Jerome K. Jerome’s first book, Three Men in a Boat, was published in 1889, and it is one of the funniest books I’ve ever read. Apparently, it began as a serious travelogue, and there are stretches of relatively boring descriptions of picturesque towns and villages along the Thames river. However, most of the book concerns the trials and tribulations of the narrator, “J”, his two friends, George and Harris, and a dog, Montmorency, as they take a two-week holiday on a small boat up the river.
I love British humor (P. G. Wodehouse is one of my all-time favorite authors), and I can’t believe I am just now discovering Jerome K. Jerome. He has a deadpan style of narration that heightens the absurdity of the situations he and his friends get themselves into. Throughout the book, Jerome drops small jibes that had me constantly chuckling:
We arranged to start on the following Saturday from Kingston. Harris and I would go down in the morning, and take the boat up to Chertsey, and George, who would not be able to get away from the City till the afternoon (George goes to sleep at a bank from ten to four each day, except Saturdays, when they wake him up and put him outside at two), would meet us there.
Jerome’s tale also offers a fascinating glimpse into the habits of vacationing Britishers in the Victorian era. Apparently, it was a common practice to rent a large rowboat, load it up with all kinds of provisions, and head up the Thames for days at a time. To propel the boat, they either sculled (rowed), or used a towline that was pulled by one or two people of the party along a towpath on the bank of the river. in Jerome’s time, steam launches were just coming into use, and he talks about how there was often conflict between the boaters who sculled or towed themselves, and the newfangled motorized boats.
Jerome also uses his narrative to go off on all kinds of tangents, retelling several hilarious stories of his friends’ lives. For example, he talks about a time one of his friends asked him to take home to London a couple of very ripe cheeses. Jerome brought them with him onto the train, and they smelled so awful that no one could stay in the same compartment with him:
From Crewe I had the compartment to myself, though the train was crowded. As we drew up at the different stations, the people, seeing my empty carriage, would rush for it. “Here y’ are, Maria; come along, plenty of room.” “All right, Tom; we’ll get in here,” they would shout. And they would run along, carrying heavy bags, and fight round the door to get in first. And one would open the door and mount the steps, and stagger back into the arms of the man behind him; and they would all come and have a sniff, and then droop off and squeeze into other carriages, or pay the difference and go first.
From Euston, I took the cheeses down to my friend’s house. When his wife came into the room she smelt round for an instant. Then she said:
“What is it? Tell me the worst.”
I said: “It’s cheeses. Tom bought them in Liverpool, and asked me to bring them up with me.”
And I added that I hoped she understood that it had nothing to do with me; and she said that she was sure of that, but that she would speak to Tom about it when he came back.
And here is an excerpt describing how entertaining Harris is at a dinner party. It’s rather long, but it’s so funny I had to include it in its entirety:
I will just give you an idea of Harris’s comic singing, and then you can judge of it for yourself.
Harris (standing up in front of piano and addressing the expectant mob): “I’m afraid it’s a very old thing, you know. I expect you all know it, you know. But it’s the only thing I know. It’s the Judge’s song out of Pinafore — no, I don’t mean Pinafore — I mean — you know what I mean — the other thing, you know. You must all join in the chorus, you know.”
[Murmurs of delight and anxiety to join in the chorus. Brilliant performance of prelude to the Judge’s song in “Trial by Jury” by nervous Pianist. Moment arrives for Harris to join in. Harris takes no notice of it. Nervous pianist commences prelude over again, and Harris, commencing singing at the same time, dashes off the first two lines of the First Lord’s song out of “Pinafore.” Nervous pianist tries to push on with prelude, gives it up, and tries to follow Harris with accompaniment to Judge’s song out “Trial by Jury,” finds that doesn’t answer, and tries to recollect what he is doing, and where he is, feels his mind giving way, and stops short.]
Harris (with kindly encouragement): “It’s all right. You’re doing it very well, indeed — go on.”
Nervous Pianist: “I’m afraid there’s a mistake somewhere. What are you singing?”
Harris (promptly): “Why the Judge’s song out of Trial by Jury. Don’t you know it?”
Some Friend of Harris’s (from the back of the room): “No, you’re not, you chuckle-head, you’re singing the Admiral’s song from Pinafore.”
[Long argument between Harris and Harris’s friend as to what Harris is really singing. Friend finally suggests that it doesn’t matter what Harris is singing so long as Harris gets on and sings it, and Harris, with an evident sense of injustice rankling inside him, requests pianist to begin again. Pianist, thereupon, starts prelude to the Admiral’s song, and Harris, seizing what he considers to be a favourable opening in the music, begins.]
Harris: “ ‘When I was young and called to the Bar.’ ”
[General roar of laughter, taken by Harris as a compliment. Pianist, thinking of his wife and family, gives up the unequal contest and retires; his place being taken by a stronger-nerved man.]
The New Pianist (cheerily): “Now then, old man, you start off, and I’ll follow. We won’t bother about any prelude.”
Harris (upon whom the explanation of matters has slowly dawned — laughing): “By Jove! I beg your pardon. Of course — I’ve been mixing up the two songs. It was Jenkins confused me, you know. Now then.
[Singing; his voice appearing to come from the cellar, and suggesting the first low warnings of an approaching earthquake.]
“ ‘ When I was young I served a term As office-boy to an attorney’s firm.’
(Aside to pianist): “It is too low, old man; we’ll have that over again, if you don’t mind.”
[Sings first two lines over again, in a high falsetto this time. Great surprise on the part of the audience. Nervous old lady near the fire begins to cry, and has to be led out.]
