The Watcher Observes From A Distance

Gabriel Bows Out of RRHOF Genesis Induction

To be snubbed or not to be snubbed. This is the conundrum facing the former members of Genesis, as they ponder the band’s upcoming induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame – assuming their rightful position amongst recent or upcoming inductees/rock ‘n roll legends Abba, Madonna and The Dave Clark Five. Prog fans worldwide have groused over the years, complaining about the obvious lack of a progressive rock presence, as if bands like Genesis, King Crimson, Yes, ELP, etc., had never existed or didn’t really sell all those millions of albums and influence millions of musicians back in the glory days of 1969 through 1975. The Hall of Fame snub wasn’t really surprising, considering the American rock ‘n roll “intelligentsia” (if such a thing is even possible) led by Rolling Stone magazine founder Jann Wenner never really got Progressive Rock in the first place – thus, consigning it to illegitimate bastard/stepchild status among musical genres through predominantly negative reviews in his magazine. Until now. As Prog fanatics rejoice, merrily donning capes and prancing around their mellotrons in a fit of celebratory intoxication, there is still one snub yet to be snubbed. Seems former Genesis lead vocalist Peter Gabriel, lead singer – now a portly, white-haired and goateed gent – has decided to skip the induction ceremony, claiming he’s too busy planning his upcoming tour. For those not familiar with the history of Genesis, Gabriel left the band in 1975…a time when many claim the band had reached an artistic peak with their immense concept masterwork The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway. Gabriel then jumped ship, embarking on a long (and extremely slow-moving) yet highly respected solo career. This forced the band to morph, mutate and eventually become the polar opposite of its earlier quirky, groundbreaking, Gabriel-led incarnation – a slick, MTV-friendly ‘80s hit-making machine. Ironically, Gabriel himself scored a huge hit right around the same time with So…an album that itself contained several chart-topping hits. But along the way, Gabriel seems to have distanced himself from his old band mates. It's as if he’s protecting his artistic “street cred” by disassociating himself with the band he once fronted whilst donning bat wings, old man masks, and red dresses among other dramatic special effects – all to reinforce the unique fractured fairy tales put to classical rock music that Genesis had created in the early-‘70s. Now, nothing pisses of Prog fanatics more than an artist becoming an apologist for his former work…as if admitting, “Yeah, the critics were right and it was all just a bunch of crap back then…” Not that this is necessarily Gabriel’s intent with his Hall of Fame snub. When all is said and done, he was only with the band for about seven of its 20-something years of existence. And let’s face it – the casual fan on the street probably remembers Genesis more for Invisible Touch than for Nursery Cryme anyway. So, come time for the big induction ceremony, band mainstays Phil Collins, Tony Banks and Mike Rutherford will most likely be joined by former members/guitarists Anthony Phillips and Steve Hackett for the big bash. Prog will finally be represented in these hallowed halls, gaining at least some critical respect, albeit a bit late in the game…but respect nonetheless. Yet, the guy who really helped lead Genesis to its historic progressive heights – the singer whom most fans fondly remember as fronting Genesis at its legendary creative peak – is passing on the party. The 800-pound gorilla in the room, conspicuous by his absence. Seems the Watcher would prefer to observe these festivities from the sidelines.

2010 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Inductees: ABBA, Genesis, Jimmy Cliff, The Hollies and The Stooges. Also being inducted this year as individual recipients of the Ahmet Ertegun Award will be David Geffen and songwriters Barry Mann, Cynthia Weil, Ellie Greenwich, Jeff Barry, Jesse Stone, Mort Shuman and Otis Blackwell. The ceremony will take place on March 15, 2010 at the Waldorf Astoria in New York City.

