generation x (1978) – generation x: chrysalis records, CHR-1169

In many ways, Generation X are the forgotten band of England’s nascent punk scene. People obviously remember The Clash and the Sex Pistols, but they also tend to have more vivid recollections of bands like Stiff Little Fingers, The Damned, The Buzzcocks, or Ian Dury and the Blockheads than they do of Gen X.

I think I know why, too. It’s because of all those bands, Gen X always seemed to be the one that was approximating punk without actually being punk. Just look at the album cover: the lads wore the right “punk” clothes, they had the “punk” hair, they had the “punk” hard poses, and had the “punk” attitude but for some reason it all seemed like an affect.

Take Billy Idol as an example. The guy had the same spikey hair and insubordinate snarl as Sid Vicious, but one always felt that with Sid it was an external manifestation of his internal psychopathy, while with Billy it seemed a costume. And that’s not quite fair, because Billy and Gen X were a part of the bona fide, OG, London punk scene from the mid-70’s, before punk was even officially punk.

The problem was that the band and and their songs didn’t have the same level of pure anger, disillusionment, and fuck you attitude as other punk bands from London. And that made it seem as if they were merely playing at being punk for the sake of exploiting an emerging market.

Their eponymous first album was released in 1978.

Side 1: Gimme Some Truth Wild Youth From The Heart Ready Steady Go Kleenex Promises Promises
Side 2: Day By Day One Hundred Punks Your Generation Kiss Me Deadly Wild Dub Youth Youth Youth

I remember buying this album while still in high school, when I developed my infatuation with Elvis Costello, The Ramones, X, and The Clash. At that time I couldn’t get enough of this new music, and would scrimp and save every penny to buy records or to afford to get tickets to see live shows at venues like the Whiskey, Madame Wongs, The Roxy, The Rainbow, and other clubs in Hollywood.

It was a glorious time to be young and involved in a musical revolution. It seemed as if every time you blinked there was a new band out demanding your attention. Some of them were good, most not so good, but there was a choice and an apparent endless supply.

So when I first heard One Hundred Punks on KROQ, I immediately took an interest and got the record.

I played it.

I listened to it.

I liked it.

But I didn't love it. Even though songs like Gimme Some Truth (a great cover of a John Lennon song), Wild Youth, and One Hundred Punks are really freaking awesome, there was something about it that kept me at arm's length and stopped me from loving it in the same way halitosis might stop a dude from really loving making out with a girl, or hangovers might stop someone from really loving a night of hard drinking.

It was at this listen where that something finally crystallized for me as being this odd sense that Gen X were like a gifted actor portraying a real person, or an exceptional cover band. They were close, but just reproductions of the real thing, and that gap between them and real produced enough of a hollow sound to make a difference.

As it turns out, I’m not alone in this feeling. Others have noted Gen X’s accessibility, pop tendency, and non-threatening sound. In fact, the members of the band themselves admit that they pursued a path with their band trying to navigate between the aggression of punk and the acquiescence of mainstream.

Eventually the band broke apart for the same reasons all bands break apart, and the guys went their own way. Billy became a huge solo artist, peddling the same pseudo-punk music, attitude, and style as Gen X did, eventually becoming a bit of a caricature of himself in the process.

But this album is still quite catchy and a nice nostalgic journey to an exciting time when music was constantly changing.

Up next: Maturing from punk to performer

geese & the ghost, the (1977) – anthony phillips: passport records, PP-98020

As I sat listening to this album last night, it struck me that Anthony Phillips’ career could be used as a sort of a Rorschach test to find out whether someone was a glass “half full” or “half empty” person.

A “half empty” guy would see Ant’s trajectory as a modern tragedy worthy of the Shakespeare treatment: a guy with incredible talent and vision, and founding member of Genesis who voluntarily left before the band started to achieve notoriety (due to paralyzing stage fright), only to fall into near total obscurity, where only fringe fans and other musicians remember who he is.

A “half full” guy, on the other hand, would understand the reason for Ant’s withdrawal from Genesis, and instead focus on how he continues to create incredible music, free of all the baggage, obligations, pressure to create something that the public will consume that comes from being in a successful rock band.

Then there’s Ant’s own state, which seems to be one of contentment with his lot, coupled with a tinge of regret at not having shared in the success and development of Genesis during their prog years.

The Geese & The Ghost, released in 1977, is his first solo album.

Side 1: Wind Tales Which Way The Wind Blows Henry, Portrait From Tudor Times Fanfare Lute’s Chorus Misty Battlements Henry Goes To War Death Of A Knight Triumphant Return God If I Saw Her Now
Side 2: Chinese Mushroom Cloud The Geese And The Ghost Part i Part ii Collections Sleepfall: The Geese Fly West

This album is very familiar territory for fans of very early Genesis, and with good reason. Not only were Ant’s fingerprints all over the album Trespass (and to some extent Nursery Cryme), but many of the songs on G&G were co-written with Mike Rutherford, and sung by Phil Collins.