Harris (continuing): “ ‘ I swept the windows and I swept the door, And I—’ No — no, I cleaned the windows of the big front door. And I polished up the floor — no, dash it — I beg your pardon — funny thing, I can’t think of that line. And I — and I — Oh, well, we’ll get on to the chorus, and chance it (sings):
“ ‘ And I diddle-diddle-diddle-diddle-diddle-diddle-de, Till now I am the ruler of the Queen’s navee.’
Now then, chorus — it is the last two lines repeated, you know.
General Chorus: “And he diddle-diddle-diddle-diddle-diddle-diddle-dee’d, Till now he is the ruler of the Queen’s navee.”
And Harris never sees what an ass he is making of himself, and how he is annoying a lot of people who never did him any harm. He honestly imagines that he has given them a treat, and says he will sing another comic song after supper.
I can glean a few interesting facts about entertaining guests in a Victorian home from this passage: first, it seems to be common practice for guests to volunteer to perform at dinner parties; second, there was no shortage of people who were proficient piano players and familiar with the music of Gilbert and Sullivan; and third, people provided their own entertainment. The popularity of recorded music, then radio, and finally television put an end to that practice, which is a shame.
Jerome, Harris, George, and Montmorency have a generally pleasant and leisurely trip up the Thames, all the way to Oxford. Along the way, Jerome makes humorous observations of local cemeteries, pubs, inns, and other boaters. Montmorency, a fox terrier, tangles with other dogs and the tea kettle. There’s no plot whatsoever, and the intrepid voyagers eventually make it back to London in one piece. If you’re looking for something that is very funny and enjoyable, you couldn’t do much better than Three Men in a Boat. You can download a free digital version here.
Hello Spirit of Cecilia Readers, it’s with great pleasure that Tad and Brad review the latest release from their beloved Flower Kings, Love (Insideout Music). Here are their thoughts.
Brad: As always, a great pleasure to do this with you, my friend. As you and I have talked before, I’ve been a Flower Kings fanatic (and yes, I mean a fanatic, a hyper fan!) for twenty-five years now. A wonderful student–now one of my colleagues in the philosophy department at Hillsdale–let me borrow his copy of the band’s 1999 Flower Power. I immediately fell in love with it, bought it, and bought my favorite album by the band, Space Revolver, to me one of the absolutely quintessential prog albums of all time. Once I had Flower Power and Space Revolver, I bought everything before that: Stolt’s The Flower King, Back In the World of Adventures, Retropolis, Stardust We Are. From Space Revolver to the present, I’ve bought every studio album, every DVD, every live album, every compilation, and both box sets on the day each has been released. I have two of their fan release albums, too, and two of their official bootlegs, but they’re really hard to come by. Every once in a while they pop up on Ebay, andI pounce on them. My point being, though, I’m a definite completist when it comes to Roine Stolt, just like I am with Steven Wilson. Proudly so. Both, absolutely amazing talents.
Through Facebook, I’ve had a few moments of correspondence with Stolt, and he’s a total gentleman. Frankly, he’d be a blast over a beer.
But, Tad, let’s start with you. You’re relatively new to the Flower Kings. What made you change your mind about them, or what made you finally embrace them?
Tad: Brad, it is great to discuss this group’s music with you, and I have you to thank for introducing me to them. I knew about them for years, but I really didn’t get into their work until I picked up Space Revolver in a used record store. All of a sudden, things clicked, and I was able to appreciate what Stolt and his fellow Flower Kings were doing. I have since acquired all of their albums (but not the bootlegs and limited editions you have).
I have to say, they are some of the most prolific artists working today. They release an album practically every year, which are often two-disc sets. Even their single-disc albums are filled to the brim, including their latest, Love, which contains 71 minutes of music. What are your initial impressions of this one?
Brad: Tad, so glad you found and fell in love with Space Revolver. Definitely a top-20 all time album for me, maybe even a top 15. I certainly think it’s a classic of third-wave prog. Everything just works on that album–the music, the shifts, the tone, the lyrics, the playfulness. Yeah, I just love that album no matter how many times I’ve listened to it.
And, yes, I’m really happy with the new album. It’s mellower, overall, than most previous Flower King’s releases, and it’s relatively tame, again compared to the band’s previous releases.
I had received the promo copy of the album from Inside Out, and I pretty much fell in love on the first listen, but, then, to make it even greater, my physical copy arrived. I was so surprised to open up the CD and have the beautiful portrait of Mary and the Child staring up at me! I’ve thoroughly enjoyed Stolt’s lyrics going all the way back to The Flower King (1994), and he’s always been respectful of Christianity. His Christianity–at least as it comes across in his lyrics–is more mythic and symbolic than tangible and concrete. Stolt especially loves making references to the “Holy Mother.” I assume that’s Mary, but I’m not sure, of course. Being Swedish, Stolt almost certainly comes for a Lutheran background. As much as Luther loved Mary (he did, adamantly), Lutherans generally don’t put much emphasis on her. So, one of the mysteries of Stolt and the Flower Kings.
Here are two examples of Stolt’s rather hippyish and cosmic take on Christianity. First, in his thank yous on Love, he writes “Remember: War is just fear and failure, FEAR manifested in small people with shady political or religious agendas–LOVE is always the winner.”
And, again, take the lyrics for track two of the album, “The Elder”:
You found your way – So come what may
You found your way – So come what may
So I have made it here
A distant light getting near
if you just knew where to begin
This holy mess you’re in – Waiting on a dream
I’ve made my peace with those who’d done me wrong
Those broken dreams that followed me along
So no more worries – If we could bury hate –
There’s nothing greater than the love we save
Betting on the love you save
Betting on the love you crave
So open up those doors – letting out the waters
And now you’re waiting on a tide
I once had a vision – behold them lights
The lights of salvation
So you look in his eyes – resurrection –
He’s risen – Came down upon me –
is it real what I’m feelin’
We can get much higher – We can start a fire
Turn away from lies – Looking eye to eye
We can catch a light – Brighten up this night
We will never die – We will never die
What you get is what you are
So give away a shiny star
Keep it closer to your heart
Do never sway – Don’t break no parts
What you give is what you are!
