Grateful for my beloved wife, son, daughter-in-law, grandchildren and siblings. Also a lover of theology, music, history, philosophy, classic novels, science fiction, fantasy and Looney Tunes.
“How many of you came here by mistake tonight? Wives, girlfriends, best friends, and so on? I know what you’re thinking — ‘we’ve been here ninety minutes and he’s played four [expletive deleted] songs!’”
— Steven Wilson, September 19, 2025
To which the mostly – though not exclusively – male fans who brought those wives, girlfriends, best friends and so on to The Fillmore Detroit (btw, thanks for renaming the venerable State Theater so it’s just another franchise, Live Nation) would probably reply: “Yeah, but how about those four songs?!?”
As usual on this tour, Steven Wilson and his band kicked off with the entirety of his new concept album, The Overview, with hi-rez video projections and surround audio to match. While my critique of Wilson’s latest music holds — I found it compositionally thin, too derivative of his influences, annoyingly reductive in its materialist message — the scope of the visuals fused with the propulsion of Nick Beggs on basses and Craig Blundell on drums supplied the depth and drive my at-home listening has lacked. And when Randy McStine launched into a scorching guitar lament on “Objects Outlive Us: The Heat Death of the Universe”, or when Adam Holzman and his synthesizer skittered across galaxies on “The Overview: Infinity Measured in Moments” — well, the Chestertonian sense of wonder I’d been longing for was there in the moment, embodied if unprofessed.
Confirming Wilson’s current fascination with the creative template of vintage electronic music, he and Holzman opened the second set with a creepy synth duet on The Future Bites’ “King Ghost”. But then came the moment the numerous folks in Rush t-shirts had been awaiting – an no-holds-barred take on “Home Invasion/Regret #9” from 2015’s neo-prog masterwork Hand.Cannot.Erase. Everything veteran cosmic rockers love about this album was there: blazing guitar riffs, biting Rhodes chords from Holzman, earthy funk grooves from Beggs and Blundell, solo space aplenty for Holzman and McStine, and lyrics spat out by Wilson, as on target in their bleak portrait of online life as they were a decade ago:
Download sex and download God Download the funds to meet the cost Download a dream home and a wife Download the ocean and the sky
Download love and download war Download the shit you didn’t want Download the things that make you mad Download the life you wish you had
Another day of life has passed me by But I have lost all faith in what’s outside The awning of the stars across the sky And the wreckage of the night
From that point, Wilson and the band didn’t miss a trick; as they trawled his back catalog, the crowd stayed with them through every twist and turn. And admittedly, there was something for everyone in this setlist: the soft pop of “What Life Brings” (which, Wilson pointed out, never got traction on TikTok due to its minute-long guitar solo); Beggs’ jaw-dropping Stick feature on The Harmony Codex closer “Staircase”; a take on the vintage Porcupine Tree tarantella “Dislocated Day”, stretched out by Wilson bringing Blundell’s volume lower . . . and lower . . . and lower; “Pariah”, To The Bone’s vocal duet that proved effective even with a prerecorded Ninet Tayib; extended cinematic workout “Impossible Tightrope”; the metal-injected melancholy of “Harmony Korine”; and brutal, thrashy set-closer “Vermillioncore”. As encores, the multi-part epic “Ancestral” and the mournfully uplifting title track of The Raven That Refused To Sing put a satisfying button on the night.
If Steven Wilson remains unapologetic about his consistently contrarian musical moves, his current live concerts embrace a certain realism; repeated stabs at channeling modern pop toward progressive ends (especially on The Future Bites) didn’t necessarily expand his core audience, while the recent Porcupine Tree reunion seems to have brought younger generations of rock and metal fans into the fold. Projecting a new-found comfort with cult status (as he cracked after a labored joke about tariffs, “I’m not famous enough to be extradited”), Wilson and his killer band are delivering the virtuoso goods present and past on this tour, and the delighted Detroit crowd — a pleasant surprise for a grateful Wilson, given that it was his first solo stop there — ate it up. Whether you believe Wilson peaked ten years ago, hold on to hope that his best is yet to come, or even wind up at his concert by mistake, I think you’ll find something to your liking at this generous three-hour show. (Remaining US and world tour dates are here.)
