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| Lunatic Soul – Sign to InsideOutMusic for upcoming album release. New single “The World Under Unsun” out now!  Lunatic Soul, the Polish outfit lead by Riverside’s main composer and vocalist/bassist Mariusz Duda are pleased to announce signing a new deal with InsideOutMusic for the release of their upcoming 8th studio album later in 2025.A first new single entitled “The World Under Unsun” – recorded, mixed and mastered by Magda and Robert Srzedniccy at Serakos Studio, Warsaw, Poland – is being released today and can be streamed here: https://lunaticsoulmusic.lnk.to/TheWorldUnderUnsunEU or here: https://youtu.be/qBwDf8lwYkUMariusz Duda checked in with the following comment about the single: “This is how the new Lunatic Soul album will begin. Precisely with these sounds. The track “The World Under Unsun” is a kind of opening credits to a long, 90-minute musical film that will be released this Autumn. This film is the eighth Lunatic Soul album. On the timeline of the story, it is set between “Fractured” and “Walking on a Flashlight Beam”. Darkness and melancholy return to my music – this time bathed in the black-and-gold light of an eclipsed sun. I’ve recorded an epic, long, and highly diverse album – the first double album in my career. I didn’t want to present fragments torn from context. I simply wanted to share how this journey begins. I hope you enjoy the track and that you’ll join me on this long journey in the Autumn”.And added the following words about signing to InsideOutMusic: “I would like to sincerely thank my friends at InsideOutMusic for their trust and for welcoming Lunatic Soul under their wings. I hope this opens a few more doors to deeper discovery of this solo effort – where I always seem to wander in some strange black hood. I also hope my solo music adds something intriguing and meaningful to the label’s catalog of sounds. :)” Lunatic Soul is the solo outfit of the creator, vocalist, and multi-instrumentalist Mariusz Duda. Duda is best known as the frontman of the Polish progressive rock band Riverside, where he is the main composer, lyricist, vocalist, and bassist. In 2008, he launched a separate outlet in which, as he says himself, he wanted to create something different and uncompromising.Lunatic Soul is inspired by artists such as Dead Can Dance, Peter Gabriel (especially his “Passion” album), Mike Oldfield, Clannad, Hedningarna and Depeche Mode. It’s an attempt to blend ambient music and electronic music with folk and rock influences. Duda plays almost all the instruments himself, with occasional guest appearances from invited musicians.While the artist doesn’t reject the label of progressive rock, he believes that “Lunatic Soul gives me more room for musical originality than Riverside”. For this reason, he doesn’t like Lunatic Soul being referred to as a “side project”. “To me, there’s nothing secondary about Lunatic Soul. Musically and conceptually, it’s an equally important musical world – if not more important. Here, I can do literally anything.”Since its inception in 2008, Lunatic Soul have released seven full-length albums. The upcoming eighth album will be released later in 2025 via Inside Out Music internationally and Mystic Production in Poland. All eight albums form what is known as the “The Circle of Life and Death”, a cohesive story in which a solitary artist-traveller journeys between life and death.Stay tuned for many more news about Lunatic Soul and their upcoming album to follow soon…  Lunatic Soul / Mariusz Duda photo by Oskar SzramkaLunatic Soul online:https://lunaticsoul.com https://www.facebook.com/lunaticsoulband/ https://www.instagram.com/lunaticsoulband/INSIDEOUT MUSIC online: www.insideoutmusic.com www.youtube.com/InsideOutMusicTV www.facebook.com/InsideOutMusic www.twitter.com/InsideOutUSA www.insideoutmusicshop.com Spotify Prog Rock Playlist Spotify Prog Metal Playlist |
All posts by bradbirzer
Assessing Neal Morse’s Cosmic Cathedral
Hello faithful Spirit of Cecilia readers. As always, thank you for joining us for our latest review. Up this time, Neal Morse’s new supergroup, Cosmic Cathedral and the band’s debut album, Deep Water. In addition to Morse himself on keyboards, the band includes Phil Keaggy on guitar, Chester Thompson on drums, and Byron House on bass. While this is a Morse-driven project, the band co-wrote much (but not all) of the music, and Morse shares credit, lyrically, with Keaggy on one song. The CD comes out from Insideout Music/Sony. Here at Spirit of Cecilia, Tad and Carl have especially praised the album. In this review, Tad and Brad (wow, our names rhyme) assess the new album.
Brad: Well, I’m not sure I’m the proper person to start this conversation, especially given how much Tad and Carl like it. I must admit, I’m still rather skeptical of the album. Parts of it, I love. In particular, I’m quite taken with the keyboards, the guitar work, bass (though, the bass needs to be higher in the mix), and drums. Each of these musicians is, simply, spectacular.
I’ve seen other reviewers refer to the album and the band as espousing “Yacht Prog,” and, for better or worse, I can see that complaint, especially with the first half of the album. I wouldn’t call it “Yacht Prog,” but I might be tempted to refer to it as “Adult Contemporary Prog,” a kind of gentle prog for the older set.