What was given – looking closer – Taint your soul
It’s unforgiven – cause the world has plans for you
Is it real – is it fiction? – Crucifixion
The world may soon just set you free
Here we are in silent trenches
Come this far – lived life let reckless
Waiting for the lights to change
I’m waiting for the outbound train
You found your way – So come what may
You’ve found your way
Notice, of course, the use of salvation, risen, resurrection, Crucifixion. None of it is blatant theologically, but it is blatantly symbolically and mythically.
I once tried to outline all of the albums up through 2013. It would be nice to update this, as the Flower Kings have released a lot since 2013. But, here, at least is what I thought up to that point:
And, I have to note as well, Tad, that I once had huge aspirations of writing a book about the Flower Kings, using each album as a chapter and inspiration, a theme pregnant with whole worlds.
Tad: Brad, I love your Aristotelian classification of their discography! You have some updating to do, though, don’t you? I hope you follow through on that book – I think prog fans would love it.
I also noticed and appreciated those lyrics in “The Elder” the first time I heard that track. It is one of my favorites on the album. My overall impression of Love is one of all-encompassing joy and optimism – which is not surprising, given the album’s title! The first song, “We Claim The Moon”, bursts out with a happy sound of guitars and keyboards that conjures up classic Traffic. The line, “I’ll never get over the way you brought down the moon” brings to mind Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed in It’s a Wonderful Life.
I agree with you that this album is mellower, but, paradoxically, I think there is a lot of energy in the performances. The vocals on Love strike me as some of their best ever, with Hans Froberg and Roine Stolt trading leads and harmonizing beautifully, especially in “The Phoenix”. I love the way that track starts out acoustically with a celtic feel, and then features an outstanding guitar solo from Roine.
Another highlight is the final song, “Considerations”, which is written by Michael Stolt and Jannica Lund. It is a truly majestic track that I admire more and more as I listen to it. The “Shine on, shine on love” section is one of my favorite musical moments.
I also appreciate the way the Kings have created a unified whole from these twelve tracks. Musical motifs reappear throughout the album, as well as lyrical themes – did you notice that “Love Is” (track 10) has the line, “How can you leave us now?”, which is the title of the album’s third track! It’s little details like that that tell me Love is meant to be listened to in its entirety to fully appreciate its message. And what a message – despite all the negative forces in our world, love can conquer all. I really appreciate how bravely Flower Kings go against the cultural grain of our time: instead of complaining about hatred and division, they choose to celebrate the power of human (and spiritual) love.
Brad: You put that all so beautifully, Tad. I really like the idea that the album is really love calling on love, inspiring us to be our best. Frankly, I think that’s a perfect summation of Roine Stolt’s artistry and what he’s accomplished over the past 31 years. All rather stunning and motivating. And, so once again, I’m brought back to the beginning–I’m extremely proud to be a fanatic when it comes to the Flower Kings.
It’s time for a review of some classic music, and Brad Birzer suggested we take on four of the first six albums of the ‘80s group, Echo and the Bunnymen. Tad and Kevin join him for a conversation on them.
Tad: Brad, you know I love all things ‘80s; I think it’s the greatest decade for music in terms of diversity and creativity. I even have a Spotify playlist of favorite songs from around 1978 to 1991 that includes some big hits but mostly more obscure ones. It’s seventeen and a half hours long! However, I’m ashamed to admit that there’s a huge hole in my knowledge of new wave/alternative artists: Echo and the Bunnymen. I’ve had their best-of compilation, Songs to Learn and Sing, for years, but I’ve never delved into their albums proper until you urged me to do so. I’m glad you did! I’m looking forward to discussing Heaven Up Here, Porcupine, Ocean Rain, and Reverberation with you.Where do you want to start?
Brad: Seventeen and ½ hours! That’s brilliant, Tad. Is there a way to trade Spotify lists? I’d love to see yours. Of course, I would need to sign up for Spotify. For better or worse, I subscribe to Apple Music–which I assume is similar.
Echo. Where to start? I first encountered Echo and the Bunnymen when I was in high school through–if I remember properly–a John Hughes movie. The first song I heard from them was “Bring on the Dancing Horses.” For better or worse, my first Echo album was Songs to Learn and Sing, a greatest hits collection. I loved it, and I immediately bought their earlier albums. I was never taken with their first album, Crocodiles, though I should give it another listen, all these years later. I was, however, immediately taken with their next several albums: Heaven Up Here, by far their proggiest album; Porcupines, their most angular (like the Fixx) and claustrophobic album; and Ocean Rain, their most artful pop (much like XTC or Tears for Fears). Reverberations came out several years later, in 1990, and features a new singer, but I think it’s a truly excellent and immensely clever rock album, full of fun lyrics and really clever hooks.
I also happily own the four-disk deluxe, Crystal Days, 1979-1999, boxset. I own it mostly because it has the definitive version of my favorite Echo song, “The Killing Moon” (All Night Version) and several live tracks. Definitely worth the $100 I paid for it.