Dave Bainbridge, On the Edge (Of What Could Be): I glommed onto Bainbridge with his fabulous 2021 effort To the Far Away, but every one of his solo albums is crammed full of delights — rocking, rhapsodic and ravishing throughout. On the Edge is no exception: a double album with a self-contained suite on each disc, like Dave’s band Iona it takes listeners on a trip through the beauty of this world to the promise of a life to come. So many highights they can’t all fit here! Up-tempo elegy “Colour of Time” (with Randy McStine’s fierce vocal inspiring Bainbridge to heights of biting, frenzied jazz-fusion); the title track’s multi-sectioned build from triple-time acoustic folkiness to a thrilling electric climax; Simon Phillips’ fleet drum groove on “Farther Up and Farther In”, topped with mind-melting acrobatics from Bainbridge and piper Troy Donockley; Frank van Essen’s evocative violin and Bainbridge’s primal, Santana-meets-Mahavishnu cry on the orchestral “Beyond the Plains of Earth and Sky” are just a few of many great moments. Toss in vocals (in English and Gaelic) from a bevy of fine singers and virtuoso keyboards from Bainbridge, and you have an set that takes you on a genuinely amazing journey, gathering power as it builds to a spectacular culmination. Already a 2025 Favorite and a solid contender for the year-end top spot.
Bioscope, Gento: Steve Rothery’s keening, singing guitar has been one of Marillion’s prime calling cards for more than 40 years; as Edgar Froese’s appointed musical heir, Thorsten Quaeschning has recently propelled synth-rock trailblazers Tangerine Dream to fresh creative heights. Recorded during breaks in their bands’ work, the duo’s debut is a classic example of how two great tastes can taste great together. With the exception of psychedelic-Beatles closer “Kaleidoscope”, the musical elements on Gento repeatedly gather from thin air, coalesce, intensify, interact, react and dissipate — whether driven by Quaeschning (the wispy melodies, luxuriant textures and motorik rhythms of the three-part opener “Vanishing Point”), Rothery (the chiming rhythm guitar, slide/synth duets, fierce fuzz riffing and floating arabesques that shape another trilogy, “Bioscope”), or both in wonderfully organic call and response mode at multiple pieces’ climaxes. Add the rock solid drumming of Elbow’s Alex Reeves, and the results really are magical. Gento has gently, unobtrusively grown on me, all the way to making my 2025 Favorites list; it may take a few listens, but I think it will do something similar for you.
Discipline, Breadcrumbs: Eight years on from their last record, the Detroit proggers serve up another helping of their trademark, stately melancholia. Breadcrumbs proudly mines veins dug by King Crimson, Gabriel-era Genesis, Van der Graaf Generator — even a bit of keyboard-period Rush, with production by Terry Brown and art by Hugh Syme to boot — but as always, the results are a heady, hearty brew all its own. Throughout the intriguing title epic, the measured lament of “Keep the Change”, the relentless, stinging “When the Night Calls to Day/Aloft” and the thwarted, impressionistic “Aria”, Matthew Parmenter’s lyrical rhetoric and harmonically slippery keys take point, with Chris Herin providing pungent, tasty support and comment on guitar. While Breadcrumbs leans away from the slashing theatrics of vintage Discipline classics Unfolded Like Staircase and To Shatter All Accord, it still gives off a chilly intensity that showcases the band at their most spellbinding and cathartic. Through every challenging musical twist and verbal turn. this album is finely crafted and delivered with total conviction — another instant 2025 Favorite!
Steve Hackett, The Lamb Stands Up Live At The Royal Albert Hall: Yes, it’s Hackett’s tenth live album of the 21st century, but as usual, fans will find this a must for multiple reasons. Given recent personnel announcements, it’s probably Steve’s last live set with Roger King’s keyboards and Craig Blundell’s drums driving his talented band forward; the first half proves a spirited solo set, with lots of pleasingly vintage material and a thrusting trilogy of excerpts from 2024’s The Circus and The Nightwhale. And it’s hard to conceive of a better anniversary celebration for The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway! Nad Sylvan utterly inhabits protagonist Rael and Peter Gabriel’s other sundry characters; unjustly-forgotten Genesis vocalist Ray Wilson conjures an atmospheric, rumbling take of “Carpet Crawlers”; reflective moments like “Hairless Heart” shimmer, narratives like “The Lamia” and the title track subtly, potently grip your attention, and heavier moments like “Fly on a Windshield”, “Lilywhite Lilith” and “It” slam good and hard. With the super-deluxe box of The Lamb finally coming out at the end of September after multiple delays, sets like Dave Kerzner’s studio tribute and Hackett’s new concert set have nicely filled the gap while reminding both long-time and first-time listeners how ahead of its time the album was, and how vibrant this music still is.
