Review of Yes' Relayer

Released 1974

"Listen, your friends have been broken,
They tell us of your poison; now we know.
Kill them, give them as they give us.
Slay them, burn their children's laughter, on to hell".

Although I already owned four Yes albums by the time I bought Relayer, I wouldn't have classed myself as a Yes fan. My recorded to cassette versions of Close To The Edge, Going For The One, and The Yes Album in particular, were frequently played on my tape player in the Halls of Residence in Glasgow, but I was yet to be smitten. It was with Relayer than I became a bona fide Yes nut, kick-starting my drive to collect (almost) everything the band had recorded both before and afterwards.

Perhaps 90% of my record / cassette purchases while at University were second-hand, with a significant proportion coming from the £1 bin. However, being the frivolous and not to say foolish type, I was occasionally drawn to full priced albums, with HMV in Glasgow City Centre holding a particularly exciting appeal to this poor deprived country boy.

Along with Tales from Topographic Oceans, I had long seen Relayer as one of the finest examples of album sleeve art and had coveted it for several years. Now that I was building up my library of prog, I still viewed both of these albums as two of the pillars supporting the foundation of all that I held dear. Both the inner sleeve artwork on Close To The Edge and the music itself provided an insight into the mystical magnificence I felt must be contained within the vinyl grooves of Relayer. Where I felt (until then anyway) that CTTE fell short, I was sure that Relayer would deliver on my expectations.

Upon returning to the Halls with my purchase, I was delighted that a good friend, who was in possession of a complete set of classic era Yes albums, courtesy of his elder brother, imparted his view that this was indeed a worthy addition to my collection, being one of his favourites. This pleased me greatly.

Whilst, being picky, I would ultimately have preferred an original, less glossy copy, when finally alone with my own new copy, it was intensely gratifying that the actual experience of poring over the outer and inner sleeve was every bit as good as I hoped it would be. Twenty two years on, I still love this sleeve, considering it to be one of the most successfully evocative of the genre. For me it is the embodiment of prog; mythical landscapes, fantastical enough to have roots in reality but surreal enough to have a presence in another, weirder dimension.

This was my fifth Yes album and the fifth different line up the band, with the unknown quantity being hitherto unknown (to me, at least) keyboard player; Patrick Moraz.

There are a number of albums, where I've purposefully delayed the first airing to put off the possibility that my high expectation might be dashed unless I was in the right frame of mind. As anyone reading this is likely to be either a fan of prog rock, Yes or rock music in general, I can be reasonably confident that this is not a unique feeling.

Immediately, Gates of Delirium appeared to me as more stridently confident, precise and aggressive than any of the Yes albums I already owned. As with all their albums, Chris Squire's trademark bass style leaps out straight away. The track starts off with my favourite drum sound on any Yes album. The spiky angular overture quickly develops into a more uniform song structure with Jon Anderson's typically obscure lyrics delivered at a break-neck pace, much more emphatic than anything else I'd heard to date. Slowly, subtly the pace of the track picks up interspersing urgent lyrical passages with gradually intensifying instrumental passages. The delivery of the lyric quoted at the head of this review with Chris's accompaniment is both menacing and beautiful; an odd but effective achievement. There is plenty of room for the bass to stretch out and Steve Howe to impart rapid, jazz inflected solos. After about eight minutes, a series of keyboard and guitar exchanges begins, which endlessly spiral upwards, becoming seemingly more complex as the pace continues to increase. The 'battle sequence' of the song is without doubt the heaviest passage of music Yes have (yet) recorded, laying to rest - at least temporarily - any suggestion that Yes were only capable of soft melodic prog rock. There are numerous points where a climax appears imminent before building up to yet another layer of intensity.

There is a remarkable transitory three minute period where, once the climax finally arrives, the tracks morphs perfectly into the final, softer 'Soon..' section where Steve moves to pedal steel guitar accompanying the impeccable vocal. The contrast between the fast pace of the first part of the track and the lilting orchestral sublimity of the closing passage is wonderfully realised. I remember playing this to my girlfriend at the time, who wept the first time I played it to her. In my opinion, this is the greatest side long suite Yes have produced.