I wouldn’t even know how to classify Echo’s music overall. I realize they’re always lumped in with post-punk, but that doesn’t quite seem to capture them. As I mentioned above, I see elements of prog, New Wave, art rock, and straight forward pop rock in them. To be sure, they admired The Doors and the darker side of The Rolling Stones. And, Will Sargeant has admitted that he has a strong affinity toward prog. He even wrote a prog album under the name, Poltergeist. They only released one album, but it’s really good.
I’ve got so much I want to say about the particular albums we’re reviewing and covering, but, Tad, I’d love to know your thoughts–especially since you’re relatively new to the band. I’ve happily been listening to them for over forty years.
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Tad: Okay, I have listened to Heaven Up Here several times over the past few days, and I definitely hear the Doors influence in Ian McCulloch’s vocals. However, I always thought the Doors were overrated, and I don’t think that’s the case with Echo and the Bunnymen. What hits me first on Heaven Up Here is the terrific guitar work of Will Sergeant. He has an angular style that is similar to U2’s Edge, but still unique. It dances on the edge of dissonance, but it is always faithful to the song’s melody. I really like Over the Wall, with its lengthy, almost ambient intro – as a matter of fact, it sounds like it was produced by Brian Eno. Of course, the single, A Promise, is a standout track. The way the tension builds inexorably to the release of the chorus is wonderful. The title track is a blistering rocker right off the bat that never lets up, and I love it. It’s followed by the brief and subdued The Disease. As a matter of fact the pacing of this album is very interesting – they seemed to enjoy creating contrasts between successive tracks: energetic and fast, then relaxed and somber. Finally, I really like No Dark Things, with its slashing guitar riffs.
One thing I am impressed with is how much this album hasn’t dated itself. By 1981, everyone was cranking out synth-heavy music with booming drums. Heaven Up Here could have been recorded today, and it really wouldn’t be out of place. As you mentioned, it’s also very proggy, or at least as prog as a group could get in the early ‘80s!
Brad: What a great analysis. Thank you. And, you’re right–especially about noting the progginess of Heaven Up Here, but only to a point–as you so well note, as proggy as someone could be in 1981. Part of the progginess comes from the linking of the first three tracks, one bleeding into another. (Tad: Absolutely, Brad – I love the trilogy of the first three tracks!)
I have to make a personal note here. While I’ve been listening to this album since roughly 1985 (the local music store owner in my hometown of Hutchinson, Kansas, first recommended it to me), it wasn’t until eighteen years ago that the album really came to mean something deep to me. Shortly after our Cecilia Rose was stillborn (she would’ve been eighteen this year), I was playing this album in the car. Crazily enough, my wife (more of a Cars and U2 person) really liked the album. When I told her it was called “Heaven Up Here,” she responded: “Of course it is, just like our daughter.” I’m sure Echo never meant for this album to comfort a set of grieving parents, but it did and does. There’s something about the music–especially in those first three tracks–that is musically and lyrically relentless and driving, unstoppable. I absolutely love the buildup of those three tracks. So anxious and yet so confident. “Bounds? Of course we know no bounds.” When we finally get to “Over the Wall,” we’re really accomplished something. Somehow, we’ve breached the fort, and we’re in hand-to-hand combat with the enemy. And, they are astounded by our ferocity.
I also think “All My Colours” is, by far, the proggiest song on the album. A brilliant dirge. The lyrics are trippy:
All my colours (Zimbo, zimbo, zimbo, zimbo, zimbo)
And, “Turquoise Days” is beautiful, too.
Kevin: Coming of age in the 80s, I gained most of my knowledge about the post-punk movement from MTV. Echo was no exception. I remember the videos for “Crystal Days,” “The Cutter” and especially “Rescue” & “The Killing Moon.” They had a rough intensity that was appealing and if I remember correctly, some of these were live clips. But it wasn’t until college that I actually heard the album Ocean Rain in all of its glory! The band I was in at Notre Dame played both “Rescue” and “The Killing Moon” (both of which were highlighted by the very cool dancing, front and center, of Brad, our friend Tim, and my soon-to-be wife, Lisa). I bought Ocean Rain and fell in love with it immediately and if I remember correctly it was Brad who made tapes for me of their earlier stuff. I enjoyed the raw energy of the early recordings, but nothing was quite like Ocean Rain for my compositional sensibilities. Hearing well-crafted string parts with post-punk rock was an incredible combination and of course, the songwriting was stellar at that point in their career. So they were great songs, with great arrangements and spectacular vocals!
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Tad: Kevin, since you brought up Ocean Rain, let’s talk about that album. I notice that it was released 3 years after Heaven Up Here, and, to my ears, it’s a much slicker production. I still like it a lot. The first track, Silver, has strings and a guitar solo that sounds like it could be played on a sitar. It seems to me to be full of joy.
Brad: Kevin, those are great memories. And, it must be noted, though I knew prog extremely well when you and I met in the fall of 1986, I really knew very little New Wave beyond Kate Bush, Thomas Dolby, Echo, Simple Minds, and The Fixx. And, much of what I knew came from watching the movies of John Hughes. You’re the one who introduced me to a load of post-punk bands, and I very much loved the introductions. So, again, I’m a bit surprised (and pleased) that my influence went in that awesome direction!
Yes, Tad, I’d love to talk about Ocean Rain. Frankly, it’s an album without a flaw. It is perfect pop, perfect art, perfect art rock. Though I would rather listen to Heaven Up Here, I can’t but help recognize the brilliance that is Ocean Rain. It ranks up there with Pet Sounds, Hounds of Love, Songs From the Big Chair, Colour of Spring, and Skylarking. All some of the best pop ever written. From that opening guitar strum meshing immediately into the strings and then McCulloch’s crooning voice, the first song, “Silver,” just screams perfection. “The sky is blue, my hands untied . . .” Even the “la, la, la”s work well.