And, since I’m being negative, I’ll be negative about this as well. The lyrics are a little too evangelical for my tastes. As I hope is obvious–after all, we are dedicated to the Spirit of St. Cecilia, patron saint of music–I have no problem with one expressing his or her faith in his or her art! My gosh, most of the best art in the history of the world has been inspired by faith. But, when Morse sings “I sing for Jesus–it was for me He died/He unlocked the door to heaven/Now we can pass from death to life,” my soul cringes just a bit. It’s not that I disagree with the theology or the sentiment, but I disagree with the lack of art in the statement. Given the weight and gravity of the subject matter, these lyrics should have been deep, stirring, and beautiful–not yelled out in a vulgar fashion.
Again, though, there’s much I like about the album. Though I didn’t like the first few moments of keyboard on the first track, “The Heart of Life,” once the guitar kicks in, the song simply rocks. And, I really liked about a ⅓ of the Deep Water Suite. Again, I was especially taken with the guitar work throughout the album and very much so on the suite. It struck me as very much a Christian version of a Spock’s Beard epic.
I should also admit that I have really mixed feelings about Morse. At times in my adult life, I’ve been quite taken with him–especially with the last Spock’s Beard album, Snow, as well as with several of his solo albums, Testimony, Lifeline, and Question Mark especially. I also really like his work with Transatlantic. I’ve seen him in concert several times, and I’ve been an off and on member of his Inner Circle fan club. But, his blatant anti-Catholicism–especially on Sola Scriptura–really turns me off. I don’t see that in Cosmic Cathedral, however.
Tad: Thanks for getting this conversation going, Brad! As you mentioned, I like this album a lot. I wasn’t prepared to enjoy it as much as I do, though. I pretty much buy anything Morse releases, but his previous album with The Resonance, No HIll For a Climber, didn’t really resonate (!) with me. I listened to it several times, but nothing was very memorable.
With Cosmic Cathedral, on the other hand, I think Morse has surrounded himself with an extraordinary group of musicians. Phil Keaggy is one of the greatest living guitarists, and Chester Thompson is a phenomenal drummer – I’ve been a fan of his since the days when he toured with Genesis. I was surprised that Morse tapped Byron House to play bass, since his background is primarily in country music (Foster and Lloyd, Emmylou Harris, Vince Gill, Buddy and Julie Miller, et al.), but he’s a great choice. I’ve admired his work for years, as he brought a jazz sensibility to every project he’s worked on. These three men really push Morse, I believe.
That said, I can see why you might label this album “Yacht Prog”. I could do without “I Won’t Make It”, and “Walking In Daylight” has a definite seventies laid-back vibe to it (but Keaggy’s guitar solo redeems it in the end). But I love the first track, “The Heart of Life”. It has such an energetic intro, and it never lets up. Thompson’s drumming is fantastically driving throughout. I have a ton of Keaggy albums, and I’ve never heard him let loose like he does on this track. Melody-wise, it’s immediately recognizable as a Morse composition – lots of buildup to a satisfying resolution. Lyrically, I think this song is fairly restrained – I agree that sometimes Morse can hit you with a two-by-four when a pat on the shoulder would suffice, but I have to admire his consistency – it’s been 22 (!) years since he recorded Testimony, and he has remained true to his convictions.
Brad: Tad, thanks so much for this. I really appreciate your viewpoint. After reading this, I went back to Morse’s Sola Scriptura. Here’s a sample of his lyrics.
Giving up the time we’ve got to live a life completely
Giving over to the lust that rages in the mind
The Captain fills his place with gold while all the ship is sinking
Calls himself the Bishop-Prince and blood’s his favorite wine
Gardens grow as people know and sense the smell of slaughter
Every soul and Saxon senses something’s gone awry
The woman in the wilderness – the beast has nearly got her
Men surround the Bishop-Prince and sing their bloody cry
In the name of God you must die
All that’s not our truth is a lie
In the name of God you must die
In the name of God you must die
If you want some teeth, just ask why
In the name of God you must die
The pearl is trodden underfoot into the muck and mire
We’ll take the Roman Gods except the names will all be changed
The woman’s fed by ravens and her feet are in the fire
Cold and bare she’s holding there 1260 days
In the name of God you must die
All that’s not our truth is a lie
In the name of God you must die
In the name of God you must die
We won’t let a sleeping dog lie
In the name of God you must die
And the Captain calls
If they won’t pay they’ll soon be scratching the dungeon walls
From the highest height to the tenement halls – it’s true
Look out we’re comin’ for you!
In the name of God you must die
In the name of God you must die
He also calls the Catholic Church the “whore.”
I have the reissue of his first album with Spock’s Beard. The opening track uses the “F” word repeatedly. In the reissue, Morse warns listeners that they shouldn’t play the album in front of their kids. Honestly, I’d rather my kids hear the “F” word than his brutal and malicious attack on the Catholic Church.
Admittedly, I try not to think about these things when Morse releases new material, but it’s hard to forget.