Robert Reed, Sanctuary IV. One of the driving forces behind 1990s neo-proggers Magenta, Reed has branched out impressively in the following decades. Reed’s Sanctuary albums — episodic long-form pieces in the genre pioneered by Mike Oldfield’s Tubular Bells — have evolved far beyond pastiche or even tribute, and here he refines and re-energizes his approach to its peak. Compelling opener “The Eternal Search” races forward, climaxing with an utterly berserk Simon Phillips drum solo; “Truth” bounces vivid instrumental colors off of sampled male vocals, morphs into a nautical shuffle laced with Les Penning’s recorder tootles, then lunges for a grandiose, double-time finale; and the closing “Sanctuary” provides the perfect comedown with its gentle, compact, well-wrought theme. If you’re looking for a sweet spot between Bainbridge’s Celtic maximalism and Bioscope’s kinematic ambience, Sanctuary IV’s shimmering, tuneful instrumentals could be just your ticket.
A typically quiet summer in our little corner of the music world came to an abrupt end last week, with the news that at the end of August, the United States government would impose new tariffs on goods from UK and the countries of the EU — two prime sources of progressive rock for American fans. In addition, a ‘de minimis’ exemption that allowed foreign packages valued under $800 to enter the US duty-free was going away at the same time. This prompted the Royal Mail, other European postal services and international businesses like Etsy and DHL to suspend deliveries to the US, allowing time for new procedures and paperwork to be developed and put in place. (The Royal Mail has restarted deliveries, providing tariff collection services on their end and charging sellers an additional handling fee.)
The impact on musicians we’ve come to know and love is currently unclear. Progarchy’s go-to British retailer Burning Shed will collect the new 10% tariff on UK shipments to the US — but only on merch, citing Royal Mail guidance that “informational materials” (books, CDs, vinyl, DVDs, BluRays, cassettes, posters and photographs) are exempt. Bandcamp is providing similar guidance to their international sellers (including Leonardo Pavkovic’s MoonJune Records — though as ever, Leonardo does things in his own unique way) and US buyers, but they also note that
The exception will depend on the seller including the correct HS codes on the customs forms and the US agencies processing the packages correctly . . . For those packages that are shipped to the United States after August 29, 2025, you (the buyer) may be charged tariffs upon delivery of the order. Any import duties are the buyer’s responsibility to pay.
Stalwart American importer (and Progarchy fave) The Band Wagon USA is leery about the impact of these changes, citing the real possibility of price increases and more limited stock in the near future. To their credit, they’re also stepping up to provide US distribution for DIY artists like Celtic-Tolkien progger Dave Brons (previously featured on this site), whom these new taxes and regulations will impact the most. But even the bigger acts in the genre are pondering their options; Marillion was one of the first to sound the alert about the coming changes, then suspend shipments until the fog clears. And since the two largest prog labels — Inside Out, a European division of Sony, and Kscope — are headquartered overseas, saying what the future holds only becomes more difficult.
How does a two-week vacation circling the Great Lakes wind up being this . . . proggy?
Well, starting out with a few days in Cleveland made a visit to The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inevitable; it’s been almost thirty years since I set foot in its controversial precincts. (In fact, I’d argue that any hall of fame, no matter its subject, is about controversy — who’s in, who’s not, who should and shouldn’t be there. On such foundations are sports talk radio and the seething hatred of prog fans for Rolling Stone magazine built.) Has the R&RHoF improved in welcoming progressive rock since its fledgling days in 1997, when gigantic props from Roger Waters’ version of The Wall glowering from the top of its atrium (see above) were about the only evidence prog was even on its radar?
Honestly, omissions are still painfully plentiful; the otherwise comprehensive rock history displays on the first two floors blank out prog entirely, hopping from psychedelia and singer-songwriters to punk with only the barest nod to heavy metal. On the other hand, there has been movement in the last 30 years, with three of Britprog’s Big Six — Pink Floyd (1996), Genesis (2010) and Yes (2017) — plus Rush (2013) inducted into the Hall proper, currently housed on the third floor.