It’s like the Genesis album that never was. Almost. See, even though the guitar and arrangements on a song like The Geese And The Ghost sound like they could fit seamlessly on Trespass, Nursery Cryme, or, to a lesser extent, Foxtrot, the reduced significance of keyboards marks this as absolutely not Genesis.

What it is, however, is an album that, while a nice example of Ant’s prowess and very listenable, seems a bit wanting. The songs are all competent and at times interesting, but never totally compelling, and during this listen I found myself guilty of a sin I could never commit when listening to Genesis or King Crimson: I would inadvertently wander at times away from the music. Whether that’s because of the heavy medieval influence on the music or because of a hole that Ant and Rutherford couldn’t fill with their composition, the music on G&G was often less than exciting. And that’s hard for me to say, because in many ways both the album G&G in general and the song G&G in particular, picks up threads left by Nursery Cryme’s opening song, the Musical Box (written by Ant), and I desperately wanted this album to be as interesting as that song.

However, the thing that did capture my interest during this listen is the way in which G&G expressed how influential Ant was in creating the sound Genesis would build in the early 70’s, even though it was Steve Hackett who did the actual building.

Even though this write-up is supposed to be about Ant’s first solo album, I simply cannot listen to it without drawing comparisons to early Genesis. And that’s both good and bad, because it does acknowledge Ant’s lasting legacy with the band and his huge talent, but also laments the fact that, despite being made one founding member of Genesis with great help by another founding member of Genesis, G&G simply does not stand alongside the Genesis albums Trespass or Nursery Cryme.

Up next: Between My Generation and Your Generation

from the inside (1978) – alice cooper: warner bros records, BSK-3263

By the late 70’s Alice Cooper the band and Alice Cooper the stage character had merged into Alice Cooper the entity, and eventually possessed the body of the band’s frontman creating Alice Cooper the trinity (Band, Character, Person). If that makes any sense to you at all then you must be Catholic, and have come to terms with the whole Father-Son-Spirit thing.

In any case, Alice Cooper was now something more than a person, band, or idea, and was residing in the body of a scrawny guy from Arizona named Vince. Now that’s some heavy dope to be carrying around, and it would put the zap on anyone’s head, but when one considers that Vince was a dorky preacher’s kid who grew up sheltered from the excess of Rock and Roll, one can understand how a hedonistic lifestyle of unlimited sex, booze, and drugs combined with the adoption of an extremely over-the-top personality might prove to be a bit too much to handle.

So it was no surprise that Alice/Vince finally snapped, and ended up spending time in a safe, quiet building with many safe, quiet padded rooms. And since art seems to come from pain, it’s also not really surprising that Alice took Vince's experience, employed art as additional therapy, and recorded an album about it: 1978’s From The Inside.

Side 1: From The Inside Wish I Were Born In Beverly Hills The Quiet Room Nurse Rozetta Millie And Billie
Side 2: Serious How You Gonna See Me Now For Veronica’s Sake Jacknife Johnny Inmates (We’re All Crazy)

The first thing that comes across on listening to this album is just how different this sounds from previous Alice Cooper albums. The songs have more melody and a gentler touch to them. There’s a stronger use of piano (often as the primary instrument), and far less of the “shock and horror” that categorized the earlier stuff. In fact, in many ways, From The Inside sounds less an Alice Cooper album than an Elton John album.

Part of that is because of how intensely personal this album is (more on that in a bit), but really the softer, more Eltony sound is because of the songwriting partnership between Alice and Bernie Taupin. Bernie, as you probably know, was Elton’s songwriting partner for donks, which explains the predominance of piano and why one can almost hear Elton’s warbling on songs like The Quiet Room or How You Gonna See Me Now.

But for all the Bernie/Elton qualities, this is still very much an Alice Cooper album. There are harder songs (Beverly Hills, Serious, and For Veronica’s Sake), and while the delightfully perverse Millie And Billie may be the only song with typically nightmarish Alice Cooper lyrics, there’s no mistaking the snark and darkness of the content in the other songs.

The difference is that while the macabre content of earlier albums were invented and remote in a sort of HP Lovecraft way, the songs on this album are disturbing because of their authenticity.  Alice/Vince really did suffer from a psychotic break. Alice/Vince really did spend time in a nuthouse. And Alice/Vince really did meet people with some seriously fucked up heads. These songs are based on that experience and the people. Wish I Were Born In Beverly Hills, Serious , and How You Gonna See Me Now tell about Alice/Vince’s personal demons. Nurse Rozetta, Millie And Billie, and Jacknife Johnny are about some of the other nuts in the facility. And From The Inside, The Quiet Room, and Inmates are about the place.