The Genius Rages: Andy Tillison’s Le Sacre Du Travail (2013)
Genius
Andy Tillison is a genius. It must stated as bluntly as possible. Tillison is a genius. He’s a musical genius and a lyrical genius, but he’s also just a genius genius. Actually, this might seem redundant, but it’s not. Only genius could properly modify genius when it comes to Tillison’s art.
As I mentioned in a previous post, anything Tillison releases is not just an event, but a moment. A real moment, not a fleeting one. A moment of seriousness and reflection.
From the first I listened to The Tangent’s The Music That Died Alone, a full decade ago, I knew there was something special going on. Not only did the cover art entrance me, but the very depth and seriousness of the music captured my then 35-year old imagination. I felt as though Tillison was speaking directly to me, asking me to remember the greatness of the musicians who came before 2003, but also inviting me–in a very meaningful fashion–to move forward with him.
The Music That Died Alone really serves as a powerful nexus between past and present, present and future, up and down, and every which way. Only the evocative power of the lyrics match the classiness and free flow (though, we all know what makes something seem free is often a highly disciplined mind and soul) of the music.
At the time I first heard them, I mentally labeled The Tangent a “neo-Canterbury band,” but I was too limited in my imagination, and I would discover this very quickly. Indeed, each subsequent The Tangent album offers new pleasures and paths for adventure, but always with that power of that Tillison nexus, connecting the past and the future with beauty.
Tillison makes this connection literal in his very fine novella, “Not as Good as the Book: A Midlife Crisis in a Minor.” The dedication lists close to 100 names, including numerous members (first names only) of the members of various bands from Yes to ELP to The Flower Kings to Spock’s Beard to XTC and to authors such as Arthur C. Clarke and J.R.R. Tolkien. None of this is contrived. Just pure Tillison expressions of gratitude.
Privileged (well, blessed, frankly, if you’ll pardon a blatant religious term) to receive a review copy of the new album, Le Sacre Du Travail (Out officially June 24, 2013 from InsideOut Music), I dove right into the music. Full immersion. With every album, Tillison has only improved. Each album has bettered the already previous excellent album with even more classiness, more intensity, and more meaning. Not an easy feat in this modern world of chaos and consumerist fetishes.
With this album, though, Tillison has moved forward the equivalent of several The Tangent albums. Again, to be blunt, the album is mind-boggingly good.
Easy listening? No. Of course not. It’s Tillison, it’s prog, and it’s excellent. What part of those three things suggests easy. No excellent thing is easy. Can’t be. It wouldn’t and couldn’t be excellent if easy.
Satisfying listening? Oh, yes. A thousand times, yes.
For one thing, Tillison has brought together some of the finest artists in the business. I was convinced of the potential greatness of this new album when I first heard David Longdon (in my not so humble opinion, the finest voice in rock today) would appear on the album. But, add a number of others in: Jonas Reingold (The Flower Kings), Jakko Jakszyk (Level 42), Theo Travis (Soft Machine), and Gavin Harrison (Porcupine Tree). And, it doesn’t stop here. Add Brian Watson (DPRP.net)’s spectacular art work and the cool dj voice of Geoff Banks (Prog Dog show). Ok, this is one very, very solid lineup of the best of the best.
1913
Ten years ago, Tillison released the first The Tangent album. 100 years ago, Igor Stravinsky released what was arguably his masterpiece and certainly one of the finest pieces of music of the twentieth-century, The Rite of Spring. While The Rite of Spring hasn’t pervaded our culture in the way the fourth movement of Beethoven’s 9th Symphony has, it’s a close second. Every person, an appreciator of music or not, knows at least part of The Rite of Spring.
Imagine for a moment 1913. It was, by almost every standard, the last great year of the optimism of western civilization. Technology upon technology had produced innumerable advancements, almost everyone in the western world believed in unlimited progress, and even devout Christian artists (such as Stravinsky) had no problems embracing the greatest elements of paganism and folk culture.
In almost every way, Stravinsky explored not only the folk traditions of his era, but he embraced and, really, transcended the modernist movement in music. He bested it. His Rite is full of tensions and dissonance, but each of these is overruled and corrected by harmony and emergent joy. The Rite, no matter how pagan, also has deep roots in the Judeo-Christian and Greco-Roman traditions. The Rite–the ritual, the liturgy–has been a part of western civilization since the pre-Socratics debated about the origins of the cycles of the world and history: earth, water, air, or fire.
2013
Imagine for a moment 2013. Well, ok, just look around. Technology remains exponential in its growth, but few would praise the development of the Atomic Bomb, the gas chamber, or the aerial bomber. But, then, there’s the iPod. And, unless you’re Steven Wilson, you probably think your iPod is ok. Certainly better than an Atomic Bomb.
Optimism? No. I don’t need to go into detail, but, suffice it state, T.S. Eliot might very well have been correct when in the late 1940s he claimed the western world in an advancing stage of darkness:
the tower overthrown, the bells upturned, what have we to do
But stand with empty hands and palms turned upwards
In an age which advances progressively backwards?
The U.S. and the U.K. are currently waging numerous wars, and there seems to be no end in sight.