Like Close To The Edge, the second side also comprises just two tracks. Sound Chaser is tremendously ambitious. Full of jazz-fusion type instrumentation. Although I'd rate Bill Bruford as a greater drummer than Alan White, there is some good stuff from Alan on Relayer and on Sound Chaser in particular. Again, Steve Howe is on fire; loads of blisteringly difficult solos, including a marvellous, largely unaccompanied section in the middle of the track. Jon again is never better. Barking mad as always, but with the voice of an angel. Patrick Moraz gets to have a genuine freak-out moment at the end of the track where the enthusiasm from all concerned spills over into the daftly effective 'cha-cha-cha-cha-cha' ending.

To Be Over is arguably the most underrated song in Yes' entire canon. Much softer in tone and spirit than the preceding tracks, this provides the calm after the storm. This is a lovely song to have playing through your headphones as your fall asleep. Whilst I can't imagine Rick Wakeman playing on either of the first two tracks, this stylistically, could just as easily have been an out-take from Close To The Edge. The outro to this track is beautifully considered, gently lowering the listener down after a hectic trip.

This is an album of real contrasts. As a total package; sleeve, variety of musical types, lyrics ambition and humour, I think this is Yes' finest hour.

Review of Robert Wyatt's Rock Bottom

Released 1974

" Seaweed tangled in our home from home
reminds me of your rocky bottom.
Please don't wait for the paperweight, err on the good side.
Touch us when we collapse.
Into the water we'll go head over heel.
We'll not grow fat inside the mammary gland.
Into the water we'll go head over heel.
A head behind me, buried deep in the sand".

Any fan of seventies rock music of any flavour, whether preferring prog, psychedelic rock, MOR or straight classic rock will, at some point almost certainly own a copy of several practically ubiquitious hugely commercially successful rock albums, which 'cross over' into the mainstream. Albums such as The Dark Side Of The Moon, Rumours, Hotel California, Bat Out Of Hell, Led Zeppelin IV and their ilk, have achieved huge success and retained their rock credentials, and, in my opinion are deserving of their iconic status. There are other albums whose quality is such that they have every right to be considered in the same breath as these aforementioned classics, but which, for a variety of reasons remain so obscure as to be all but invisible to the bulk of the record buying public. Rock Bottom is a perfect example of such an album: undeniably brilliant and profoundly important to a select few, yet nowhere near the radar of your average Rumours buyer. Something is not right.

However, let me be honest. I didn't always feel the way I do now about this album. Perhaps this lack of instant appeal - for me at least - sadly explains why it has never received the credit it deserved.

I initially purchased Rock Bottom because it was produced by Nick Mason of Pink Floyd, as simple as that. At the time, I wasn't au fait with what has come to be referred to as the 'Canterbury Scene' prog rock and Robert Wyatt's role in Soft Machine was unbeknown to me. I was simply shallow enough to want to own anything touched by the Floyd, regardless of what it might reveal. Anyone who has endured Music From The Body by Roger Waters and Ron Geesin will acknowledge that completism is not all it's cut out to be.

Thus, when I first listened to Rock Bottom, I had no idea what to expect and was primarily hoping to hear Floydian motifs. As such, in the main I was disappointed. I was confronted with Robert Wyatt's unlovely vocals, strange time signatures and was first introduced to part of the prog spectrum with which I was hardly familiar. I could hear echoes of Van Der Graaf Generator, and, at a stretch Gong, with twinkling piano and scat style verbalising. So, being completely honest, whilst it was far from being a favourite of mine back in the late eighties when I first encountered it, it was ultimately a curio, which I put to one side, waiting for enlightenment.

I have given several examples elsewhere in previous postings, detailing how the passing of many years has dramatically altered my perception of an album for the better. It was as recently as about four years ago, that I heard Rock Bottom in an entirely different way, my jaw almost hanging open in disbelief, stunned that it hadn't revealed itself to me earlier, much earlier.

Largely it's the voice. Like Peter Hammill, Robert Wyatt's vocal style has the ability to make you both recoil and weep with joy. The only way I can think to describe the moment when the recoil ceases and the weeping commences, is to compare the experience to viewing one of those drawings often used in psychology text books, where what at first glance looks like an old woman, with an unexplainable shift of perception suddenly becomes an elegant younger lady. When the vocal reveals itself in this way, the accompanying instrumentation suddenly shifts and fits the frail, awkward, almost spoken tones so perfectly as to bring a lump to the throat. A paradigm shift of the senses takes place and you realise that you are in the presence of a masterpiece.