Following the reputation of Alice Cooper albums for creative packaging, From The Inside goes one more step by actually making the album cover a part of the record, rather than just decoration. It’s an immersive experience that actually enhances the songs, by interactively drawing one into the insanity. The front cover close-up of a confused and frightened Alice opens in the middle like double-doors revealing a scene filled with the characters from the album, letting us identify them and relate to them while listening to their songs. We see the timid sexual curiosity of the preacher as he lifts Nurse Rozetta’s skirt, or the manic expression on the rich gal born in Beverly Hills, the desperation of the guy who needs to get back to Veronica, and the dead expression on Billie. Opening the small door labeled “The Quiet Room” shows a tiny, huddled Alice. Finally, the back of the album also has double-doors, which upon opening shows a mass of dangerous lunatics charging out.

The raw honesty of the subject matter makes this album compelling. Even when dressed up and sanitized (and in songs like Rozetta also given a comical take), the paranoia, pain, and hopelessness of the situation comes through making it a tough listen. But that honesty also makes it rewarding enough so that listening to it close to 35 years after I first bought it, it still has an impact.

Up next: Tales of love, war, and loss from a Prog Pioneer

free your mind … and your ass will follow (1970) – funkadelic: westbound records (french pressing), SEW-012

The late 60’s and early 70’s were a turbulent time for culture in the USA. Hippies were questioning authority; freaks were tuning in turning on and dropping out; women were burning their bras; gays got fed up with all the fagbashing and stood up for themselves at Stonewall; weird communes and cults started springing up in the desert of SoCal threatening the suburban nuclear family; college students were demanding an end to the war in Vietnam … oh, and black folks finally got tired of passive resistance and peace-marches and began to aggressively demand their basic human rights as guaranteed by the constitution, by any means necessary.

The revolution was indeed on, and (with apologies to Gil Scott Heron) not only was it televised, it also came with a groovy soundtrack that put some serious fear into the squares.

Remember, nothing scares The Man as much as angry blacks, and so the stuff coming from new black musicians in the late 60's and early 70's was particularly of concern. And there were few black musicians who were scarier than George Clinton and Funkadelic. It wasn't their music (which avoided more explicit confrontational lyrics), nearly as much as their appearance. They had weird hair, they had bizarre clothes, but most of all they were unapologetically black.

Free Your Mind … And Your Ass Will Follow is their second album.

Side 1: Free Your Mind And Your Ass Will Follow Friday Night, August 14th
Side 2: Funky Dollar Bill I Wanna Know If It’s Good To You Some More Eulogy And Light

The first thing this album does is remind one that Funkadelic is NOT Parliament, and even though both are George Clinton bands recording at the same time and often had the same musicians, there are no butt-shaking extended bass grooves or hip-grinding beats. You won’t be hearing Flash Light or Atomic Dog on this.

What you do get is some of the grooviest, weirdest, gnarliest psychedelic rock along with solid R&B and socio-politically astute jams.

The first time I heard this album was over at a friend’s house when I was about 13, in my second year of Junior High (that’s what we used to call Middle School back in the Mesozoic era). His older brother was playing it and it just blew me away. At the time I knew about George Clinton and Funkadelic, but only as the hybridized P-Funk, so my assumption about them was that they were like the Ohio Players, Bar-Kays, or the Gap Band. You know, serious butt-shaking, bass-thumping, hip-grinding stuff. So when I heard the high-voltage guitar and seriously trippy acid grooves from this album coming out of the speakers , I had to do some serious recalibration.

Needless to say, I went out and grabbed a copy of the album for myself and damn near wore out side one from the constant play.  I also damn near wore out the cover from the constant ogling.

Side one is definitely the more trippy, with Free Your Mind And Your Ass Will Follow taking you on a near-11 minute journey down a rabbit hole of mind-expanding sonic pulses. Side Two brings more of a mix, with a bit of funk (Funky Dollar Bill), some more rock (I Wanna Know If It’s Good To You), a bit of Staxx Records organ-driven Memphis soul (Some More), ending with some wonderfully indulgent weirdness (Eulogy And Light).

Free Your Mind is one of the albums I always whip out whenever I want to introduce someone to the true beauty and experimentation of post-60’s, pre-disco music of the early 70's. It’s not as weird as Zappa or Captain Beefheart, not as aggressive as Zeppelin or Cream, and not as non-threatening as the Beach Boys or Springsteen. It’s really one of those albums that encompasses that spirit that there were no boundaries or limits, and that a bunch of talented musicians open to letting themselves just be open could make something freaking awesome.

And seriously, that cover is too cool for school, too.

Up next: We’re all crazy!

all about yuzo kayama (1966) – yuzo kayama and the launchers: toshiba records, TP-7100

The beauty of music is that despite the fact that the different genres tend to almost always be culturally based – often through centuries of tradition - it can easily transcend culture, language, and history.