The Rite of Work
As with the Stravinsky of 1913, the Tillison of 2013 surveys the cultural landscape. Unlike his Russian counterpart, the Yorkshire man finds little to celebrate in this whirligig of modernity.
The “good guy anarchist,” as he described himself in a recent interview (and, not to be too political, but more than one progarchist would be in great sympathy with Tillison on this point), Tillison observes not the Rite of Spring, but the liturgy of work. We get up, we commute, we sit in our cubicle, we commute again, we eat, we drink, we have sex, we watch a little t.v., and we sleep. The cycle beings again every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. Who made this deal, Tillison wisely asks.
Throughout it all–pure prog interspersed with very modernist musical elements from time to time–Tillison references much in our modern folk and popular culture, including The Sound of Music and Rush (2112):
In a Rush T-shirt, pony tail, 2112 tatooed on his hands
He’s a star through thick & thin
But he still gets that data in
A modern day warrior, today’s Tom Sawyer is a clerk
He’s a meta for disillusion
He’s a metaphor for life
But, interestingly enough, Tillison does all of this as a modern-day St. Thomas the Doubter.
But I don’t believe them, not ’til I see it
Until I put my finger in the holes
In every word, the lyrics rage against the conformity demanded in 2013–demanded by our corporations, our neighbors, and our governments. What have we become. . . mere ants, living in a world of bird dung. Certainly, whatever humanity remains has been given over to some institution radiating power.
And, yet, still somewhat in the persona of St. Thomas, Tillison asks us to reconsider our day-to-day rituals and liturgies. Is it worth it that we squander what little time we have in the name of the mindless and soulless cycles of modern life? By far the most powerful moment of an album of immense power (power in the good sense; not in the domineering sense):
‘Cos you can’t take it with you
There’s no luggage allowed
No you can’t take it with you
No matter how rich or proud
Your kids will sell it off on Ebay
For god’s sake don’t waste their time
‘Cos you can’t take it with you
You can leave just a little bit behind.
Summa
Well, what an album. What an artist. What a group of artists. If any one ever again complains about the superficiality of rock music, consider handing them a copy of this CD. No superficiality here. Only beautiful–if at times gut wrenching–meaning.
Keep raging, Mr. Diskdrive. Rage on.
To order the album (and you should, several times!), go here: http://www.thetangent.org/
Can a Progger Be Christian?
For what it’s worth, I’ve been traveling since last Wednesday. I went from Michigan to Colorado, Colorado to Kansas, and now, I’m enroute back to Michigan. My soundtrack has been prog, prog, and then a bit more prog.
A few days ago, the mighty Tad Wert and I reviewed Steven Wilson’s new album, The Overview. Though we questioned a few things about Wilson, we loved the album. During his review, however, Tad brought up the majesty of the universe as described in the Psalms.
Today, this was posted on Facebook: “An interesting review of Steven Wilson’s latest album, which I’ve added here as Andie/The Tangent get name-checked. Quite an enjoyable read, despite the reviewer’s annoying habit of adding somewhat superfluous (and potentially divisive) references to The Goat Herder’s Guide to the Galaxy.”
Being in the car for hours on end, I turned this comment over in my mind. Now, it’s worth noting, our website (the one you’re currently reading) is named after the Catholic patron saint of music, St. Cecilia. Of the five main editors of Spirit of Cecilia, three are practicing Catholics, one is a Methodist who leans toward Eastern Orthodoxy, and one is a skeptic. Frankly, I’m amazed at how restrained we are when it comes to the issue of religion.
Still, after reading the Facebook comment today, I had to ask: can a Progger be a Christian? For some, the immediate answer is to turn to Neal Morse or Glass Hammer. But, frankly, both artists are so open about their faith that each might appear to be the exception that proves the rule.
So, for the sake of a good argument, I offer all praise to Morse and to Glass Hammer, but I’m going to leave them out of the discussion.
Then, I gave it a bit more thought, and I realized that the Christian religion is deeply embedded in much (certainly not all) of the progressive rock tradition. So, I chose my songs from several different eras of prog.
Yes, Close to the Edge:
“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”
Clearly referencing the Gospel of St. John.
Genesis, Supper’s Ready:
“There’s an angel standing in the sun
And he’s crying with a loud voice
“This is the supper of the mighty one”
Lord of Lords, King of Kings
Has returned to lead his children home
To take them to the new Jerusalem”
Clearly referencing St. John’s Revelation.
Talk Talk, New Grass:
“Lifted up
Reflective in returning love, you sing
Errant days filled me
Fed me illusion’s gate in temperate stream
Welled up within me
A hunger uncurbed by nature’s calling
Seven sacraments to song
Versеd in Christ, should strength desert me
They’ll come, they come”
Again, a clear reference to the New Testament and, specifically, a liturgical understanding of Christianity.
Roine Stolt, Humanizzimo
“With the blood of Jesus on the nail
We turn the balance on a scale
In pain and fearless suffering
Lies a message from the King of Kings”
Again, a clear reference to the passion of Christ.