John Barleycorn Must Die

Traffic/1970

When the Traffic jam ended in 1969, upon releasing their final album appropriately titled Last Exit, the band shifted it into park, turned off the ignition and walked away from their brief but respectable career (after only three albums). Guitarist Dave Mason went on to hang out with other musicians, including pal Jimi Hendrix (that’s Mason strumming the acoustic guitar on “All Along the Watchtower”) before starting his own long and successful solo career. Vocalist/keyboardist Steve Winwood ventured on to what he assumed would be long-running superstardom with super group Blind Faith (joined by Eric Clapton and Ginger Baker from the recently disbanded Cream) but it wasn’t meant to be. After just one album and tour, Blind Faith lost faith…and that was that. Now wandering the English musical wilderness alone, Winwood began work on several tracks for a possible solo album to be called Mad Shadows. But after calling in his old Traffic buds Chris Wood (woodwinds) and Jim Capaldi (drums) to help out in the studio, everyone kissed and made up. The Traffic engine was getting revved up all over again. So, what the hell…let’s call it a Traffic album! It certainly couldn’t hurt record sales. If anything, John Barleycorn Must Die has to be one of the quickest “reunion” albums ever made, coming within a mere one year after the band actually broke up. Maybe the break did them some good, however, because what is also evident on this album is a renewed spark of creative energy. The old familiar Traffic sound, a kind of bluesy, whimsical Hammond organ-based British psychedelia, was still there. But now there was a looser, more jazzy vibe perfectly realized on the opening track “Glad” – a nimble instrumental held together by Winwood’s funky acoustic piano/organ riffs bouncing off each other, embellished with some nasty (in a good way) sax work by Wood. “Freedom Rider” cruises right along, again with Winwood’s piano/organ interplay (you can almost see his feet shuffling while playing lines on the organ’s bass pedals) and more killer woodwind workouts by Wood, especially the fluttering flute solo in the middle section. Once we get to the third track, “Empty Pages,” it’s obvious to anyone with ears that if this is indeed an official Traffic album, then it’s most likely going to end up being one of the best Traffic albums. This track harkens back to Traffic of old, with its thick, stately organ chords spinning madly through a rotating Leslie speaker and Winwood’s soulful vocals wailing "Staring at empty pages..." throughout the chorus. He stays firmly in the driver’s seat for the subsequent tracks, adding some tasty acoustic and electric guitar work to the funky piano-pounder “Stranger to Himself” as well as the searing lead guitar line that anchors “Every Mothers Son,” (minus the apostrophe) one of the album’s strongest tracks. Winwood gently plucks and strums some delicate, folky acoustic guitar on the rustic “John Barleycorn,” their reworking of a traditional English folk song dating all the way back to 1465. Its lyrics describe the efforts of townsfolk to kill off the symbolic John Barleycorn, thus destroying the sinful alcoholic beverages distilled from barley. But their valiant labors may have been in vain, according to the final verse:

“And little Sir John with his nut brown bowl
And his brandy in the glass
And little Sir John with his nut brown bowl
Proved the strongest man at last…”

If they couldn’t do in poor little John Barleycorn and his evil brew, then Traffic merely upheld this grand English tradition. As in the case of John Barleycorn Must Die, you just can’t keep a great band down.

Essential tracks: “Glad” “Freedom Rider” “Empty Pages” “Every Mothers Son”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i2fe7M9C2t0&feature=related

Foxtrot

Genesis/1972

Belying its shake-a-leg title, Foxtrot is most definitely not a good soundtrack for dance lessons. With the somber, droning mellotron chords of opening cut “Watcher of the Skies,” it becomes clear that this is more an album to be given a proper, serious listen with clear and open ears. No, you can’t dance to it. But once you become immersed in Foxtrot’s strangely beautiful, bizarre little universe, it won’t really matter. Many bands of the era, if they were lucky, would create the iconic album of their catalog – the one where everything magically comes together after several initial, yet not-quite-perfect stabs at greatness (in this case, the two previous albums Trespass and Nursery Cryme). Foxtrot is such an album for the then-relatively unknown (at least in the U.S.) Genesis. Brimming with musical self-confidence, strong songwriting and an insanely unique and creative musical/lyrical vision, Foxtrot in a way is the coming out party for Genesis…a musical statement that says “Go ahead, just try to ignore us now.” Anchored by the lush keyboard layerings of Tony Banks’ classically derived organ and mellotron phrasings (amazingly, he used no synthesizer on this album and his keyboard work still boggles the mind), these fractured fairy tales with titles like “Can Utility and the Coastliners” and the sidelong, multi-section epic “Supper’s Ready” wrap themselves around your head and take you for one intense, scary ride: Mind-warping time signatures that’ll have you beating your head against the wall trying to figure them out; Steve Hackett’s float-like-a-butterfly-sting-like-a-bee guitar attacks; Mike Rutherford’s massive, wall-shaking bass pedal notes; Phil Collins’ precision, rat-a-tat-tat stick work advancing things along; all topped off with absurdist, otherworldly lyrics sung by resident mime/madman Peter Gabriel in heavily caked white face makeup (as Gabriel had now begun to perfect his costumes/characterizations used in live performances). There are probably more scholarly discussions pertaining to these lyrics, but for now let’s just say this is stuff one might overhear whilst taking a stroll through your local British insane asylum:

"If you go down to Willow Farm,
to look for butterflies, flutterbyes, gutterflies
Open your eyes, it's full of surprise, everyone lies,
like the focks on the rocks,
and the musical box.
Oh, there's Mum & Dad, and good and bad,
and everyone's happy to be here."

"There's Winston Churchill dressed in drag,
he used to be a British flag, plastic bag, what a drag.
The frog was a prince, the prince was a brick, the brick
was an egg, and the egg was a bird
Hadn't you heard?
Yes, we're happy as fish, and gorgeous as geese,
and wonderfully clean in the morning."

Granted, those are from the wacky “Willow Farm” section of the “Supper’s Ready” song suite – the aforementioned epic that takes the listener on what could only be described as a guided tour through a biblical apocalypse, as seen through the eyes of an absurdist clown (who, BTW, morphs into the Savior upon the album-ending climax). Again, it’s all pretty heavy and makes more sense when listening, cross-legged on the floor, headphones cranked up, with album sleeve opened wide in your lap to read along with the lyrics. Genesis had certainly arrived with Foxtrot, and there was no turning back now. Subsequent albums would merely cement the band’s rightful place in the pantheon of the era’s prog giants. Personnel changes (the bane of many a prog band) would ultimately change the look and the sound of Genesis. And, if in 1972 you were to predict that the progressive juggernaut responsible for a masterpiece like Foxtrot would evolve into a slick, hit-making pop music machine of the 1980s…why, you’d have been considered just as mad as some of the characters in these songs.

Essential Tracks: “Watcher of the Skies” “Get ‘Em Out by Friday” “Can Utility and the Coastliners” “Supper’s Ready”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S-_Alpu4hFM

Close To The Edge

Yes/1972

Just how close can one safely crawl out to the edge…before falling over and plunging headlong into the dark abyss? Such was the precarious perch on which Yes found themselves when it came time to record their fifth album in the spring of ‘72. Having finally achieved high artistic and commercial success with their previous breakthrough album, Fragile – the one that cemented the classic Yes sound of mind-tripping time changes, extended multi-part arrangements, maestro-like musicianship and chirping, high-pitched vocal harmonies – it was now time to flex their newfound creative muscles and take it to another level altogether. Mind you, this was an era when the root of the word “progressive” (progress) actually meant something, inspiring bands to ignore commercial considerations, push the musical envelope to the max and milk the refreshing lack of creative restraints that had previously existed in rock music. So, what the hell, for starters let’s make the title track 20-minutes long, taking up an entire side of the (vinyl) album! Kicking off with a gradually fading-in trickle of burbling, tweeting synthesizer arpeggios, “Close to the Edge” explodes into a harsh, almost freeform dissonant attack, before settling down and morphing into a classic Yes pattern of segueing movements (many recorded separately and connected via tape splicing in the studio) and beautiful melodies. It’s all held together by soaring, recurring musical themes and Jon Anderson’s journey-up-the-spiritual-creek lyrics that generally made no sense to anyone but himself:

“A seasoned witch could call you from the depths of your disgrace,
And rearrange your liver to the solid mental grace,
And achieve it all with music that came quickly from afar,
Then taste the fruit of man recorded losing all against the hour.”