(By the way, you can watch highlights from any artist’s HoF induction on video displays stationed in the Hall. Of course I dialed up that marvelously manic night when Rush was honored — the highlight reel included a full minute of Alex Lifeson’s inspired “Blah blah blah” speech.)
And, doubtless more to harvest email addresses than anything else, you can also vote on who you think should be in the Hall on adjacent video screens. Having done my civic duty by casting a vote for King Crimson, it was heartening to see them at #83 in the Top 100 of this year’s fan poll, though in a lower position than Styx (#5, just in front of Weird Al Yankovic), Tool (#12), Jethro Tull (#15), and Kansas (#35, not pictured). (And sad to say, Emerson Lake & Palmer were nowhere in sight.)
Then it was on to upstate New York, where I spent a delightful hour over coffee with noted music theory scholar and killer guitarist (and acquaintance from my grad school days) John Covach. One of the vanguard academics who pioneered rigorous analytical study of rock in general and prog in particular, John overflowed with good vibes as he waxed eloquent on the delights and challenges of shepherding books like Understanding Rock, What’s That Sound? and The Cambridge Companion to the Rolling Stones through the university press publication process; setting up a lecture tour of U.S. music schools for legendary drummer Bill Bruford (fresh from gaining his own Ph.D at the time); and getting gigs in a Yes tribute band when the post-Anderson version of the group still toured North America every summer! It was a blast to reconnect with John, who in addition to teaching and researching at the Eastman School of Music, is hard at work editing The Cambridge Companion to Progressive Rock (still in pre-publication, hopefully to be officially announced in 2026).
From there, it was a short border hop to an overnight stay in St. Catherine’s, Ontario — in a subdivision:
And yes, landing in the hometown of prog-metal’s finest drummer/lyricist was no coincidence; an outing to the town’s Lakeside Park (gorgeous even on an overcast day), complete with a picnic lunch in the shadow of the Neil Peart Pavilion brought the early Rush song of that name to vibrant life. (Fundraising for a memorial sculpture of Peart to be installed in the park has been in progress since last fall; click here for more information.)
If there’s a lesson, I suppose it’s this: a proggy vacation does not just happen; it must be carefully planned. So, fellow Progarchists: what’s your dream itinerary?
— Rick Krueger
P.S. Yes, all of the above is pretty retro; but new prog and more cool music piled up in my inbox while I was gone, so the appropriate Quick Takes are coming . . .
It’s been an hugely enjoyable month for out-of-the-box music! Along with the alluring, elegant wallop of Nad Sylvan’s Monumentata(listen here) and the mesmeric slow burn of Jakko Jakszyk’s ruminative Son of Glen (listen here), three impressive new releases, a compilation taken from one of this year’s most-anticipated box sets, an utterly unexpected reissue — plus one from last year that got away — have crossed my desk. As usual, purchasing links are embedded in the artist/title listing, with streaming options after the review.
Cosmograf, The Orphan Epoch: Another winning set from Robin Armstrong! More thematic than conceptual this time around, The Orphan Epoch focuses on today’s younger generation and their search for a valid path, confronted by conformity and control like never before. “Division Warning” unfurls from fetching piano filigree to steamroller guitar supporting a dramatic, emotionally ripe chorus; elegance and savagery bob and weave, then fly in formation for “We Are the Young.” There’s gorgeous sax commentary from Peter Jones on the foreboding “Seraphim Reels”; big riffs, gang chanting and blustery organ workouts on “Kings and Lords”; a quiet, menacing synth pulse that, with Kyle Fenton’s skittering drums, propels the encroaching darkness of “You Didn’t See the Thief”; the loose yet inevitable build of “Empty Box.” It all coalesces along “The Road of Endless Miles,” as strong, hard power chording pushes Armstrong’s overdriven vocals to a striking crest, then ebbs away into dead silence. Impeccable, punchy, dynamic sound throughout brings out so much fine-grained detail, all in the service of Armstrong’s bleak yet beautiful, thoroughly humanistic vision. Moving and gutsy, this impressive record deserves the widest possible audience.