Sea Song flutters between changing time signatures on both piano and keyboard and a wonderful plaintive refrain with female background vocals as clever and as integral as The Great Gig In the Sky. Robert's much lauded 'scatting' over the end of the track, where once it just annoyed, now brought tears to my eyes; it was so emotionally charged and bare.

A Last Straw has tinges of (what would become familiar to me) more jazzy elements of the Canterbury Scene. The scatting imitation of the 'wah-wahing' guitar will annoy almost anyone for several plays until again it seems to gel. There is so much space left in this track, complex yet uncluttered: a strange combination.

Little Red Riding Hood Hit The Road starts with full jazz horns before a Santana tinged percussiveness morphs through backward vocals, indecipherable lyrics to culminate with the inevitably odd contribution of Ivor Cutler and a long 'outro'. Beguiling, certainly weird, but unique, prog and very addictive.

Alifib begins like many a Brian Eno album; ambient and seemingly directionless. A gorgeous guitar combines with the Casio and just floats for almost seven minutes of heartbreaking beauty. Obviously a companion track, Alife is almost a continuation to begin with before taking on a more sinister theme with echoes of Gong and the second Roxy Music album. The lyrics may be largely nonsensical but creates an atmosphere which is both uncomfortable and hypnotic.

Little Red Robin Hood Hit The Road features the distinctive guitar talents of Mike Oldfield, accompanied by multiple layers of keyboards, an impossibly complex drum sound, bass playing to make Chris Squire weep before changing tack completely; drifting into a hymn like trance over which Ivor Cutler spouts absolute b*llocks in a convoluted Scottish accent. It really shouldn't work, but for an unfathomable reason it is achingly brilliant.

With every listen Rock Bottom improves and moves higher up my list of favourite albums. Ridiculously good and criminally underrated.

Review of Pink Floyd's Ummagumma

Released 1969

"Lime and limpid green, a second scene
A fight between the blue you once knew.
Floating down, the sound resounds
Around the icy waters underground.
Jupiter and Saturn, Oberon, Miranda and Titania.
Neptune, Titan, Stars can frighten".

Ummagumma was my eight Pink Floyd album. Like many, I started with the well established seventies classics; The Dark Side Of The Moon, Wish You Were Here et al, before working backwards - pre- TDSOTM - through Meddle and Atom Heart Mother, until I reached Ummagumma. Thus, I was fairly confident before making this purchase, that I already owned all of their best works. Both Meddle and Atom Heart Mother had moments of genuine brilliance, charm and sufficient quality to warrant many, many repeated listens over the years, but I felt that they both paled when compared to TDSOTM, being obvious warm-ups as the band evolved to the peak.

I had heard several views regarding Ummagumma; not many of them good. Eccentric, odd, eclectic, experimental and really not very good at all were among the kindest of these views. Nevertheless, it was clear that I was destined to own the entire Pink Floyd catalogue, therefore experiencing Ummagumma was necessity, but never a duty.

I'd picked up second hand copies on numerous occasions and had loved Hipgnosis's work, the idea of the bands' tour instruments lain out on the runway and the general seventies 'vibe' as detailed by the greasy hair, loon pants and typography. Tremendous stuff which whetted my appetite greatly.

Fortunately, when it came to my first airing of Ummagumma, I choose the live record as my preferred opening option. I have since read that John Peel cited the gig where these tracks were recorded was one of his favourites. I could quickly see why.

Where I could see a common developmental thread running through Atom Heart, Meddle and The Dark Side Of The Moon, the linkage was not so immediately apparent with this more obviously psychedelic jamming.

It hadn't occurred to me that Syd Barrett's influence would cast such a substantial shadow across this work. In addition, the keyboard sound was fundamentally different to later works, really emphasising the hugely underrated part Rick Wright's playing had as the 'glue' which made the Floyd sound work. Of course, the largest contrast between the Pink Floyd which recorded Ummagumma and say, Wish You Were Here, is the paradigm shift that took place in the lyrical content, mostly, of course, with respect to Roger Waters. Lyrics are certainly of secondary importance on Ummagummma: on Astronomy Domine they are - and I mean this respectfully - no better than sixth form noodlings, which work within the context of the meandering space rock instrumentation, while on Careful With That Axe Eugene - other than the whispered words of the title - lyrics have no presence at all. I had heard and seen this latter track on the Pompeii video a year or two previously, but was still startled when I noticed the hair standing up on my arms as Roger's terrifyingly primal shrieking cut through my headphones. It came as no surprise to me to learn that they were greatly in demand for film scores around this time; incredible atmospherics.