Got that? Good. Now, in Anderson’s defense, it couldn’t have been easy to write lyrics for this high level of intelligent, sophisticated, head-scratchingly arranged music. Or even sing the lyrics, for that matter, at times being forced to spit out some real tongue-twisters at light speed:

“My eyes convinced, eclipsed with the younger moon attained with love.
It changed as almost strained amidst clear manna from above.
I crucified my hate and held the word within my hand.
There's you, the time, the logic, or the reasons we don't understand.“

Try saying that three times fast. Yet, surrounded by Steve Howe’s mind-bending fret work, Chris Squire’s metallic Rickenbacker bass thumping, Rick Wakeman’s organ/synth/mellotron arsenal and Bill Bruford’s busy-bee drumming…it all made perfect sense. Easing up on the intensity a bit for what was Side 2 of the vinyl album, Yes would devote this space to a whopping two tracks – the lush, shimmering “And You And I” with it’s sweet, crystalline vocal melody and the gorgeously symphonic-orgasmic mellotron-laden middle section; followed by the intensely aggressive, weirdest-song-title-on-the-planet “Siberian Khatru” based around Howe’s stuttering, woodpecker-on-acid guitar riffs and Wakeman’s galloping mellotron lines. In a sense, the heady Close to the Edge could be considered the first “green” album. Its Roger Dean-designed cover is, after all, literally green. And the water-world graphics inside its gatefold sleeve visually imply an environment of naturally flowing beauty while augmenting Anderson’s river-of-life lyrical/spiritual meanderings. The album has assumed legendary status over the years, topping many polls as The Best Progressive Rock Album of All Time. That would be a tough one to prove, but there’s no denying Close to the Edge remains an iconic testament to an era when rock musicians truly thought anything was possible (although it didn’t hurt to sell a few million albums while you were at it, just to keep those record label masters happy). There is an amazing freshness that continues to emanate from this music, almost as if it was still 1972 – if only you close your eyes, crank up the headphones, and put the last 38 years right out of your head. For this one, brief shining moment, though, Yes had taken their musical and philosophical pilgrimage to brave new heights, to the very edge of limitless possibilities – blissfully unaware of the murky Topographic waters in which they’d soon find themselves adrift.

Essential Tracks: “Close to the Edge” “And You And I” “Siberian Khatru”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9RNKGcY35Qw

Voyage Of The Acolyte

Steve Hackett/1975

It’s commonly referred to as “an embarrassment of riches.” In the case of Genesis, it was an overabundance of talent. Not only were these guys great players, but also great songwriters/composers. Problem was, there's only so much space on an album. So somebody's material had to be sacrificed. This great wealth fueled the five albums leading up to their magnum opus in 1974, The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway, before the wheels abruptly came off. Lead singer Peter Gabriel quit immediately after The Lamb tour for an ultimately successful (but maddeningly slow) solo career. Genesis was now left to wander in the wilderness sans that one crucial element: a lead singer. Having lost their eccentric, much-talked-about vocalist and media focus (Gabriel was getting all the buzz, the guy on stage wearing bizarre costumes and scary masks, acting out the characters in the songs, etc.) some fans felt the band had lost its soul. If not its soul, then at least its bat-winged figurehead. So it was, during this tumultuous downtime when people were unsure if Genesis would even continue to exist, that guitarist Steve Hackett decided to take a break from the madness and record a solo album – using all the music floating around in his head that would probably not make it onto a Genesis album, especially with material from keyboardist Tony Banks and bassist Mike Rutherford crowding him out. Thus, Voyage of the Acolyte was released and – in the absence of a proper Genesis album – was looked upon as a legitimate Genesis album in its own right. And why not? Reinforcing this perception was the fact that both Rutherford and Genesis drummer/vocalist Phil Collins contributed mightily to Acolyte. Not surprisingly, the album sounded very much like a Genesis album…minus Gabriel, of course. The familiar lush mellotrons were present and accounted for, wafting across moody-scary-symphonic landscapes like “Hands of the Priestess” and “Shadow of the Hierophant,” both tracks resembling long-lost instrumental sections from some alternate-universe Genesis epic. Add to that Collins’ familiar voice on "Star of Sirius" (having sung harmonies and the occasional lead vocal on previous Genesis albums) plus his drum playing throughout the album, and things are sounding more and more like Genesis all the time. Add one final and recognizable Genesis ingredient – Hackett’s wailing, sighing, bobbing and weaving guitar lines – and who needs Genesis when you’ve got all this? What keeps Acolyte from actually becoming a Genesis album clone (aside from the fact that Banks didn’t participate) is a pervading atmosphere of longing, melancholy and menace. Whereas a Genesis album would lean a bit toward the ominously quaint and quirky, this one is more ominously solemn and spooky. When not sounding like the mournful music one might hear at a church memorial service for a lost friend, it pummels you with martial riffs like an aural army of darkness marching through your living room. Genesis, as it turned out, would survive just fine and reach even greater success (with Collins eventually taking on the front-man/lead vocalist role) than ever attained in the Gabriel/Hackett years. And Hackett, after thoroughly enjoying his first taste of a musical dictatorship (where he, most importantly, was the dictator) would stay with Genesis for only two more albums before embarking on his own full-time solo career, thus eliminating any limitations on his contributions to an album. In a sense, it was this “phantom” Genesis album that inspired another crucial loss for the real Genesis – and a fateful new voyage for Hackett.