Louise Patricia Crane, Netherworld: Both in his recent Progarchy interview and in the liner notes for his latest, Son of Glen, Jakko M. Jakszyk has been beating the drums for this 2024 album – and he’s right to do it! Crane brings vaulting artistic ambition, assured worldbuilding and mad skills at singing, playing and production to bear on Netherworld; the result is an utterly absorbing song-cycle that pulls you in with the initial “Dance with the Devil” and refuses to let go until the last strains of “Japanese Doll” have died away. Wisps of early Genesis and Tull give “Tiny Bard” and “The Lady Peregrine’s Falcon” a folk-prog tinge, while a trace of vintage Kate Bush lingers in Crane’s resonant vocals, but the sweep of her archetypal lyrics and the variety of settings (from subtly psychedelic “The Red Room” to the overcast jazz of “Bete Noire”) dispel any hint of tired pastiche. Rather, Jakszyk joins an imposing crew of modern prog titans (hailing from King Crimson, Marillion, and points beyond), all dedicated to bringing Crane’s singular point of view to life. These classic ingredients come together in a heady, winningly original brew on an atmospheric soundstage that breathes; Nick Drake’s catalog and the rumbling calm of Talk Talk’s post-rock years are the closest parallels I can call to mind. Netherworld is a brilliant album, thoroughly deserving of your time, attention — and even love. It went on my Belated Favorites list like a shot!
Mary Halvorson, About Ghosts: More kaleidoscopic ensemble jazz from Halvorson’s Amaryllis sextet plus guests (including youthful sax giant Immanuel Wilkins). The warm, glittering sound of opener “Full of Neon” is typical here; launching a pointillistic riff, the ensemble builds through brass smears and a convoluted unison head to perfectly judged solos from trombonist Jacob Garchik and guest tenor Brian Settles. Trumpeter Adam O’Farrill, vibist Patricia Brennan and Wilkins get their licks in as well, while the rhythm section of Nick Dunston and Tomas Fujiwara kick up plenty of dust and swing like mad. And while Halvorson generally lays back as a soloist here (“Carved From”, also a spotlight moment for Wilkins, is an enjoyable exception), her pointed guitar tone laced with congenial digital wobbles consistently pokes through at just the right moments. From “Absinthian’s” uptempo tick-tock through the graceful Ellingtonia of the title track to the sleek glide of “Polyhedral” and “Endmost’s” smooth, richly chorded bossa, Halvorson and her players are always inventive and inviting, conjuring sunny textures from the knottiest material. A great way to either discover this fine composer/performer’s unique voice, or to check out her continuing growth.
Markus Reuter – featuring Fabio Trentini and Asaf Sirkis, Truce <3: Full-on instrumental rock from three undersung players who know their stuff — including the magic that can happen when the red light comes on with nothing prepared! Reuter’s touch guitar conjures up hanging sonic clouds, cycling loops, piledriving licks and rich melodic spirals; Trentini’s bass lines ground the evolving excursions with a tasty mix of repetition and variation, plus fat, enticing tone; on drums, Sirkis is endlessly, subtly inventive within rock-solid grooves. Slinky kickoff “Not Alone,” the driven, stuttering funk of “It’s Not in the Cards,” the bubbling, smoldering interplay of “Crooked” and “Guardian Shadow,” with its stinging elegiac lament that morphs into a total wig-out, are just the highlights; every improvisatory leap here is inspired. Completely whipped up from scratch like the first two entries in this stunning series, Truce<3 catches music as it’s made on the fly, irresistibly setting body, mind and heart in motion. Already on the Favorites list for this year.
The Revolutionary Army of the Infant Jesus, Rumours of Angels: Originally part of 2013 French boxset After the End, this set compiles two EPs from the end of RAIJ’s 20th-century run and two previously uncollected tracks. As such, you can hear the gleeful clash of opposites — floating folk melodies, chant and spoken word colliding with low drones, tribal rhythms and bruising industrial noise, all drenched in thick, wet echo — that marked the Liverpool collective’s initial, headlong assault on modernity. If tracks like “Cantata Sacra” and “Dies Irae” feel like desperate attempts to call down the Holy Spirit through sheer, strenuous force, moments in “The Parable (of the Singing Ringing Tree)” and “Suspended on a Cross” point toward the mix of ambient stillness and randomized sound collage that permeate later, more considered classics Beauty Will Save the World and Songs of Yearning(my album of 2020). For those who’ve already taken the plunge, Rumours of Angels is an unexpected gift, a vital signpost on RAIJ’s road toward their current, more meditative (yet still earthy) incarnation. If you’re new to it all, don’t let me dissuade you from trying this one out — but be sure to buckle up!