I would loved to have witnessed a live performance of Set The Controls For The Heart Of The Sun, due to it's poetry and majesty; a perfect exercise in restraint and simplicity. The fourth and last live track, A Saucerful Of Secrets similarly is a model example of space rock at it's best. The careers of both Hawkwind and Nektar can surely be traced to this track: otherworldly and heavily influenced by narcotics and nonsensical repetitive rhythms wandering through the outer reaches.

So far, so good. Very different to later albums, but with some obvious strengths and demonstrating very clear prog credentials.

But then, to the studio album. What a strange, beguiling frustrating beast this is.

I was surprised to read quite recently that Ummagumma is the favourite album of Porcupine Tree's Steven Wilson. Perhaps my tastes are less cultured than Mr Wilsons: I can, from the very first listen hear brilliance and beauty through the complex structures of a Van Der Graaf Generator or Dream Theatre album, but I cannot, despite repeated attempts, hear much deserving of praise in any way shape or form within the studio tracks of Ummagumma. Sysyphus starts promisingly with epic chords and magisterial twinkling of the ivories, but descends, by the third part into what sounds uncannily like a rat being strangled inside a grand piano in the depths of a cold cavern. Amidst the peculiar percussion, there are many prog rock credentials , but, for each promising interlude, there is the death throes of a rodent and the sound of far too much freedom being given to each of the musicians to indulge themselves to an unparalleled degree.

Granchester Meadows - Roger Waters effort - continues the animal noise theme with far too prominent bird song effects played over his Cat Stevens / Leonard Cohen phrased pastoral folk tinged tune. Could this dirge really be written by the same man, who, just four years later wrote lyrics which, to this day, although I have heard them a thousand times, make me weep at the beauty and profundity of his timeless lyrics? How could this be possible? I was musing on this further as Several Species... began. This is literally five minutes of the sound of animals squeaking followed by the drunken ramblings of a Scottish person. This has to be the most awful rubbish ever committed to vinyl. Sorry Rog. Beyond repproach.

David Gilmour's The Narrow Way is almost bearable after Several Species... but not quite. Again, the first two parts are self indulgent bilge with little merit. There are glimpses of hope in the final part, with the band playing as one: the sum of the parts being so much more than the individual efforts.

The Grand Vizier's Garden Party could have been brilliant. After all, there was a great deal of focus on Nick Mason at Pompeii to which this is very contemporary, where he was very effective. But here, for the most part, he falls into the same trap as his cohorts: long, repetitive and ultimately pointless.

In subsequent years, I, like many others have spent many enjoyable hours replaying the live album, while the studio album is brought out for the occasional - 'can it really be that dreadful: surely there must be something I'm missing, it's Pink Floyd for goodness sake!!' - type airing. Sadly, for me at least, my opinion has yet to be shaken. I will persevere though. Although, as a rule, I don't include ratings as part of my reviews, on this occasion, I feel compelled to give the live tracks a commendable 8/10 and the studio tracks an execrable 3/10.

Review of Jimi Hendrix's Electric Ladyland

Released 1968

"Starfish and giant foams, greet us with a smile. Before our heads go under, we take a last look At the killing noise of the out of style... The out of style, out of style"


Like any fan of rock music, I was exposed to the iconography of Jimi Hendrix very early. Every music magazine, every music book referred back to his influence. His inimitable presence was so integral to the spirit of rock music, and specifically the rock music of the period in which I was fascinated, and over and over again my heroes would wax rhapsodically about his unique and profound influence, it was inevitable that at some point I would have had to see what all the fuss was all about. In a short period of time, I watched his performances at the Monterey Jazz Festival, at Woodstock and The Isle of Wight Festival, conscious of his omnipresence and seeming omnipotence over the late sixties music scene; an otherworldly being from another time.

However, Hendrix will remain forever imprinted on me as per the image in the wonderful book, Rock Dreams (reproduced above left).
In this incredible book, his unique talent was explained by the fact that he was, in fact a Martian; literally worlds apart from us mere human mortals.

Like many, my first Hendrix album was a tentative best-of compilation. This ticked all the right boxes, confirmed his pedestal placement and whetted the appetite for more.

I probably choose Electric Ladyland as my first Hendrix purchase proper based on the perverse thrill of the melee of naked women adorning the cover. I recognised a couple of the tracks but in the main this was a new beginning for me.