George Harrison heard Ravi Shankar, liked the sound of the sitar, and decided the Beatles needed a bit of India in their music. Jimmy Page started off riffing some hardcore Delta blues, then decided that the sound of the oud would be cool, and so a bit of Middle Eastern music found it’s way into Zeppelin. And, of course, Dick Dale basically tool some traditional Greek bouzouki music , ran it through a Strat with a bit of reverb, and suddenly the world had Surf music.

So why would anyone think it odd when some Japanese cat who found himself digging some surf music (apparently the Ventures were a huge influence) figured it would be cool to go ahead and use that to update some old-style folk music?

The result is a seriously groovy hidden gem by Japanese actor Yuzo Kayama.

Side 1: Koi Ha Akai Bara (Scarlet Roses) Black Sand Beach Kimi Ga Suki Dakara (Because I Love You) Umi No Ue No Shonen (Boy On The Sea) Los Angeles No Nisei Matsuri Running Donkey
Side 2: Monkey Crazy Kimi To Itsuamdemo (Forever With You) Boomerang Baby Violet Sky Yozora No Hoshi (Star Night Sky) Kimi No Supo Wo (Kimi Soup)

Okay, I have to say I didn’t know anything about this guy at all when I got this album. And, in fact, the only reason I got this album is through pure chance. Briefly, my wife (who is Okinawan) found a box of Japanese albums at a garage sale and bought the lot for her mom. Now, mom doesn’t have a turntable, so we did the next best thing: I ripped all the vinyl into digital format and ended up burning some CDs for her. Which meant that I now have about 25 albums from Japan, almost entirely either old folk music (koto or shamisen) or some of that orchestral crooner stuff. But there are a few incredibly cool discs in there as well, such as this one.

The first thing that struck me is that the surf-rock songs are really good. In fact, some of them (such as Black Sand Beach and Los Angeles No Nisei Matsuri) kick butt, and Boomerang Baby is something you’d expect Frankie to be singing to Annette as they dance on the beach. So it wasn’t much a surprise to learn that Yuzo was a huge fan of the Ventures, because his songs definitely have a Ventures vibe (as opposed to a Dick Dale or Surfaris vibe).

What is interesting is how easily surf rock seemed to blend with mid-60’s Japanese contemporary music. But when one considers the nasal quality of the koto and shamisen it’s easier to see how surf guitar would work. Unfortunately, the album , particularly side 1, tends to be a bit heavy on crooner songs, which breaks up the flow of the surf music. Which is a shame, because Mr. Kayama can play some catchy beach pop.

Even with the crooner tunes, this album is a nice collection of bubblegum type beach songs made popular through cheesy teen movies, and is a fun listen.

Oh, and the cherry on top? The disc is pressed in a groovy red vinyl.

Up next: Who says a funk band can’t play rock?

freak out! (1966) – the mothers of invention: verve records, V6-5005

If one was asked to try and imagine a time and place where a young, talented, ambitious, and unconventional musician could have the freedom to work on his craft and find an audience receptive to new, experimental, and (quite often) very weird music, it would be quite difficult to find a better fit than Los Angeles in the mid 1960’s.

And it’s no surprise, given the cultural upheaval happening in the City of Angels at the time. The hippies, gurus, freaks, and heads were alive and well along the coast in SoCal before they descended on San Francisco in the Summer of Love, and their presence created the sort of crucible in which unexpected things are made.

After all it was in LA in the mid-60’s where Brian Wilson imagined and created the revolutionary Pet Sounds album. It was in LA in the mid-60’s where Ray Manzarek and Jim Morrison met, formed the Doors, and released that mind-bending album. And it was where a young Frank Zappa ended up converting a drowsy R&B pub band into the wonderfully bizarre and totally unlike anything before Mothers of Invention. LA nurtured young Mr. Zappa’s creativity, and in 1966 The Mothers had the squares running for their bomb shelters with their debut double-album release, Freak Out!

Side 1: Hungry Freaks, Daddy I Ain’t Got No Heart Who Are The Brain Police Go Cry On Somebody Else’s Shoulder Motherly Love
Side 2: Wowie Zowie You Didn’t Try To Call Me Any Way The Wind Blows I’m Not Satisfied You’re Probably Wondering Why I’m Here
Side 3: Trouble Comin' Every Day Help, I’m A Rock (Suite In Three Movements) 1st Movement: Okay To Tap Dance 2nd Movement: In Memoriam, Edgar [sic] Varese 3rd Movement: It Can’t Happen Here
Side 4: The Return Of The Son Of Monster Magnet (Unfinished Ballet In Two Tableaus) Ritual Dance Of The Child Killers Nullis Pretti (No Commercial Potential)

To start with, imagine the grapes you need to have your very first release be a double-album whammy of flat out bizarre music. True, Pet Sounds did come first, but only by about a month, and while revolutionary in use of dubbing and new sonic ideas, it retained enough familiarity and accessibility so normal folks could accept it. But Freak Out! was an entirely different beast.