Bruce Springsteen, Lost and Found – Selections from the Lost Albums: I’d argue there are at least three facets to Springsteen’s artistic persona: the unstoppable Boss, barnstorming the globe with the E Street Band; the compulsive singer/songwriter, forever panning his psyche for creative gold; and most evident here, the obsessional auteur, agonizing time after time over the content of his next release. This sampler from Tracks II, an expansive (and exorbitantly priced) box of 7 unreleased albums, startles with the scope of Springsteen’s musical inspirations — though your mileage may vary as to how convincing the various genre exercises are. Chilled-out trip-hop Bruce (“Blind Spot”), spiritual-but-not-religious Bruce (“Faithless”) and country/rockabilly Bruce (“Repo Man”) click best for me; and even tejano Bruce (“Adelita”) and saloon crooner Bruce (“Sunday Love”) have their arresting moments. If anything, the straight-up rockers might be the weakest element here; “You Lifted Me Up” reminds me of nothing so much as a third-string praise and worship chorus. Still, it’s hard to beat Lost and Found’s value — 1/4th of the box set’s tracks for 1/20th of the price, and it certainly lets you know what you’re in for from Springsteen’s latest raid on his vaults. If you’re intrigued like I am, check out the sampler, maybe listen to the complete set online — then hope for a Black Friday price drop.
“A Musical Memoir Like No Other” – as always, the estimable Alison Reijman nailed it in her review of Who’s The Boy with the Lovely Hair: The Unlikely Memoir of Jakko M. Jakszyk last fall. Stranger than fiction would be an understatement; only Jakszyk could have told this page-turning, hair-raising narrative — the son of Irish and American parents, raised by a older Polish/French couple, driven both to make his mark in the music business (from having his shoes noticed by Michael Jackson to joining The Kinks for a week to becoming the singer in King Crimson’s final incarnation to date) and to suss out the twisty, elusive truth of his life story.
In fact, Jakko’s past has consistently fed his most personal art, from radio dramas and one-man theatrical shows to his pensive, potent solo albums The Bruised Romantic Glee Club (2007) and Secrets and Lies(2020). Released later this month, his new record Son of Glen continues his quest for both clarity about his past and a settled present, building from subdued acoustic beginnings to an explosive electric finale with patient, long-breathed confidence. Like all Jakszyk’s work, it’s bracing stuff that nonetheless goes down smooth — fearless, affecting and engrossing.
It was a pleasure to talk to Jakko about the new album. Even at the end of what I’m sure was a long day, he was positive, attentive and kind — when I had audio problems at my end, he generously recorded the interview and sent it to me! My thanks to him for his time and for going the extra mile. Audio is immediately below, with a transcription following.
We last talked about five years ago, after your last [album] had been released, and I know you published your book in that time. What are the things that you see as milestones or turning points on your path between Secrets and Lies and Son of Glen?
Well, I guess the book came in between. I did a one-man show at the Edinburgh Festival, which is loosely based on events in my life; that followed the album.
And then, as a result of that, I got the book deal. And although I’d been asked to complete another record, I kind of started bits and pieces. Really, what inspired the record as it stands now was partly the work I did on an album called Netherworld by the lovely Louise Patricia Crane.
And I did a lot of things on there at her behest, I think; I found myself digging deep into my musical DNA and my past to come up with stuff that is part of what I grew up listening to, but stuff I hadn’t ever really used in my own work.
And then when we’d finished, when I’d finished the book, again, I was in a weird place and Louise was incredibly significant in building my confidence back up. And then I remember one evening we were having dinner and, having discovered my real father after decades of fruitless searching for him, she pointed out something that I guess was kind of obvious, but hadn’t crossed my mind in that the reason I exist at all is that my American airman father was stationed in England and fell in love with a dark haired Irish singer.
And here I was all these decades later, kind of repeating the same thing! Which was, I guess, kind of staring me in the face, but it was only when she mentioned it. And so that became the inspiration for the title track and the title of the song, really.