The Tangent, Le Sacre du Travail:
“And all the blue plaques in all the buildings
Say they’re “Investors in Our Souls”
But I don’t believe them, not ’til I see it
Until I put my finger in the holes“
Yet again, a clear reference to Doubting Thomas.
Big Big Train, The Wide Open Sea:
“Lying ahull
Ride out this storm
Doused all the sails
I let the boat drift
And so upon this tumbling sea
Fathoms below
Heavens above me
I’m setting sail for Les Marquises
From cradle bound for Calvary”
I could be wrong, but this very much reminds me of Jesus calming the waters.
Every one of these songs requires some biblical literacy. Were Yes, Genesis, Talk Talk, Roine Stolt, Andy Tillison, and Big Big Train divisive? Without a doubt. Was Tad being divisive? I certainly doubt that was his intention.
So, back to the main question. Can a progger be a Christian? It seems so.
Tad Wert on Lost Angeles
It’s 5/4: Dave Brubeck Day!
It’s 5/4–Dave Brubeck Day!
https://bradleyjbirzer.substack.com/p/54-happy-dave-brubeck-day
The Unessential Brubeck
A review of Philip Clark, Dave Brubeck: A Life in Time (New York: DaCapo Press, 2020). Xvii + 403 pp of text + discography, bibliography, and index.
I do not remember a time in my life when Dave Brubeck’s music did not provide the soundtrack. Indeed, his music is inextricably tied up to and with my own life. Some of my earliest memories come from staring at Brubeck’s album covers—Time Out and Time Further Out by S. Neil Fujita and Joan Miro, respectively—and trying to make sense of the abstractions. And, as family lore goes, even as a kid I loved dancing to music such as “Take Five,” even waking up the entire household in the middle of the night by blaring the stereo system at full volume. As was the case with probably many of us of my generation, Time Out was one of my father’s favorite albums and Brubeck one of his favorite musicians, rivaled only by Herb Alpert. To this day, I have stacks and stacks of Brubeck CDs and boxsets, and his music plays throughout the house and the office. Maybe not daily, but certainly weekly. When my older brother, Todd, and I get together, we still talk Brubeck. Even now, as I pour through various prog and jazz albums, I’m always on the lookout for Brubeck’s influences.
As a case in point, Pat Metheny’s latest, From This Place—arguably this jazz master’s best—reflects widely and deeply the compositional structure of Brubeck’s best album, 1964’s Time Changes. The resemblance is simply too obvious to ignore. Even the theme is critical. Brubeck’s album was inspired by a short story involving two cellmates and a crust of bread. The religious essence of the album is blatant, with Brubeck trying to find that which ties all humans together, regardless of ethnicity or race. It is, for all intents and purposes, a meditation on human decency and divine agency. Metheny’s latest calls us to be the best we can expect of ourselves as Americans.
In 2012, when Brubeck died around Christmas time of that year, I vowed that I would one day write a biography of him. Despite preliminary research and reading, I’ve really not dived into this project, but Brubeck remains a profound part of my life, nonetheless.
Two stories from Brubeck’s own life mean everything to me.
First, at Ronald Reagan’s last summit with Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev, held in Moscow in 1988, the Reagan administration insisted that Dave Brubeck represent America as her greatest cultural achievement. Brubeck’s producer, Russell Gloyd, recognized this grand achievement for what it was. “You have to put this in perspective,” he argued. “There was Perestroika, the whole awakening of the Soviet Union, the whole concept of what was taking place at that time in world history. This was the first time there was hope of a real chance for an understanding between the East and the West,” he continued. “For Dave to be the representative artist meant everything to everyone who was close to us.”
The atmosphere was tense. Reagan was exhausted from his trip, Gorbachev’s security was worried about assassination plots, and it was a ridiculously hot and humid day in Moscow. “I walked in thinking that this was the hardest room Dave had ever had to work in his life,” claims Gloyd. After a number of lackluster diplomatic niceties in the stuffy room, Brubeck walked up to the piano, sat down, and started playing “Take the ‘A’ Train.” “It brought down the house,” Gloyd reports. “People were up and cheering. I’ll never forget Bob Dole—he looked like a little kid. He had his one good hand raised above his head like he was at a football game. He’d turn around, and there was a Soviet general, loaded with medals, doing the same thing! They looked at each other like, ‘You like Brubeck? I like Brubeck! We like Brubeck.” It was, Gloyd notes, “the greatest single twenty-minute set in his life.” The Cold War became much less frigid that day.
Second, though he came from a Presbyterian family, Brubeck converted to Roman Catholicism as an adult. “I never had belonged to any church. I was never baptized before,” Brubeck remembered. “I was the only son in the family who wasn’t baptized a Presbyterian. It was just an oversight.” To be certain, religious music—from the African-American community as well as from the white/European community—had always intrigued and influenced him. He wrote liturgical-jazz pieces about Easter, Christmas, and Martin Luther King.