The subversive nature of the album is clear from the cover. An intentionally color-distorted image featuring a bunch of savage long-hairs wearing decidedly odd clothing, staring at you as if they meant to hang you by the ankles, slit your throat, and make stew from your parts. The inside of the album continues the assault on polite society with sardonic content and ludicrous satire of the straights

And if that wasn’t clear enough, the first song proudly proclaims that Hungry Freaks are on their way to hang you by your ankles, slit your throat, and make stew from your parts:

Mr. America, walk on by your schools that do not teach
Mr. America, walk on by the minds that won't be reached
Mr. America try to hide the emptiness that's you inside
But once you find that the way you lied / And all the corny tricks you tried
Will not forestall the rising tide of hungry freaks, daddy!

Things seem to stabilize after that, as the rest of sides one and two (with the exception of Brain Police) are, more or less, conventional non-threatening songs. However, things proceed to get weird with side three. The “protest” song Trouble Comin' Every Day recalls the revolutionary attitude from Hungry Freaks and is a direct shot at square America (and includes perhaps my favorite lyric of all time. “Hey, you know something people? I'm not black But there's a whole lots a times I wish I could say I'm not white”), but the wonderfully claustrophobic Help, I’m A Rock is the real prize. A long, uncomfortable song with clear Varese influence (as noted in the sub-title) which, through it’s repetitive nature, calls to mind what a bad trip must feel like. The album then concludes with the percussive mind-fuck of side four.


This is an amazing album in a lot of ways, and I can still remember being both repulsed and captivated by it on my first listen. Even today, with my most recent listening, I am still repulsed by it, but in the same magnificent way one is repulsed by Picasso’s paintings or David Lynch’s movies: their refusal to conform, their insistence on subversive content and structure, and their demand of the audience is refreshing and makes it one of those perfect examples of the beauty of the ugly truth, or the sacredness of the profane.

Blow your harmonica, son.

Up next: ガルビの  日本の  サフロク!!

fragile (1971) - yes: atlantic records 1972 reissue, K-50-009

There’s at least one way in which Rock bands are like pro-sports teams: they often end up with significant personnel changes. A few guys leave, a few new guys come aboard, and the band is either made better or worse.

In a way, that’s the story of the band Yes. The original members of the band (Jon Anderson, Peter Banks, Chris Squire, Tony Kaye, and Bill Bruford) were pretty solid, but at some point there were changes.

The original lineup lasted for about two years and released two albums, but hadn’t really caught on until they had their first shakeup when they replaced Peter Banks with the more versatile Steve Howe on guitar. Their next album was the somewhat eponymous The Yes Album, and was a breakthrough. However, the lads weren’t finished, and the next year Tony Kaye left (at least in part because he wasn’t really keen on playing the mellotron, which was the rage at the time) and Rick Wakeman took over on the keys, creating what many consider the all-star Yes lineup.  Their first album was the epic Fragile.

Side 1: Roundabout Cans And Brahms We Have Heaven South Side Of The Sky
Side 2: Five Per Cent For Nothing Long Distance Runaround The Fish Mood For A Day Heart Of The Sunrise

I’ve always thought of Fragile as “Schroedinger’s” album – one that occupied both a state of existence and non-existence, and which required the right combination of band members in order to become real. When Wakeman joined the band it created the proper circumstance, and Fragile fell into the state of “real”.  That reality was explosive, catapulting Yes into that rarefied air of prog gods.

Fragile, itself, is a sort of unbalanced in a way where the songs tend to not really flow into one other in the way that the songs on Close to the Edge do. Part of that is because Fragile includes solo songs from each of the band members, along with the collaborative songs. But that uneven flow is part of what makes Fragile so compelling – even if it can sometimes be a bit jarring. Still, it allowed each of the members to basically flex their musical muscles, and when one hears a song like Cans and Brahms, it’s hard to argue about the logic behind their choice to blend individual with group.

Yes has always struck me as being very atmospheric and ethereal in their music – certainly moreso than their closest prog contemporaries, Genesis or King Crimson – in the same way that, perhaps, Vivaldi is more atmospheric and ethereal than Beethoven or Bach. And as much as I enjoy their music, I just find that Yes is really more the perfect complement to an already existing mood rather than being the way of setting a mood (if that makes any sense). So there are times when listening to them just doesn’t fit. I suppose that’s true of all music, but it just seems more true about Yes than others. There are times when really nothing else would be right or when nothing else would be more wrong.