I then, armed with this conceptual idea — both [my] kids play, they’re both great musicians, both my kids. So there’s always instruments in the house everywhere. And they quite often, both of them, my daughter and my son, mess around with alternate tunings. I’ve never really done that. And I remember picking up a guitar and I had no idea what was going on, tuning-wise. And I came up with this pattern, and that started the whole title track.
And then it just developed. I didn’t set out to write some epic. It was just this conceptual idea, a few chords, and then it just kind of started to write itself, really. And then that set the tenor of the whole record, and the idea of making it relate to the book.
Okay. You mentioned some musical areas that you dug into when working on your partner’s album that you had maybe put aside or not necessarily used. Could you be a little more explicit about that?
Yeah, sure. When I was a kid, the band I probably saw live more than any other was the Gabriel-era Genesis, because they played locally to me, where I live in England. And I was completely taken with that. But I’ve never really done anything Genesis-like, I don’t think, on my own stuff. And there were certain references that Louise was utilizing when we were creating her album. And I thought, “oh, okay, yeah, I used to love that record!”
And so Genesis, there’s bits of Jethro Tull, again, a lot of acoustic-type stuff that’s not really normally evident or fundamental to any of the work that I’ve done. I think I’m referring to those specifically in terms of my own record. But there was other stuff. There’s a lot of the references that she utilized that I was able to kind of replicate, because I understood the musical language.
To backtrack a little bit, one of the things I noticed is that a number of the chapter titles in your book become song titles on Son of Glen. I’m assuming that’s a deliberate thing, and that there’s some significance involved with that.
Yeah, some of them were ideas I’d started and then wrote the book. In fact, there was a couple of things I’d done when I was promoting the book later on. There was a couple of instances where it was a really interesting thing, where I would talk about how some of the songs are kind of diary entries. They’re responding to something that’s happened. And so I was able to say, “well, look, what I’m going to do now is read a passage from the book that describes the event in detail, and then I’m going to play the song that I wrote about it.” So I was able to do that at that stage as well, because the two things started to overlap.
And sometimes I’d just have a title, which I then used as the title for the chapter of the book, and then extrapolated from that. And some of the things I’d already started, that were from way back, but fitted into the conceptual continuity of the whole nature of the book and the album together.
Another thing I noticed: if you divide the album into LP sides, each one opens with a distinct version of that instrumental, “Ode to Ballina”. Is that simply for the sake of variety, or does that play a part in how things unfold musically?
It was a deliberate ploy. I thought, and I was deliberately thinking about it as vinyl, even though I know it comes out on CD too. For the first time really, I was definitely thinking about it in vinyl terms. I had a conversation with Thomas Waber, whose label it is, and we were discussing about how the length of albums has got preposterous due to the ability to store more information on a CD. And in his head, and kind of mine, those album era years of the ‘70s, 40 minutes, 45 minutes, that was enough, that was ideal. So, I did think in those terms.
And I thought, well, “Ode to Ballina” is a piece based on my emotional response to going to Ireland, back to where my mum came from for the first time. And so I thought, that’s a great place to start, because that’s the kind of start of the story. And then halfway through, to reiterate that theme, but do it — by which time I’m now a musician, and I’m living a life as a musician — to reiterate that same thematic idea, but in a more modern, more electric way. So that was deliberate, as was the beginning of each side and the end of each side.
I knew I definitely wanted to end with the 10-minute title track. And I wanted to end side one with the song I wrote about Louise.
And as I heard that album, what I felt like was that the whole thing built from the acoustic beginning on the first side, it was almost like this long 40-minute crescendo, which was really effective.
Oh, well, thank you.
Because like you say, on side two, you’re bringing in more of the electric elements, and it just sort of gains in whoomp, to use a technical term.
[Laughs] That’s great. You know, these things, you have a rough outline of a conceptual idea, and then the music kind of takes over and presents itself in a way. So it’s a combination of finding a vehicle and then somehow something else takes over. I mean, I don’t know what it is, whatever you call it, you know, inspiration or the muse or whatever.
Yeah, I felt good that I’d kind of dealt with some subjects that are peppered throughout the book and ended up with a paean to my real father. That’s the mystery of the beginning of my book and the beginning of my life. That’s where the book ends, really: me finally, after decades of fruitless searching, finding who he was and stuff about him after being thrown all sorts of red herrings by my mother and downright lies.