Essential Tracks: “Ace of Wands” “Hands of the Priestess/A Tower Struck Down” “Shadow of the Hierophant”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4M_9085G-hM&feature=related

Tarkus

Emerson, Lake & Palmer/1971

Here’s a great idea for a Prog concept: the zany adventures of a creature called Tarkus – a cuddly little guy who’s part armadillo/part Panzer tank. We follow the mayhem that ensues, as our thickly armored mechanized mammal frolics along, flashing his two huge canons while engaging in fierce battle with a host of dastardly, nasty creatures. It’s all illustrated in sci-fi comic book fashion inside the gatefold album cover. Yes, Virginia, there really was a time when people would write rock music and lyrics around such wild and wacky stories. To the uninitiated, it would all seem rather geeky and…well, Trekkie-like, if not for one important aspect: the music. Based around a military-industrial-complex-strength keyboard riff by maestro/Hammond organ abuser Keith Emerson, “Tarkus” (the sidelong song suite) opens with a churning, grindingly unmelodic and impossible-to-whistle main theme that perfectly reflects the once-upon-a-blitzkrieg fairytale. Deviously skittering and scampering up and down the musical scale in god-knows-what time signature, this ominous, recurring keyboard theme (pummeled along by drummer Carl Palmer) is punctuated throughout by interludes of Greg Lake’s lovely, choirboy vocals on sections like the King Crimson-ish “Stones of Years,” and in the dark, ominous anti-war vibe that hangs over “Battlefield.” But it is Emerson’s keyboard gymnastics on organ, piano and Moog synthesizer that dominate “Tarkus” and exhilarate like no other keyboard player of the era could – punching, slapping, whacking, jabbing, fondling, hell, even stabbing his Hammond with knives (as he did when ELP performed live). If their 1970 debut album made people sit up from their late-‘60s stupor and take notice – with it’s popular “Lucky Man” single and Emerson’s manhandling of the Moog – then Tarkus (the album) would further cement the band’s reputation as one of the emerging Prog Rock leaders of the pack. Unfortunately, the tough-act-to-follow masterpiece that took up an entire side of vinyl consigned much of the material on Side 2 squarely in the let-down category. Aside from “Bitches Crystal” and “A Time and a Place,” both of which sound like they could have been outtakes from the first album, the remaining material tends to lack the electrifying intensity and focus of the “Tarkus” suite. It would be several more albums before ELP would achieve what many consider to be their ultimate masterwork, Brain Salad Surgery. Despite critical accusations of over-the-top bombast and in-your-face artistic indulgence (what some would argue ultimately brought down the band in the late ‘70s), it was ELP and their strange pet – an armed-to-the-teeth armadillo on tank treads – that initially made the world safe for the newly hatched musical genre called Prog Rock.