Fragile certainly is no exception to that. Despite the fact that the album kicks ass, there are times when hearing it is about as comfortable and appropriate as wearing a tailored three-piece suit would be to dig trenches for new lawn sprinklers. But when the time is right (like, during the evening, when you just need to kick back, let the worries drain, and just get nice and mellow), brother, nothing is as right.

 Up next: Suzy Creamcheese, what's got into you?

foxtrot (1972) – genesis: charisma records, CAS-1058

In many ways, despite having already released three albums, in 1972 Genesis were a band still trying to gain traction and really embrace an identity.

The problem, it seemed, was that aside from a small number of hardcore fans, Genesis were either ignored or reviled by both music listeners and critics alike. Their records sold very poorly and their music was called pretentious, inaccessible, elitist, snobby, and dull.

Of course, there is some truth to that. Compared to so-called “everyman” bands, Genesis could be considered pretentious and inaccessible. Musically, Genesis had often complex arrangements and drastic time changes and heavy use of acoustics compared to three-chord, 4/4 time, electric guitar-bass-drums music. Lyrically Genesis tended to rely on poetic and literary themes, often including philosophical speculation as opposed to words about going steady and driving fast cars. And on stage Genesis tended to have theatrical shows, where the “everyman” bands often did little more than perhaps bounce around during songs.

However, the idea that Genesis made exclusive music that could only be appreciated by pointy-headed aristocrats and musical prodigies just flies in the face of reason. By the early 70’s so-called “working class” bands like the Who, the Beatles, and the Beach Boys, had been experimenting with song length, instruments, lyrical structure, and the very nature of rock with albums like Sgt Pepper’s, Magical Mystery Tour, the “White”album, Tommy, Who’s Next, and Pet Sounds.

Clearly complex music wasn’t the problem, so by 1972 it seemed the time was right for Genesis to finally lay claim to their share of attention.

And boy, did they ever with their epic, Foxtrot.

Side 1: Watcher Of The Skies Time Table Get ‘Em Out By Friday Can-Utility And The Coastliners
Side 2: Horizons Supper’s Ready Lover’s Leap The Guaranteed Eternal Sanctuary Man Ikhnaton And Itsacon And Their Band Of Merry Men How Dare I Be So Beautiful? Willow Farm Apocalypse in 9/8 (Co-Starring The Delicious Talents Of Gabble Ratchet) As Sure As Eggs Is Eggs (Aching Men’s Feet)

This is one of my favorite albums, and has been since I first heard it as an awkward 12-year old. I remember just being blown away by the grandeur and immensity of the album - particularly by the 23-minute Supper’s Ready. And even now that I am well past 12 I continue to be blown away every time I listen.

It’s difficult to explain what it is about the album that gets me, because there isn’t really one thing that stands out. Foxtrot is one of those albums where the whole is not only greater than the sum of the parts, but may be greater than their product.

To start, the entire concept of the album is captivating. As near as I can tell the album tells of how an alien race comes down to earth, subjugating humanity and allowing a few rather unscrupulous fellows to make a bit of quick cash by exploiting the situation. This inevitably leads to revolt and the overthrow of both the alien overlords and their henchmen. The good guys end up winning, and humanity now finds itself in utopia. The end.

Clearly that’s an oversimplification, but it’s the story I hear every time I listen. And it’s somehow backed up by the gloriously weird and “meta” cover, which features such bizzare scenes as a anthropomorphic she-fox; a pack of hunters including one with an exaggerated nose, a monkey-headed fellow with a halo, and a green alien; six, sainly shrouded men moving across a lawn with the seventh in front, cross held high in hand; and the croquet scene from the Nursery Cryme cover in the distance.

Weird. But oh, so cool.

But really, it’s the music. From the cathedral-like mellotron opening of Watcher of the Skies through the intensity of Time Table and Get ‘Em Out By Friday, the music is just phenomenal. Listening to the intricate interplay of Steve Hackett’s guitar work and Tony Banks’ keyboards backed up by Phil Collins’ maintaining difficult time structure and beat patterns is awe-inspiring.

Towering above it all, of course, is perhaps the holy grail of prog songs, Supper’s Ready. It’s like the Platonic ideal of what a prog song ought to be, and against which all others are mere shadows
approximating at the unreachable form. Truly, if ever there was a prog song to which all others aspire, it’s this one. Sure, there have been longer songs and songs with even greater musical complexity, and songs with even more mythical and grandiose lyrics. Yet for my taste nothing else comes close. Once again, it is difficult to explain why, other than to say that whenever I hear the opening, I simply cannot help but get swept up in the ride.

Even though I listen to this album very frequently this time I tried to really devote myself. I didn’t allow any other distractions, and made certain that I was in the proper state of mind, that the volume was at a suitable level, and that I could just relax and contemplate the cover as the record played.

