which to experiment.

As a headphones experience, Echoes is hard to match. I'm sure I wrecked my long term hearing by exposing myself to the repeating high pitched reverberating piano note played at unhealthy volumes over and over again several times over the years.

For me, the greatest part of the track is from about sixteen and a half minutes in with the dueting between Rick Wright and Nick Mason sounding at times not unlike Tubular Bells, climaxing with David Gilmours magnificently distorted guitar.

Over the years, like most Floyd fans, I've probably skipped from One of These Days to Echoes more times than I've played the album straight through. However, in recent years, I've come to appreciate the other tracks and therefore see the album as a whole in a stronger light. Okay, maybe not Seamus.

Review of Mike Oldfield's Tubular Bells

Released 1973

"Two slightly distorted guitars."

My original copy of Tubular Bells was purchased unknowingly along with a small job lot of second hand vinyl, via a student from the art block adjacent to our sixth form college. I was attracted by the very low price being offered for a 'mixed bag of seventies gold'. Hmmm. In reality, other than The Eagles 'The Long Run', Tubular Bells was the only item of note; not least of all as it was a pristine picture disc edition. That it had cost me in the region of 50p was a further bonus.

Like any music fan, I was aware of Tubular Bells in advance, but other than knowing that it was an instrumental work which had effectively launched Virgin Records (and in turn the Virgin Empire) and that a short extract was included in The Exorcist (which I always thought was horribly incongruous), I really didn't know what to expect. Amongst my peers at college, adding Tubular Bells to my record collection was greeted with nods as appreciative as those I received when The Dark Side of The Moon preceded it. It is one of those albums, like 'Bat Out of Hell' or 'Rumours' that might as well be handed out on prescription to any self respecting person interested in music in their teens. Because it lived in such a public space, I had trouble reconciling it as a 'prog' album. TDSOMT may have sold more copies and still be resolutely considered to be 'prog', probably due to the anonymity of the band, but Mike Oldfield was known to anyone (of a certain age) that had watched Blue Peter. That said, there were only two tracks of twenty five and twenty three minutes respectively.

Although I was pleased to add Tubular Bells to my shelves, I didn't rush at it; I was concerned that I might not enjoy a completely instrumental record. The prog section of my collection was still in its infancy and I still had a sustained interest in more mainstream rock music: Led Zeppelin, Deep Purple, Jimi Hendrix and Cream et al could all be described as musically adventurous, but only bordered on the fringes of prog. While all of the above had instrumental tracks on their albums, these were the exception and not the rule. All were therefore arguably more accessible. I was worried that my musical tastes, although they were broadening all the time, were not yet sophisticated enough to assimilate nearly forty nine minutes of music without lyrics.

On paper, the concept for Tubular Bells shouldn't work; a brief uncomplicated musical pattern repeatedly played by a wide variety of different instruments, either in isolation or multi-tracked in unison with others, sometimes at different tempos, all played by Mike Oldfield.

I loved side one immediately, being hypnotised by the seamless morphing from one instrument to the next, effortlessly imprinting itself from the outset. I was delighted that I was so instantly engaged. A sense of anticipation formed as I wondered how the motif would be next formed, by which instrument/s and how the piece would conclude. Although this was a simple concept, I marvelled at the epic task of transforming the finished complex whole from an idea to a fully constructed suite in the studio, by one man.

After side one, side two was (and remains) a poor relation. Whilst of itself it follows similar themes to it's predecessor and is pleasant and well formed , I felt that it suffered beyond measure by falling within it's shadow.

The album was placed back on my shelf with a degree of smugness, both that I wasn't let down and that my level of musical appreciation was perhaps more refined than I gave myself credit for.

Years later, Tubular Bells is responsible for opening several other musical doors for me: from Tangerine Dream to (mostly instrumental) Italian prog. For that, I will be eternally grateful for that 'mixed bag of seventies gold'.