Though he had written a number of specifically religious themed albums and pieces, however, his greatest expression of his Christianity came when Our Sunday Visitor (headquartered in Huntington, Indiana) commissioned Brubeck to write a Mass. He, in very Brubeck fashion, entitled it, To Hope! A Celebration, and performed it—with Gloyd conducting—at Washington National Cathedral. The premier music review website, Allmusic, writes of it: This stunning work incorporates jazz interludes into the hypnotic Responsorial “The Peace of Jerusalem” and “Alleluia,” a particularly challenging section for the choir. The vocal soloists are impressive; tenor Mark Bleeke’s feature “While He Was At Supper” is especially moving. The overall effect of this beautiful work is absolutely stunning; it resists being labeled in any one category, it is simply great music.” Fundamentally optimistic about the human experience, Brubeck had said in a commencement address in 1982: “What is really important in the community, in the worst of times, is often music. It’s the cement for the community that holds it together, and the thing that gives it hope.”
Sadly, neither of these stories can be found in Philip Clark’s just published “biography,” Dave Brubeck: A Life in Time (New York: DaCapo Press, 2020). Though the cover proclaims this to be “the definitive investigative biography of jazz legend Dave Brubeck,” there is not a single mention of Brubeck’s 1988 trip to Moscow or his conversion to Catholicism. Just how definitive is this biography by Clark? Bizarrely, Brubeck is not even born until page 302.
When I first learned of the existence of this book—on February 19—I purchased it at a Books-a-Million within a few hours of the news. Rather than wait for the cheaper Amazon.com version, I had to have the book immediately. I was thrilled it existed, and I dove right into it. Alas, rarely have I been so disappointed by a book.
When it comes to writing—on a sentence by sentence basis—Clark is outstanding. According to the dust jacket, he has written for a vast number of music periodicals as well as for the London Guardian and the London Times. There’s no doubting his grammar or style. But when it comes to composing a book of this length, he is. . . to be polite. . . lacking. It turns out that Clark knew Brubeck relatively well and had interviewed him a number of times in the last twenty years of his life. Though we learn nothing of Brubeck’s Catholicism or his trip to Moscow—both so essential to his life—we do get editorial comments such as
“As the bus breaks for the London border, with the motorway to Brighton stretching ahead, [bassist] Moore falls into earnest conversation with Iola Brubeck. Heads nod remorsefully, then Moore’s grotesque caricature of President George W. Bush’s nervy Texas drawl hits a manic crescendo reminiscent of an operatic made scene.”
Or, this tidbit:
“As I wrote all these years later, that Brubeck’s accounts of his country’s gravest shame should have such damning relevance to Trump’s America felt unbearably poignant and tragic—time overlaps, but it is also cyclic.”
I am certainly no fan—in any way, shape, or form—of Presidents Bush or Trump, but I very much fail to understand why these things matter in a biography of Dave Brubeck, who was so much better and worthy of so much more than what Clark presents in this book.
Clark is at his best in the book when not writing the biographical parts. Indeed, Clark excels at explaining Brubeck’s techniques, his influences, and his influence. During parts of the book—especially Clark’s section on Brubeck’s influence on rock and progressive rock—I was riveted. Clark is also good when it comes to Brubeck’s defying the horrific racialist laws, habits, and customs of much of 1950s and 60s America. Brubeck was not only an optimist in his view of humanity, he was deeply humane in his understanding of the dignity of the human person. He never backed down from what he believed correct, and his actions on race relations are nothing short of heroic in his own lifetime.
If you’re looking for a fan-boy appreciation of Brubeck’s talents and his understandings of race relations, Dave Brubeck: A Life in Time, is a fine outing. If, however, you’re looking for the “definitive, investigative biography of jazz legend Dave Brubeck” run as far away from this book as possible. One of the greatest talents to come out of 20th-century America, Brubeck deserves so much better.
Until someone actually does the critically hard work of looking closely at Brubeck’s life through his music as well as through his letters and papers and getting into the very bright and endlessly creative soul of Brubeck, no definitive biography yet exists. The best book on Brubeck remains Fred M. Hall, It’s About Time: The Dave Brubeck Story (Fayetteville: University of Arkansas Press, 1996). It’s an excellent book, and the stories above come from Hall’s work.
Or, just listen to Brubeck’s music. He poured himself into his art—into every note.
Tad Takes on Raymond Chandler
Wind-Blown Notes: Rush’s Grace Under Pressure
My favorite Rush album has been, at least going back to April 1984, Grace Under Pressure. I realize that among Rush fans and among prog fans, this might serve as a contentious choice. My praise of GUP is not in any way meant to denigrate any other Rush albums. Frankly, I love them all. Rush has offered us an outrageous wealth of blessings, and I won’t even pretend objectivity.
I love Rush. I love Grace Under Pressure.
I still remember opening Grace Under Pressure for the first time. Gently knifing the cellophane so as not to crease the cardboard, slowly pulling out the vinyl wrapped in a paper sleeve, the hues of gray, pink, blue, and granite and that egg caught in a vicegrip, the distinctive smell of a brand new album. . . . the crackle as the needle hit . . . .
I was sixteen.