Essential Tracks: “Tarkus” “Bitches Crystal” “A Time and a Place”

In The Court Of The Crimson King

King Crimson/1969

First, I’d like to apologize to my neighbor Joanne. The little sister of one of my pals at the time, she made the mistake of innocently strolling into my house and gazing upon a certain album cover leaning against the couch. Letting out a blood-curdling scream, the youngster tearfully turned and ran like hell out the front door. Oh, the contorted, fearful, agonized grimace…no, not on Joanne’s face. I’m talking about the face on the album cover. If ever there was an album cover that perfectly reflected the menacing musical vision tucked therein, it was In the Court of the Crimson King by King Crimson. Catching the hippie-dippy, peace ‘n love crowd with their proverbial bell bottoms down, this debut album (subtitled “An Observation by King Crimson”) mysteriously appeared on the record racks with no warning in late ’69. It was almost as if the frightfully grimacing face on the cover was beckoning you, “Come…buy this album…if you dare.” While peaceniks and pinkos were still strumming and singing about social injustice, all the King’s men were busily creating this darkly disturbing, surrealistic fantasy world – resplendent with 21st Century schizoid men, solemn and spooky epitaphs and a warped royal court of dancing puppets, fire witches and funeral marches. If the Beatles proved that rock music could be art on Sgt. Peppers, King Crimson took the ball and ran with it, straight down into their own cozy little netherworld. This is an album of subtle shadings and mind-bending contrasts, set amidst distinctive jazz and classical overtones – perfectly balancing the extreme sonic violence and chaos of lead-off track “21st Century Schizoid Man” (which could be construed as an anti-war song, albeit one from hell) with the flute-fluttering, pastoral beauty of “I Talk to the Wind” – slyly casting its spell, drawing you into its enchanting yet unnerving depths. Contributing to the album’s atmospherics is the mighty mellotron, played expertly by Ian McDonald. A keyboard instrument that replicates the sound of violins, brass and choirs via pre-recorded tapes, the mellotron adds a ghostly, unhinged spookiness to the music – yes, it sounds like an orchestral string section, but one with an alien-like other-worldliness. During your next out-of-body experience, the mellotron will most likely be what you hear in the background. It’s used most effectively on the album’s two epic tracks, “Epitaph” and the album closer, “The Court of the Crimson King.” Based around a majestic mellotron riff, the music on this track slowly weaves through lyricist Peter Sinfield’s Brothers-Grimm-on-acid fantasy poetics:

“On soft grey mornings widows cry,

The wise men share a joke;

I run to grasp divining signs

To satisfy the hoax.

The yellow jester does not play

But gently pulls the strings

And smiles as the puppets dance

In the court of the crimson king.”

What does it all mean? That’s not the point. It’s not so much what the lyrics mean, but more the creepy, nightmarish vision they create. The track culminates in a false crescendo, fooling you into thinking this bad trip is over, followed by several moments of silence and the stark tapping of a cymbal, before the main mellotron riff re-emerges more massive and menacing than ever – finally ascending into a dizzying, dissonant “swooshing” sound, like what you might hear at the very point of waking up from a really bad dream. Or, in this case a beautiful nightmare. The dark, somewhat twisted vibe on this album is appropriate, as King Crimson seemed to be cursed from the start. Cover artist Barry Godber died of a heart attack shortly after the album was released. The band suffered its own coronary after its initial U.S. tour, with McDonald exiting (followed later by singer/bassist Greg Lake and drummer Michael Giles). This particular lineup of King Crimson, stillborn as it were, would take on legendary status while the band morphed and mutated with constantly changing personnel on subsequent albums – all under the watchful eye of lone original member, guitarist Robert Fripp (who continues to manage all things King Crimson to this very day). Though probably not the first Progressive Rock album, In the Court of the Crimson King was certainly the harbinger of things to come at the dawning of a new decade. Rock music would become more impressionistic, more artistic, more risk-taking…to its own detriment, some would argue (those who preferred their music to be exclusively of the sex, drugs & rock ‘n roll variety). But even now, 40 years later, this iconic album continues to transcend time and haunt all who have (or will) come in contact with it – still exerting a strangely disturbing, yet irresistible spell.

Essential Tracks: “21st Century Schizoid Man” “I Talk to the Wind” “Epitaph” “In the Court of the Crimson King”