I’d be really curious to know who wrote what on this album. Did McCulloch write all the lyrics and Sergeant all the music? Was it a collaboration? Who wrote the string lines?
“Nocturnal Me” is as claustrophobic as anything on Heaven Up Here or Porcupines. I presume the song is about vampires, though I’m never sure. Definitely gothic in its tone. The piano is especially good on the track.
“Crystal Days” is a great followup to “Nocturnal Me.” It’s as sunny as the previous track was dark. “Purify our misfit ways, and magnify our crystal days.” As always, amazing lyrics. The guitar also really anticipates the shoegaze pop of the late 80s and early 90s–music by the Cocteau Twins and others.
“The Yo Yo Man” is bizarre by any standard. The guitar sounds like something you might hear on the Texas-Mexican border, but the lyrics are about the frozen north, I presume? “Cold is the wind that blows through my headstone.” So, a rumination on death.
I’ve never totally understood “Thorn of Crowns.” I would assume that McCulloch, in some drug-addled way, is acting in persona Christi. This is the Passion if addled by LSD. Certainly, there’s a mystic strain to the lyrics (one person shifting into another), and the music has a middle-eastern feel of a Led Zeppelin song; that is, this is the New Wave equivalent of a “Kashmir.”.
So ends side one. Then, we get to side two, a side so cohesive in its four songs that it could be considered akin to side two of Kate Bush’s Hounds of Love.
Arguably, “The Killing Moon” is the finest rock song ever written. Certainly it’s in the top five. It really is perfection. My only complaint is that the song isn’t long enough. As it is on the album, it’s so angular, and it needs time to breathe. For what it’s worth, I highly recommend listeners seek out the all-night version of the song. Frankly, this is the song in its Platonic form.
“Seven Seas” is the poppiest song on the album, musically. Again, though, lyrically it’s just glorious. “Seven seas, swimming there so well, glad to see, my face among them, kissing the tortoise shell.” There’s just so much joy in this song, and it allows the listener to breathe.
“Burn the skin off and climb the rooftop” and we’re in “My Kingdom,” the penultimate track. I have no idea what this song is about, but I would assume this is side two’s answer to “Thorn of Crowns.” Again, McCulloch is offering us an acid trip of a mystical journey. And, yet, unlike “Thorn of Crowns,” this song ends in bitter destruction.
B-b-burn the skin off, climb the roof tops
Thy will be done
B-b-bite the nose off and make it the most of
Your k-k-kingdom, k-k-king
B-b-b-burn the skin off and climb the roof tops
Thy will be done
B-b-bite the nose off and make the most of
Your king, kingdom, kingdom, kingdom
You’re a bitter malignous person
And the d-d-death is well overdue
And, we finally reach the conclusion, “Ocean Rain,” a song of deep contemplation and near utter calm. Yes, again, crazily disturbing lyrics. While the music seems to suggest a baptism and redemption, the sailor actually finds himself suffocating and sailing into dark harbors.
“All hands on deck at dawn
Sailing to sadder shores
Your port in my heavy storms
Harbours the blackest thoughts”
After listening to this whole album–now for the umpteenth time–I’m both satisfied and exhausted.
Kevin: I’d like to offer a somewhat nuanced take on Ocean Rain. I would agree with Brad that some of the songs are structured as artful pop. “Silver”, “Crystal Days”, “Seven Seas”, and certainly “The Killing Moon” stand out as well-crafted tunes that generally follow a verse/chorus/bridge type of construction.
But others venture into exploratory waters, both musically and lyrically. “Nocturnal Me” trips through dark and wild territory, “The Yo Yo Man” and “Thorn of Crowns” both drift around angular melodies, middle-eastern guitar counterpoint, and punk vocal aesthetics. But “Thorn” in particular has an adventurous edge that almost feels like a return to 60’s prog–like Sid-era Pink Floyd.
In fact, Brad’s reference to the Doors, reminds me that much of Echo does seem like a nod to the beginnings of rock opening into the avant garde. This live performance from the BBC program The Tube gives an excellent introduction to where the band were just before the release of the album. Even without the studio bells and whistles, the performance carries the music through. And once the 35-piece string orchestra is deftly and richly applied to these beautiful tunes, it no longer seems appropriate to apply the “pop” moniker.
And lastly, the title track is just gorgeous, classic songwriting. “Ocean Rain” could comfortably find a home in the Sinatra catalogue. I would agree that by their follow up, the eponymous Echo and the Bunnymen record, they had clearly sailed into the pop world, but this formative time just before remains for me in more of a “progressive” musical space.
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Brad: A great discussion, guys. Thank you. I’d like to turn to Porcupine. Porcupine, the band’s third album, is the most angular, the most New Wave of all their work. I get definite The Fixx vibes as I listen to this album. It’s also–in terms of music and lyrics–by far the most claustrophobic of the band’s albums.
Track one, “The Cutter,” has a blistering string intro before quickling melding into a blistering guitar, drum, and bass attack. It’s a great track, to be sure, but, I must admit, it’s hard for me to listen to, too often. Frankly, I’ve just played it too many times in my life. A good problem to have.
Track two, “The Back of Love” continues the blistering attack, but adding what sound like horns. I have no idea if those are real horns or the keyboards synthesizing horns. The lyrics matter, but they also become instruments in their employment on the song. That is, McCulloch’s voice is a blistering attack, too.
Things slow down, dramatically, with the beginning of the third track, “My White Devil,” an atmospheric song that becomes aggressive about 54 seconds in. The bass work in the song is especially strong.
Things speed up again with the fourth track, “Clay.” McCulloch’s lyrics are especially mind boggling and playful and ornery.