From the opening wind-blown notes, sound effects, and men, I was hooked, completely. I had loved Moving Pictures and Signals–each giving me great comfort personally, perhaps even saving my life during some pretty horrific junior high and early high school moments.
But this Grace Under Pressure. This was something else.
If Moving Pictures and Signals taught me to be myself and pursue excellence, Grace Under Pressure taught me that once I knew myself, I had the high duty to go into the world and fight for what’s good and right, no matter the cost. At sixteen, I desperately needed to believe that, and I thank God that Peart provided that lesson. There are so many other lessons a young energetic boy could have picked up from the rather fragile culture of the time and the incredibly dysfunctional home in which I was raised. With Grace Under Pressure, though, I was certainly ready to follow Peart into Hell and back for the right cause. Peart certainly became one of the most foundational influences on my life, along with other authors I was reading at the time, such as Orwell and Bradbury.
Though I’m sure that Peart did not intend for the album to have any kind of overriding story such as the first sides of 2112 or Hemispheres had told, GUP holds together as a concept album brilliantly.
The opening calls to us: beware! Wake up! Shake off your slumbers! The world is near its doom.
Or so it seems.
Geddy’s voice, strong with anxiety, begins: “An ill wind comes arising. . .” In the pressures of chaos, Pearts suggests, we so easily see the world fall apart, ourselves not only caught in the maelstrom, but possibly aggravating it. “Red Alert” ends with possibly the most desperate cry of the Old Testament: “Absalom, Absalom!” Certainly, there is no hope merely in the self. Again, so it seems.
The second song, gut wrenching to the extreme, deals with the loss of a person, his imprint is all that remains after bodily removed from this existence. Yet, despite the topic, there is more hope in this song than in the first. Despite loss, memory allows life to continue, to “feel the way you would.” I had recently lost my maternal grandfather–the finest man I ever knew–before first hearing this album. His image will always be my “Afterimage.”
It seems, though, that more than one have died. The third song takes us to the inside of a prison camp. Whether a Holocaust camp or a Gulag, it’s unclear. Frankly, it’s probably not important if the owners of the camp are Communists or Fascists. Either way, those inside are most likely doomed. Not only had I been reading lots of dystopian literature in 1984 (appropriate, I suppose, given the date), but I was reading everything I could find by and about Solzhenitzyn. This made the Gulag even more real and more terrifying.
Just when the brooding might become unbearable, the three men of Rush seem to offer a Gothic, not quite hellish, smile as the fourth song, “The Enemy Within” begins. Part One of “Fear,” the fourth track offers a psychological insight into the paranoia of a person. Perhaps we should first look at our own problems before we place them whole cloth upon the world.
Pick needle up, turn album over, clean with dust sponge, and drop needle. . . .
Funk. Sci-fi funk emerges after the needle has crackled and founds its groove. A robot has escaped, perhaps yearning for or even having attained sentience. I could never count how many hours of conversation these lyrics prompted, as Kevin McCormick and I discussed the nature of free will. It’s the stuff of Philip K. Dick, the liberal arts, and the best of theology.
More bass funk for track six and a return to psychological introspection, “Kid Gloves.” But, we move out quickly into the larger world again with the seventh track, “Red Lenses,” taking the listener back to the themes of paranoia. When the man emerges for action, will he do so in reaction to the personal pain he has experienced, or will he do so with an objective truth set to enliven the common good?
In the end, this is the choice for those who do not lose themselves to the cathode rays. Is man fighting for what should be or he is reacting merely to what has happened, “to live between a rock and a hardplace.”
Unlike the previous albums which end with narrative certainty, Grace Under Pressure leaves the listener with more questions than it does answers, though tellingly it harkens to Hemingway and to T.S. Eliot.
Given the album as a whole, one might take this as Stoic resignation–merely accepting the flaws of the world. “Can you spare another war? Another waste land?”
Wheels can take you around
Wheels can cut you down. . . .
We’ve all got to try and fill the void.
But, this doesn’t fit Peart. We all know whatever blows life dealt Peart, he stood back up, practiced twenty times harder, and read 20 more books. That man did not go down for long. And, neither should we.
In the spring of 1987, much to my surprise, one of my humanities professors allowed me to write on the ideas of Peart. I can no longer find that essay (swallowed up and now painfully lonely on some primitive MacPlus harddrive or 3.5 floppy disk most likely rotting in a landfill in central Kansas), but it was the kind of writing and thinking that opened up whole new worlds to me. My only quotes were from “Grace Under Pressure,” drawing a distinction between nature of the liberal arts and the loss of humanity through the mechanizing of the human person. It dealt, understandably, with environmental and cultural degradation, the dangers of conformist thinking, and the brutal inhumanity of ideologies. It was probably the smartest thing I’d written up to that point in my life, and even my professor liked it.
Of course, the ideas were all Peart’s, and I once again fondly imagined him as that really great older brother–the one who knows what an annoying pain I am, but who sees promise in me anyway, giving me just enough space to find my own way.
I’m fifty seven, and I still want Neil to have been my older brother.
And, if you want more on Rush, here’s my book on Neil Peart at amazon.com.