Any doubts that Hendrix had true prog credentials are put to one side from the weirdness of the opening sound scape. It was all backwards vocals, huge drums and effects that were impossible to identify. It set the scene nicely. Have You Ever Been (To Electric Ladyland) cemented the theme that this was to be as ambitious an album as I had yet encountered.

Although everyone always (obviously) focuses on Hendrix's guitar ability, I remain continually amazed how little comment is made about his vocal skills. I mentioned in my review of LA Woman that between Jim Morrison and Jimi Hendrix, any aspiring rock vocalist will found all the inspiration they need to perfect natural vocal rock phrasing; unforced and inspired. Listen to all the asides in Cross Town Traffic for many perfect examples.

When I first heard Voodoo Chile, I was unaware that the more familiar 'Slight Return' version was, in effect, a poor cousin of this monster of a jam. The interplay between Hendrix and Steve Winwood on the organ is one my favourite improvisations period. The appreciative audience in the studio adds hugely to the spirit of the age. As Mr Mojo himself would later comment, this really is a 'stoned immaculate' performance; encapsulating the blues and psychedelic influences whilst truly progressing rock music.

That Hendrix passed the vocal duties to Noel Redding for Little Miss Strange, for me didn't detract from the effectiveness of the track at all. This song needed a more 'twee', mid-sixties pop styled vocal, which Hendrix's stoned Southern drawl simply wasn't suited to.

Another attraction of Electric Ladyland was and is the huge diversity of music on offer. There are vast complex meandering jams, relatively simple verse-chorus-verse, etc, pop-orientated tracks, as well as pure blues and some tracks which are beyond genre categorisation, even now, forty years later.

I may have been familiar with Burning Of The Midnight Lamp before Electric Ladyland, but when listened to in context alongside this diversity of musical styles, it was difficult not to marvel at the magnitude of his talent. There is more invention across the four sides of Electric Ladyland than in the entire career of many of his esteemed peers.

When I came across Rainy Day, I had to ask what Miles Davis must have thought looking over his shoulder from the Bitches Brew sessions. Here was psychedelic jazz with horns and organs, influencing the whole jazz fusion movement which would emerge in the next few years. Truly innovative.

For many, the greatest achievement of the album is 1983 (A Merman I Should Turn To Be). It is clearly the most out and out prog track of the album. Beautiful percussion, restrained guitar and ethereal lyrics combine to provide an entirely legal high.

Still Raining, Still Dreaming must have had Hendrix's contemporaries weeping with envy at his dexterity and invention, while All Along The Watchtower is surely a contender for the greatest cover version. Possibly my favourite opening ten seconds of any track, ever.

When I realised that the song I was most familiar with before listening to the Electric Ladyland, was the classic 'Slight Return' version of Voodoo Chile, and that it was at least paralleled in its excellence across almost the entire album, I knew that this was a classic album by any measure.

Utterly unique and all the better for it, this is the one Hendrix album that anyone should own.

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 The Moody Blues' In Search Of The Lost Chord

Released 1968

"Timothy Leary's dead. No, no, no, no, He's outside looking in. Timothy Leary's dead. No, no, no, no, He's outside looking in. He'll fly his astral plane, Takes you trips around the bay, Brings you back the same day, Timothy Leary. Timothy Leary".

This is another album which, although I first encountered it a couple of years before, I didn't fully appreciate until it it was on one side of a C90, (I think the flip side was On The Threshold Of A Dream) and playing in the background whilst studying in Glasgow.

Before fully falling under the spell of The Moodies, I was hooked on their sleeve designs. I've mentioned in previous postings that I was long term caretaker to a friends box of vinyl. This contained an almost complete set of the 'classic' era ie: prior to Patrick Moraz joining them, fresh from Yes. There were very few of their contemporaries who could out prog The Moody Blues during this period. On many levels, they were in a league of their own when it came to full-blown concept albums; terrific artwork, lyrics that rivalled Jon Anderson's in terms of outright unintelligibility, scope of ambition and in terms of progression in its truest form. Although often scoffed at by many, The Moody Blues did a huge amount to actually 'progress' the pop/rock music form between 1967 and 1972/3 in particular. Certainly more than they are usually given credit for.