Am I the half of half-and-half
Or am I the half that’s whole?
Got to be one with all my halves
It’s my worthy earthly goal
Again, the song, musically and lyrically, is like a cat chasing its own tail.
The title track, “Porcupines,” track five on the album, has a funeral dirge feel to it, an anxious feeling, building slowly toward something very dark. The guitar work is especially strong, reminiscent of the soundtrack for The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly, but also very David Gilmour-esque as found on Dark Side of the Moon.
“Heads Will Roll,” the sixth track, is a song of longing.
Partly politic
Heads will roll
Mostly politic
God must call
‘Til the winning hand
Does belong to me
What if no one’s calling?
There’s no real answer to McCulloch’s anxiety, and he concludes that God must be missing.
“Ripeness,” track seven, is the most nondescript song on the album, an amalgamation of the other songs on the album.
The next two songs, “Higher Hell” and “Gods Will Be Gods” are brilliant, however. Contemplative and pregnant with anticipation, each builds to a satisfying conclusion, the lyrics mixing so well with the music. Again, the guitar work–so very angular–works so well here.
The final track, “In Bluer Skies,” plays with some wild percussion and offers a very dour ending to the album. Like with “Ocean Rain,” I’m tired after listening to this album. It’s a good and healthy tired, in that I’ve immersed myself in the art. But it’s being tired nonetheless. The album demands much of its listener. It gives much, too, but it definitely demands a lot. Yet, there’s no victory at the end of Porcupine. Rather, I feel like I’m trapped in a nightmare.
Tad: Kevin, thank you for your perceptive thoughts on Ocean Rain. Like I mentioned, I’m somewhat new to the music of these guys – hearing the albums as they came out in real time must have been fascinating, as the group matured.
Brad, I think Porcupine might be my favorite of these albums we’re discussing. The opening one-two punch of “The Cutter” and “Back of Love” is hard to beat. And even though the energy is less in the second half, I love the droniness (is that a word?) of “Gods Will Be Gods” and “In Bluer Skies”.
I’d also like to say a word about the cover art – I think the covers for Heaven Up Here, Porcupine, and Ocean Rain are outstanding, especially the glacial setting of Porcupine. It really fits the music. Whoever their art director (or directors) was deserves a lot of praise. It’s covers like these that make me appreciate the vinyl era.
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Brad: Great thoughts, guys. Thank you. Last, I’d like to turn to Echo’s 1990 Reverberation album. And, yes, I realize we’re skipping Crocodiles, the band’s first album, and the self-titled Echo and the Bunnymen from 1987. I like, but don’t love either. I do, however, really love Reverberation, perhaps their most bizarre album. It’s the only album not to feature Ian McCulloch on vocals, and it also is missing the incredible drummer Pete de Freitas who passed away in 1989. As such, it’s really only half of Echo in 1990.
Despite all these personnel changes, though, Reverberation is a beautiful album, musically as well as lyrically (which very cleverly tie together a huge number of cliches). Coming out in 1990, it’s a slice of neo-psychedelia that, I presume, had its impetus if not its origin in the extremely successful Oliver Stone movie, The Doors.
The album opens with contemplative strings that immediately transform into a rocking pop song, the guitar earnest and energetic. The new singer, Noel Burke, sounds nothing like McCulloch, but his voice is gloriously deep and crooning.
Track one immediately (without a break) segues into track two, “Enlighten Me,” thus creating a singular 9 minute opening to the album. “Enlighten Me” continues the neo-psychadelia as well as the cliched lyrics. “I’ll be, I’ll be, I’ll be enlightened,” Burke assures the listener.
Track three, “Cut and Dried,” is good, but track four, “King of Your Castle” is simply gorgeous. An anti-abuse song, lyrically, it grips the listener from the opening moments with its pulsating bass line. This is probably the best track on the album.
The next track that really soars is track seven, “Freaks Dwell.” It just simply rocks in every possible way.
Lost your reason
Lost your game plan
Sit you down
I’ll set the scene man
Brilliant
Bronze bohemians
Thought they were
A football team man
Let me take you to a hell
Where all the freaks dwell
Passed my god of woe
Pleasure pasture
Business sometimes
One more embrace
For the good times
Self-made man will
Unmake beds sure
Gagged and bound
And fights like hellock
Let me take you to the hell
Where all the freaks dwell
Passed my god of woe
I’m not totally sure what the song is about, but I assume the title should be taken literally.
Track eight, “Senseless,” is much more contemplative than “Freaks Dwell,” but still very good.
Track nine, “Flaming Red,” could easily have been a Doors’ track off of LA Woman.
The final track, “False Goodbyes” is not the strongest track on the album by any means, but it’s still really good. The strings are especially well done as the album concludes.
I realize that for most true Echo fans, Reverberation just doesn’t count because of the absence of Pete de Freitas and Ian McCulloch. And, the album was brutally bashed by reviewers when it first came out. But, I would ask any music lover to give it a second chance. There’s truly much to love here. A really brilliant pop-rock album with neo-psychedelia flourishes. Thirty-five years later, this music still stands up very well.
Tad: Brad, I can’t add anything to your brilliant and comprehensive analysis of Reverberation, except to say that when I first listened to it, it was much better than I expected. I knew McCulloch had left and they had recruited a new vocalist, and I think he does a fine job taking the group in a new direction. It’s definitely more open, bright, and poppier, and I thoroughly enjoyed listening to it.
Here’s my ranking of the albums we’ve discussed here:
Porcupine
Heaven Up Here
Ocean Rain
Reverberation
I went ahead and listened to Crocodiles and Echo and the Bunnymen, and I agree that they just aren’t up to the high standard of the other albums. Thanks for helping me fill this hole in my ‘80s alternative music knowledge!