And it was good. Really good.

 Up next: Ping prog: another prog group’s ultimate album

fly by night (1975) – rush: mercury records 1983 reissue, SRM-1-1023

As much as Caress of Steel represented a transition for Rush from their heavy “Zeppelin/Deep Purple” rock origins to their eventual unique style of progressive rock, Fly By Night represents their initial experimentation with prog.

Not coincidentally, Fly By Night also marks the debut of Neal Peart as the “new guy” in the band, taking the place of John Rutsey, the original drummer, who left for personal and health reasons. Peart, along with assuming percussion duties, also became the main lyricist and (for lack of a better term), visionary.

The vision Peart brought with him tended to be heavy with literary influences (particularly fantasy and speculative fiction), skepticism regarding authority, a natural desire to explore boundaries, and the idealistically simple (and sometimes simplistic) philosophy of youth.

In short, Peart brought with him all of the ingredients needed for a prog band. The fact that Lifeson and Lee were not only receptive, but good enough musicians to indulge Peart’s vision, proved the catalyst. The only thing was for the boys to try the whole prog thing out and see if they liked it.

Fly By Night is the result of the boys trying on some prog clothing and seeing that it was indeed quite a good fit.

Side 1: Anthem Best I Can Beneath, Between & Beyond By-Tor And The Snow Dog At The Tobes Of Hades Across The Styx Of The Battle Epiologue
Side 2: Fly By Night Making Memories Rivendell In The End

The one amazing thing about Fly By Night is that it is perhaps the perfect Rush album homunculus – if an album can be a homunculus. Think about it: it’s got all of the elements that will crystallize a few years down the road when Rush becomes RUSH!, only in a not-quite fully formed way. There’s the selfish social Darwinist Ayn Rand nonsense (Anthem), some strong rock groove (Best I Can), catchy riffs and hooks (Fly By Night), and the ponderously poxy pretense of prog (By-Tor And Snow Dog).

The other thing about Fly by Night isn’t quite as amazing, and that is that, well, it isn’t quite amazing. Song-wise, I mean. It’s not amazing. In fact, it sounds like an album made by a very ambitious band who are excited about venturing into the very wide (and fertile) style of music that will allow them to really just indulge themselves both musically and lyrically. But a band that is still quite young and perhaps not entirely in control of their ability nor entirely experienced enough to really create something amazing. In short, they sound young and enthusiastic. And that's the crux of the problem: this album suffers from the same sort of youthful over-enthusiasm and lack of control in much the same way that sex does.  Young boys may have energy, but they aren't very refined..

Of course that isn’t the same as saying the album is no good. And one certainly can hear a promise of things to come. But really, on it’s own, Fly By Night isn’t something that will stand out as exceptional other than offering that promise.

Perhaps that’s why listening to this album now was so frustrating. I haven’t heard it all the way through for a while, and for some reason I had a much harder time forgiving the flaw of enthusiasm on this play. I suppose part of that is because I’ve been listening to some great stuff lately, and it may not really be fair to compare this album to the last few I’ve gone through. Or maybe it’s because now that we’ve had 40 years since this was released we know what Rush eventually creates, making this pale slightly in the reflected awesomeness of, say 2112 or Hemispheres. But whatever the reason, this is a case where I listened and just found myself feeling perhaps less impressed than I did before or than the music may deserve.

Hell, It’s still way better than most stuff coming out today, though.

Up next: The prog album by the prog band against which all other prog albums and bands are measured

flush the fashion (1980) – alice cooper: warner bros records, BSK-3436

There’s an old wives tale that says sharks must continuously move forward in order to pass water along their gills, and that if they ever stop moving, they will die.

It’s not really true, but the metaphor is powerful, and often used as inspiration.

Thanks to Pete Townshend, Rock has a somewhat related old saying: I hope I die before I get old. The idea here is that “old” doesn’t mean aged, but archaic in attitude and style. In other words, not constantly moving forward (stay with me here, because I am going somewhere with this).

So, in order to survive, musicians, like the shark, have to continuously keep moving forward in terms of growth and development or risk stagnating and being relegated to the heap of dead acts languishing in the “where are they now” file.

See, I told you this was going somewhere.

Evidently this idea must have resonated with Vince Furnier (aka Alice Cooper), because it seems to be the only logical explanation for his decision to suddenly abandon the harder metal rock style with which he established his success and embrace new wave (of all things) with the release of the album Flush the Fashion.

And despite the success of the album, the result is exactly as awkward, ill-fitting, and uncomfortable as one might expect when a metal guy decides to go new wave.