I consider the artwork for this record to be one of the defining icons of the classic psychedelic prog era. Anyone dabbling in Eastern Philosophies or transcendental meditation for it's own sake - and that accounts for a significant number of students, especially in the late sixties and early seventies will have been drawn both by the artwork and the sentiment expressed by the album's cunning title. It may all be seriously daft and utterly up itself, but why not? If it's accomplished, which I believe it is, then ultimately it will stand the test of time and gain respect, at least amongst us sad prog rock musos.

Like several of The Moodies albums of this era, it kicks off with a manic spoken passage. In this case, there is the brief strumming of a harp, a sustained mellotron chord growing more aggressive as the narrator speech descends into diabolical laughter. Ride My See Saw is played by the band in concert to this day, 200 years later. Taken by itself, it could be mistaken for a classic single by any of their contemporaries. I personally hear a lot of The Yardbirds in this. As with the rest of the album - and many from The Moodies collection - the production on the vocal is horribly dated and takes some getting used to.

This morphs into Dr Livingstone, I Presume. The esteemed Doctor-explorer is used figuratively: after all the album is about searching in all its manifest ways. Grand harmonies, very Ringo-like drumming (that's a compliment, by the why). The guitar solo is very Roger McGuinn; again another compliment. So far, largely pop orientated.

House Of Four Doors, Part 1, is the album's first real high point with the mellotron taking a more important role. The tapping tambourine ties it back firmly to the sixties, while the use of sound effects, the flute passages, the numerous changes in tempo and the lush harpsichord, all lean firmly towards a very progressive new decade. The emphatic orchestral break at around three minutes in, is as effective a progressive interlude as anything Yes or early King Crimson achieved a year or two later.

Legend Of A Mind 'borrows' very heavily from George Harrison eastern influence on The Beatles. Justin Hayward plays the sitar, mimics Lennon's vocal delivery whilst espousing the virtues of every one's favourite pharmacist, Timothy Leary.

The gorgeous second part of the last but one track, remains bewitchingly beautiful. As a quick aside, listening to an album whilst reviewing it is not to be recommended. I am an unashamed sentimentalist who often wells up when confronted with much of the masterful moments I am proud to listen to.

Voices In The Sky may be a (relatively) well known pop single, but both as part of the album and as a stand alone track, it is one of the earliest examples of The Moodies excellent knack for a simple timeless classic.

Again, The Best Way To Travel owes a large debt to The Beatles, although, and this may be somewhat contentious, it succeeds for me as pure prog, where John, Paul, George and Ringo, in my humble opinion held back in this regard.

The last four tracks of the album up the prog anti further, with more flute, layer upon layer of mellotron, harps, sitars and more sound effects. It would be very difficult for Barclay James Harvest - the eternally tagged 'Poor Man's Moody Blues' - to defend their protestations that they weren't blatantly copying harmonic structures and mellotron motifs wholesale from TMB on the basis of this side of vinyl.

The Word (unsurprisingly, perhaps) is another spoken word passage is straight out of the book of pretentious album structures. Not a track you'd listen to in the company of anyone who owns anything by Dido, Coldplay or Travis, for sure.

Om is pretty much what you'd expect from a late sixties album by The Moody Blues. It does fall apart in the middle and it is the only part of the record where you'd be forgiven for looking at your watch or peering over your shoulder in shame. Bless them.

As a whole, it is a really very good record. I am willing to forgive them the odd indulgence. Or three.

Review of Led Zeppelin's Physical Graffitti

Released 1975

"Down by the seaside
See the boats go sailin'
Can the people hear, oh
What the little fish are sayin'
Oh, oh, the people turned away
Oh, the people turned away"

I'm stepping temporarily back, out of my chronological retelling of my first encounters with classic prog albums, to about eighteen months before University, to include Physical Graffiti. There is some logic to this. Before leaving for University, I spent an inordinate amount of time transferring a few dozen of my favourite vinyl records to a large pile of C90 cassettes. I'm fairly certain my entire Led Zeppelin collection (excluding In Through The Out Door) travelled with me.

My interest in Percy and Co was born out my adolescent predilection for classic rock music. In my mid-teens, I saw Led Zeppelin as predecessors of ACDC and Whitesnake et al, rather than contemporaries of Pink Floyd and Genesis. As such, I suppose I had more affinity with Black Dog and Heartbreaker than with Misty Mountain Hop or No Quarter. That's not to say that I didn't enjoy the more mellow or experimental moments, just that I had yet to develop my love of prog and didn't recognise the less metallic tracks as 'progressive'.

It wasn't until I sat in my room at University a couple of years later, with my headphones, metaphorically hunched over Descartes, that I listened with a more mature comprehension of Led Zeppelin's legacy.