Brad: Thanks so much, Tad and Kevin. I don’t think we ever really defined the genre that Echo best represents, but we sure had fun talking about it.
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
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.
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.
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.
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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.
“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.
Greetings, Spirit of Cecilia readers! Brad Birzer and Tad Wert have been impressed with the music of Norway’s Airbag. They combine excellent, Pink Floyd-adjacent melodies with thought-provoking lyrics. In the summer of 2024, they released their sixth studio album, The Century of the Self, which was one of the best albums of that year. Brad and Tad finally get around to discussing its merits – better late than never!
Tad: Brad, I absolutely adored Airbag’s previous album, A Day at the Beach, and the lead-off track, Machines and Men, is one of the best songs they’ve ever done. Now that they’ve followed up that triumph with The Century of the Self, what strikes you right off the bat with that album?
Brad: Thanks so much, Tad. It’s great–as always–to be reviewing with you. Yes, I very much love and admire Airbag, and I have from their beginning, whether on Kscope (briefly) or Karisma. They confirm what I’ve thought for ages, that is, a prog band is only as good as its bassist. Great guitarist, too. Great drummer as well. Love the keyboards, too. So, win-win-win-win. What a great band. An amazing band. I had to throw “amazing” into the mix, as I’ve typed “great” one too many times!
Granted, they wear their Pink Floyd love on their sleeves, but, frankly, I think that makes them even better. Very glad to have some Floydian music still being produced. And, yet, whatever the Floyd influence, it serves as an inspiration for the band. They’re not enslaved to it, but inspired by it. Strangely and perhaps paradoxically, the Floydian influence makes Airbag even more unique.
I didn’t realize they were already on their sixth album. Given their sheer output, as well as the solo output of Bjorn Riis, I find the music even more astounding.
So, what strikes me right off the bat? An excellent question, Tad. After having listened to the album a half a dozen times, I’m struck by two things. The bass and the lyrics. Both, extremely courageous. How about you?
Tad: Brad, you and I agree that a good bassist is essential to a prog band. I think of what Yes might be without Chris Squire, and it would never have been as groundbreaking and influential as it ended up. Or how about Steve Babb’s work with Glass Hammer? He is the key to that group’s greatness.
Along the same lines, Anders Hovdan does a terrific job anchoring Airbag’s music. A lot of their songs take time to fully develop, and Hovdan’s insistent bass lines provide interest for the listener. I love the way the entire group take their time building up a song. They often start out quietly, and they inexorably build in energy and sound until there is a most satisfying release. Their melodies are not overly complex or complicated, but I would certainly classify them as “progressive rock.
That said, I think Bjorn Riis (guitars and vocals) seems to be the main driver of Airbag. His songs always intrigue me. I’ve told you before that I have to like a song’s melody before I worry about the lyrics, but when I first heard the opening track on The Century of Self, I was immediately struck by the lyrics. They’re brief enough to share in their entirety:
Did you come here to find some peace and hide? Too much confusion in your head at times Don’t want to bend, conform, you’ll never obey Don’t want no part of this conspiracy
I see these people keeping their heads down Denying everything they used to be Don’t try to touch, don’t ever get too close They’ll make you suffer and they’ll make you bleed
Who do you feel you are today? Who will you crucify and slay? It’s driving me insane
Did you believe they’d ever let you go? There is no escape, there is no turning back You’re canceled now, they’ll cancel everything They’ll make us suffer and they’ll make us bleed
Who do you feel you are today? Who will you crucify and slay? It’s driving me insane
Brad, it seems to me this is a protest against the illiberalism of contemporary “cancel culture”, and that is a brave stand to take these days! So, I went back and looked through some of their previous songs, and there is definitely a consistent streak of individualism and a plea for personal freedom running through them. I think they are today’s version of a countercultural music group, and I admire them for that. I am really interested in your thoughts on their lyrics, since you are able to uncover deeper meaning from them than I usually do!
Brad: Yes, I totally agree, Tad. There’s something quite special in Airbag’s lyrics that call out for us to be more individual than we’re comfortably being in the current morass of society. I think Airbag is definitely protesting against the loss of free speech and free ideas that seems to have spread throughout Europe and the western world (America is not excluded). I suppose part of this is my age, but it’s hard not to look back at the 1980s and especially 1989 as a golden era in western civilization. Not only were we growing economically, but free societies were trouncing unfree societies. Despotisms and authoritarianism and totalitarianism were on the run. A pope and a president were beating the life out of them. Now, we sit in silence as our “betters” tell us what to do and what not to do. I wouldn’t have necessarily have expected protest to arise from Norway, but amen.
Those lyrics are worth repeating, Tad:
Did you believe they’d ever let you go? There is no escape, there is no turning back You’re canceled now, they’ll cancel everything They’ll make us suffer and they’ll make us bleed
And, then, of course, we’re not guiltless:
Who do you feel you are today? Who will you crucify and slay? It’s driving me insane.
Track two, “Tyrants and Kings” continues the libertarian themes:
Join the cause Say no to everything we fear Get used to lying You’re a prisoner now Take no stand There are no sides there’s only ours You shoot to kill You’re a soldier now
The “get used to lying” line brings to mind Solzhenitsyn’s note that all totalitarianism is built on lies. The huge lie of the society and all the little lies that one must employ to survive.
Looking through the lyrics of the remaining three songs, they too speak to the loss of individual dignity.
So, bravo, Airbag! Keep fighting the good fight. And, thanks, too, for the killer bass lines.