Side 1: Talk Talk Clones (We’re All) Pain Leather Boots Aspirin Damage
Side 2: Nuclear Infected Grim Facts Model Citizen Dance Yourself To Death Headlines

Leaving the unfamiliarity with new wave music aside for a moment, the songs on this album are all very familiar ground for Alice Cooper, focusing on the questions of sanity, identity, and the oppressive nature of society. In fact, there's a strong similarity between the nature of these songs and those on Billion Dollar Babies, which dealt with similar generalities only through different specifics.

Many of the songs on the album are quite good. Clones, Model Citizen, and Talk Talk are catchy, have some clever lyrics, and more than a little of the sort of sardonic humor so closely associated with Alice Cooper. And Pain is right in line with other potent emotionally honest confessions from previous albums.

So, what’s the problem with the album? I guess I just can't get past this new wave thing, and wonder about the bizarre compulsion Alice Cooper had to record in this way. The use of electronic percussion, auto-tune background, synths, and other conventions commonly associated with Flock of Seagulls or Duran Duran just make it too jarring - like expecting water and getting vodka. It's made even worse because there is really no reason for it. It’s not like the sort of glam-rock which Alice Cooper helped create was out of style.  Glam-influenced bands like Def Leppard and Quiet Riot were huge in the early 80’s, so one would think that Alice Cooper would be more than in his element, what with him being the damn paterfamilias of that genre, and all.

That irreconcilable incongruity really stood out at this listen. It’s almost as if this were a novelty record, kind of like if Black Flag were to release a 12” disco single, or if Andy Williams or Pat Boone were to release a heavy metal album.

Oh, wait, that last one actually happened.

The point is, this just doesn’t fit. And apparently Alice Cooper agreed, because the albums following this tended to go back to his normal style, saving us from the Alice Cooper ska album.

 Up next: A trio progresses

fine art of surfacing, the (1979) – boomtown rats: columbia records, JC-36248

It seems like whenever we think of foreign (i.e. non-American) music, we always default to England and not, say, Germany or Finland or Uruguay.

And with good reason, too. Let’s face it, that wretched, cold, miserable little island has produced more than its fair share of influential and popular bands.

However, lost in the Union Jack were some guys from the Emerald Isle who weren’t too bad themselves.

England gave us the Stones, the Who, the Kinks, and the Beatles, and Ireland gave us Van Morrison. England gave us Led Zeppelin, David Bowie, the Yardbirds, and Cream and Ireland gave us Rory Gallagher and Thin Lizzy. England gave us the Sex Pistols, the Clash, and the Jam and Ireland gave us U2 and the Pogues.

They also gave us the Boomtown Rats, who may have been the best rock band to come out of Finn McCool’s homeland. Hell, the Rats even have an appearance on SCTV to their credit.

Of course, today most people probably only know of the Rats through their lead singer, Bob Geldof. It was Geldof, along with Midge Ure (from Thin Lizzy & Ultravox) that brought the famine in Africa to worldwide attention through their group Band Aid and their song Do They Know It’s Christmastime (well before the atrocity known as USA for Africa came about), and for whom Slade wrote the tribute song, Do You Believe in Miracles.

Oh, he also played Pink in the movie adaptation of The Wall. Not bad for a tosser from outside Dublin.

The Fine Art of Surfacing was the band’s third album, and contained the monster smash hit, I Don’t Like Mondays.

Side 1: Someone Looking At You Diamond Smiles Wind Chill Factor (Minus Zero) Having My Picture Taken Sleep (Fingers’ Lullabye)
Side 2: I Don’t Like Mondays Nothing Happened Today Keep It Up Nice ‘N’ Neat When The Night Comes

The best part of this little diversion of mine is getting a chance to listen to an album that’s been lost in the shuffle and to (in a sense) rediscover just how awesome it, and the band that made it, is. Surfacing is a perfect example, because even though I’ve heard some of the songs from the album off and on more or less consistently, I haven’t actually sat down and listened to the whole album for many years.

And man, let me tell you baby, it is great!

But even though I really do think this is one of the best albums I have, explaining why is quite difficult. Although all of the songs are good (with some are better than others), none of them (aside from Mondays or Diamond Smiles which are both just kickass songs) are really outstanding. And although all of the music is solid, none of it is really breathtaking. And although all of the lyrics are catchy and clever, none of them are really remarkable.

Yet somehow, the album is outstanding, breathtaking, and remarkable at the same time.

Perhaps it’s the fact that each song seems so different from the others in terms of style (one is quite new-wavey, one is sort of raga, one is a bit classical, one is sort of weird). Or, maybe it’s that the songs leap from paranoia to suicide to mass murder to lust. Hell, it may even be just because it seems that the Rats are having a good time poking fun at things that were being taken so seriously at the time. But whatever the reason, there is something about this album that just resonated with me on this listen, and made me feel really happy to get reacquainted with it.

And I suppose that’s part of the purpose of this blog – to allow myself to re-discover some old friends.

Up next: An aging 70’s rocker tries to stay relevant in the 80’s