I think I requested Physical Graffiti as a birthday present. Either way, I recall being mightily impressed with the package. I was fortunate enough to have a vinyl copy with the original artwork: it had the holes in the outer sleeve windows, with the various window dressing graphics on the inside sleeve. I loved the drama of the actual Swan Song label on the record itself. So much so that I had a tee-shirt made up replicating it at some point.

By the time Led Zeppelin's only double studio album was added to my shelves, I already owned all the preceding albums and was intimately familiar with every nuance of the band's infamously debauched career and discography. Thus I had already invested this record with great importance, and, like many coveted albums, actually put off my first listen to the record both for the fear of disappointment and the knowledge that you can only play a record for the first time once. It had be right. Funny, I still feel that way now.

One of my preconceptions about this record was that it was their 'serious' album. After all, it was a huge behemoth of a record across four sides with a number of lengthy prog-tastic workouts.

From the first notes of Custard Pie, I knew two things: firstly that I was going to love it in its entirety and that this was a wonderfully produced album. Although many will cite the recording techniques on their fourth album as revolutionary, have you ever heard a more authentic drum sound? Perfect. It was obvious that the band had reached the peak of their powers as a very tight cohesive unit.

The Rover feels like an instant classic from the first listen, with a outrageously catchy riff and Percy expounding his hippy: "If we could just join hands" lyrics, reminiscent of much of the fourth album.

If push came to shove and I had to nominate my favourite Led Zeppelin track, it would be In My Time Of Dying. Although prog purists may argue that it is too heavily stepped in the blues to be prog, I would counter claim that it qualifies on the strength of the musicianship alone. I find it utterly hypnotic, not least for Mr Bonham's contribution: there appears to be a form of telepathy enabling him to mirror Pagey's riffing and soloing so precisely. Remember this was in the days when many bands recorded live, without multi-tracking. I'm not saying that it wasn't tweaked on the mixing desk, but having read copiously about the session in question and from the unintentional sound effect at the end of the song, I am continually stunned by what is, in effect a live performance.

Houses of The Holy sounded as though it could quite easily have slotted onto the album of the same name. It may not be a highlight of the album, but this is largely due to the high quality of it's accompanying tracks.

I loved Trampled Under Foot, having heard it for the first time on a re-run of The Old Grey Whistle Test, it's defining moment being a sterling JPJ keyboard solo. Gorgeous.

I believe that I may be in the minority in that I think Kashmir is overrated. I don't think it is a bad song. Clearly it isn't, but it has yet to 'click' for me, despite several hundred plays. Sorry.

Physical Graffiti is nicely balanced in that the first two sides are predominantly more rock orientated while the second two have more acoustic, mellow, stoned and chilled out vibe. Man.

In The Light begins with another JPJ keyboard theme, this one being eerily like being stalked on a nocturnal walk on a rainy foggy night. Bron-Yr-Aur is very Led Zeppelin III; brief, acoustic and beautiful. The slide guitar of Down By The Seaside and the lazy dragged out beat for the first part of the song again maintains the summery hippy feeling. It is easy to picture Percy doing his teapot impression in the studio to this one. I love the tempo change in the middle of the song. The intonation of "You still do the twist...etc" is perfect archetypal rock vocal phrasing. Again, perfect.

The mellow feel continues with Ten Years Gone built around a very MOR guitar solo from Jimmy and a lovely echoey drum sound with fast / slow passages. Night Flight ups the pace somewhat with spirited Pyrex-shattering delivery from Robert and an irresistible start / stop drum motif: both deeply bluesy and highly individualistic at the same time.

The fourth side of the record is probably the weakest. The Wanton Song starts it off pleasantly enough with a very aggressive guitar sound, flushed with sustain and feedback, but Boogie With Stu is execrable nonsense. Both Black Country Woman and Sick Again have their moments, but, personally I usually start to get itchy fingers over the eject button by this stage in proceedings.

It's a shame that the ending isn't great, as the remaining eighty percentage of the album is unrelentingly excellent.

It may be because the are both weighty double albums purported to the pinnacle of their respective artists careers, but I think of Physical Graffiti in much the same way as Pink Floyd's The Wall: I have a huge amount of respect for both, but I play them less often than other albums in their band's discography's. However when I do, I always do so with great admiration for the breadth of the music and the brilliant inventiveness therein.