Tad: Brad, thank you for highlighting the lyrics to “Tyrants and Kings”! Yes, Airbag is a band that appeals to me both in musical terms and lyrical ones. That is quite rare these days. And, like you, I’m impressed these Norwegians are reminding the rest of us what is truly important.
So, gentle reader, if you are interested in excellent progressive rock with a Floydian flavor, and highly literate lyrics, do yourself a favor and check out Airbag’s latest album, The Century of the Self. You won’t be disappointed!
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.
Glass Hammer has returned with a new album, Rogue – due out April 11, 2025. Not surprisingly, given the history of this group, it is a stark departure from their previous several albums. Where the Skallagrim Trilogy rocked very hard, and their most recent work, Arise, was an exercise in space rock jamming, Rogue is jumps out of the gate with a burst of pure melodic bliss.
After listening to Rogue nonstop for four days, I am put in mind of some of Glass Hammer’s most enjoyable musical moments, such as Life By Light (Culture of Ascent), Having Caught a Glimpse (The Inconsolable Secret), and The Curse We Weave (Three Cheers for the BrokenHearted), among many, many others. I am tempted to say Rogue represents a return to form, except Glass Hammer has never fallen out of form – each release of theirs is a self-contained gem of excellence. Instead, let’s just say Rogue is a joyful celebration of beautiful melody.
What If, the first track, sets the stage as the protagonist decides to leave his cold and gray home in the north and head south to find a long-lost love – he is hoping to reignite an old romance that he ended years ago. It is a bouncy song that conveys the hopefulness of our hero as he sets out.
Summer! He’s weary of sleet and snow
Summer! Come now and do not go
He’s heading south to the land of his dreams
The Road South is where reality begins to set in. Has he made a mistake leaving his home? Is that a storm ahead? Musically, this song is reminiscent of classic Alan Parsons Project to me. Oliver Day’s lap steel guitar is outstanding – graceful and fluid without sounding shrill.
Tomorrow is one of the most beautiful songs on the album. As our hero wrestles with the memories of all the wrongs he has committed in the past, a voice reassures him,
All will be fine
God is watching over all you do
His eye is on the sparrow and on you
The accompanying melody is appropriately soothing and calming.
Pretty Ghost and Sunshine feature the gorgeous vocals of Olivia Tharpe, along with another pair of winning melodies. On Sunshine, Fred Schendel gives an outstanding performance on lap steel guitar.
Next up is my favorite track on the album, I Will Follow. This is a driving, upbeat, infectious song with an unshakeable earworm for a melody. It’s one of the best songs in the entire Glass Hammer catalog, featuring layered harmonies that should be listened to on headphones to be fully appreciated.
The Wonder Of It All has a synth-driven opening that I find very appealing. One thing I’ve enjoyed over the past few albums has been Glass Hammer’s incorporation of Tangerine Dream-like interludes that feature very cool rhythmic elements. Lyrically, this song seems to be a turning point for our hero:
Oh, I’m weary, yet I’m blessed
For all you’ve given me
The wonder of it all, I’d have to say
That I was here at all
I’ve done so little to deserve
This life you gave me
One Last Sunrise is a terrific instrumental, and Babb really shines on bass and Taurus pedals. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: Steve Babb is one of the most inventive bassists working in music today.
Terminal Lucidity, at 10:19, is the longest track, and it is primarily instrumental. Synths, electric piano, and electric guitar weave a seductive web of melody that draw the listener in before an energetic jam gets going. Eventually, it becomes clear that our hero is on his deathbed: “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust/I can hear them calling me”. It was a stark and chilling moment when I first realized the true journey being taken!
Rogue closes with the triumphant and joyful All Good Things. Another uplifting melody (underpinned by Babb’s terrific bass work) brings the story to an emotionally satisfying ending:
This life you gave me
I’ll bring it home, you know
Sunshine in the morning sky
Descending from on high
It seems that, for all intents and purposes, Glass Hammer is now primarily a Steve Babb project. He handles some lead and backing vocals, bass, keyboards, Taurus pedals, guitars, and percussion. Longtime musical partner Fred Schendel plays guitar on Tomorrow and lap steel guitar on Sunshine. Babb has collected a stellar cast of supporting musicians: Thomas Jakob and Olivia Tharpe on vocals, Reese Boyd, David Walliman, and Atillio Calabrese all take a turn on lead guitar, and Oliver Day does a phenomenal job on guitar and lap steel throughout. Ariel Perchuk contributes some excellent synth solos, while Randall Williams and Evgeni Obruchkov provide drum work.
Rogue is one of the most ambitious albums Glass Hammer has attempted, and they pull it off with ease – it is an unalloyed triumph in all respects: conceptually, lyrically, and musically. Taken as a whole, this set of songs is the most satisfying Glass Hammer has provided in many years. I can’t stop listening to it! Meanwhile, the concept of a man wrestling with the demons of his past as he faces death would be daunting for anyone to tackle, but Glass Hammer does it with grace and hope. I can’t recommend Rogue enough to listeners who appreciate and are looking for melodic rock that has depth. It’s my favorite album of 2025, and I don’t see that changing any time soon.
Jerome K. Jerome’s first book, Three Men in a Boat, was published in 1889, and it is one of the funniest books I’ve ever read. Apparently, it began as a serious travelogue, and there are stretches of relatively boring descriptions of picturesque towns and villages along the Thames river. However, most of the book concerns the trials and tribulations of the narrator, “J”, his two friends, George and Harris, and a dog, Montmorency, as they take a two-week holiday on a small boat up the river.
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.
Lunatic Soul / Mariusz Duda photo by Oskar SzramkaLunatic Soul online:
Spirit of Cecilia 
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