Dave Kerzner’s New Lamb/IT
I’ve been into music—mostly progressive rock and jazz—for as long as I can remember. As I’ve mentioned before, my first love was YESSONGS—owned by two older brothers. I loved everything about it—the music, the lyrics, the art. It also just seemed like a super science-fiction project to my very young mind. I would’ve been six when YESSONGS came out.
After Yes, my second loves were Kansas and then Genesis. I encountered Kansas in 1975, sometime around age 8. In fact, living in Kansas, there was no escaping Kansas. Americans don’t often realize it, but Kansans are as proud of being Kansans and their fellow Kansans as Texans are about being Texan; they’re just not loud about it. So, yes, we lived and breathed LEFTOVERTURE and POINT OF NO RETURN.
Genesis, though, didn’t come to me until about 1978, me aged 10, when I fell in love with “Follow You, Follow Me” and purchased AND THEN THERE WERE THREE. That was one of the first albums I ever bought. Followed by DUKE, by ABACAB, by GENESIS. From there, worked backward to TRICK OF THE TALE and WIND AND WUTHERING and, especially, SECONDS OUT. I loved SECONDS OUT. I even had video recorded—through the USA Network—a concert from the SECONDS OUT period with Bill Bruford on drums.
I also really liked Peter Gabriel—especially SECURITY—but for some reason I was reluctant to take a deep dive into Gabriel-era Genesis. Honestly, I have no idea why, except that I so admired the Phil Collins period—especially TRICK and WIND.
I love the Peter Gabrel era of Genesis so much now, however, that I can barely remember a time when I didn’t love them.
So, right before I went to college (fall of 1986), I bought LAMB LIES DOWN ON BROADWAY. To state that my mind was boggled, would be an understatement. I knew “Carpet Crawlers” of course, but to listen to it in context truly floored me. At the time (remember, I was 18), I thought Lamb was either the greatest statement of prog ever written or a statement of chaos and madness. Either way, I wasn’t surprised that Gabriel chose to leave after making the album. Clearly, the album means something profound and deep in the history of prog.
It’s a strange album lyrically, as a young Puerto Rican male wants to escape from the corporate conformity imposed at every level of his life. Ah, you “progressive hypocrites.”
When Kevin McCormick—one of my all-time closest friends, a professional classical guitarist, a key contributor to this website—and I first talked Genesis (this would’ve been the fall of 1986), I expressed my love of Lamb, and he thought I was crazy. Only a true Genesis weirdo would like LAMB, just as only a true Yes weirdo would like TALES FROM TOPOGRAPHIC OCEANS. It was a funny conversation. Kevin, it should be noted, was the first friend I had who could talk music as much as I could. A high school friend, Joel, came close, but Joel was mostly into college rock and alternative music, not rock or prog. So, his opinion (or, given LAMB, his anti-opinion) really meant a great deal to me. Still, I continued to love LAMB as an act of mad genius.
Jump forward fifty years. . . and the mighty and awesome Dave Kerzner has recreated and recorded a brand new version of LAMB simply called IT. If you don’t know the work of Kerzner, you really should. He’s the great touchstone or fountainhead of our era’s (third wave or beyond) progressive rock. From Sound of Contact, through his solo work (NEW WORLD DELUXE and STATIC), through his work with In Continuum, Kerzner is a genius. He knows how to write the best lyrics, and he also knows how to write the best hooks. But, there’s one thing about Kerzner that often doesn’t get recognized. He’s a perfectionist, an audiophile at the level of Steven Wilson. Don’t get me wrong, Steven Wilson has one of the best ears out there. But, Kerzner’s is equally good.
He just gets sound.
As far as I knew there’s nothing that Kerzner has released that I don’t proudly own. So, when I heard he was remaking LAMB, I was absolutely thrilled. And, there’s nothing about Kerzner’s version that doesn’t satisfy me. From his production to its use of real strings, it’s a glorious masterpiece, so very worthy of its now-fifty-year old original. Kerzner is exactly a year younger than me, and while I don’t know him, I wouldn’t be shocked if he and I encountered the album in much the same way.
In every way, Kerzner has done justice to LAMB. For 1975, it was immaculately produced, but that simply can’t compare to the immaculate production of 2025. IT—Kerzner’s version—replicates the entire album, again always advancing the production, especially with live orchestration. Additionally, Kerzner offers a third disc with alternative versions of the classic tracks.
Even the band of IT is an all-star cast of current prog royalty: Kerzner, Francis Dunnery, Nick D’Virgilio, Fernando Perdomo, Billy Sherwood, and special guests.
Spirit of Cecilia readers, it just doesn’t get better than this. Whether it’s genius or madness, who can say? Except to note, there’s always a bit of madness in all genius, and a bit of genius in all madness. LAMB/IT is smack-dab in the center. Since Kerzner first sent me the tracks via Bandcamp, I’ve been listening obsessively. That obsession—part madness and part genius—will continue for sometime, especially as we approach the end of the semester and with finals starting to loom larger. . . .
To order IT, please click here.
Spirit of Cecilia 
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