I know one of the themes of the book is how difficult it has been to get to the truth, because you had to pick your way through any number of deceptions and equivocations.
Yeah. And it feels, like all of us, we want a degree of stability, we want to know who we are, we want some solid ground on which to stand, you know.
And you keep thinking, “Oh, OK, that’s what happened. Fantastic.” And then, and then, you know, a few years later, the rugs pulled out and you thought, “Oh, hang on, that was all bulls–t. Wait a minute!”
And so, you find yourself constantly in a state of flux. And, you know, these things, as we’ve discovered in the decades since — at its most basic in the 50s and 60s, I think the attitude was, “Well, having children adopted has got to be better than bringing them up in a home [orphanage],” and it’s only in the intervening decades that a lot of research has been done into how that experience fundamentally affects an awful lot of adopted kids, and it f—s with your psyche and it and it has a whole controlling influence on your whole personality.
So as you say, these songs are full of people from your history, your birth mother, your adoptive father, your current partner, your biological father, a friend who passed away. Does writing about them, whether in your book or for this album — how does that make a difference in terms of how you think about them, how you feel about them?
Well, I think writing the book in particular, because it’s so detailed and so if you’ve read the book, you’ll realize how long it is.
Oh yeah, that was one of the things that I think was fascinating about it, is how much detail and depth and — your life has been so full of incidents and coincidences and synchronicities, as well as — frankly, the incredibly difficult foundation that you had. But again, you can tell that you’re processing this.
Yeah. I tell you what, there was a weird thing right at the end of writing the book. There was a sense of achievement. Because I know when I was first approached to write the book, the publisher sent me a kind of contractual breakdown and advances and all this. And then I ignored it.
And about three weeks later, they said, “Do you not want to do this?” And I said, “I don’t think I can do it. I’m a small person at the bottom of the Himalayas. I can’t get up there. That’s miles away.”
And then they suggested, “Well, maybe we can get a ghostwriter.” And I said, “You know what? I’m not going to use a ghostwriter. So, I’m going to write an opening chapter. And if you think it’s of any worth, then let’s discuss it further.” And that’s what I did.
So, when I finished the book, there was a sense of achievement and euphoria that I’d actually done something that extraordinary and that long and [of] that depth. And that stayed with me for about a week. And then we had a meeting about it coming out.
And then suddenly it dawned on me that I’ve written this unbelievably personal, exposing stuff. And everyone would — you know, people were going to read this!
So that was a real shock. I mean, I know it sounds ridiculous in that that’s the very nature of writing a book. But that really freaked me out.
So, it was a whole rollercoaster of emotions, because on one level, it was incredibly cathartic. But on another level, you know, all these things have happened. There’s an approximate chronology in your head of how things led one thing to another. But when you sit down in a concentrated way and lay it all out before you, all of those things, the random things that you mentioned, you know, it’s kind of weird moments of luck and timing.
But they’re all kind of connected, because had I had a normal upbringing, I would not have been so driven and I wouldn’t have felt so fundamentally insecure and have a low self-worth, which means I wouldn’t have just worked like a maniac, you know, and said yes to everything. So I would never have put myself in those different places and gone forward, so it’s a kind of weird mishmash of the experience.
So, you’re still left with those fundamental flaws in your personality from what happened as a child. But at the same time, it’s enabled me to live this extraordinary life and meet the most amazing people. So, it’s a weird kind of car crash of of all those things, of all those emotions.
And I think the cathartic nature of it, seeing it all written down, understanding how bits fit. When I finished the book, I went into some post-adoptive counselling as well. And one thing I found is that, whilst you can place what happened and how you feel as a result of what happened and while you can understand it and see the logistics of it, what it doesn’t do is stop you — you still feel those feelings. The difference is, you now know where they come from, and you understand how that journey has manifested itself. But it doesn’t — for me anyway, it doesn’t stop those innate feelings. You just know where they come from.
[On the other side: Jakko talks with and about Steven Wilson, best mate/drummer supreme Gavin Harrison, the guys in Marillion, Robert Fripp, the future of King Crimson releases, and much more!]
“I’m not worried what people think of me anymore. When Steve Hackett chose me to be his singer for Genesis Revisited, I spent a lot of time adjusting to the limelight and dealing with insecurity. I wanted to be upfront and real this time, open and honest with the audience. The new album is meant to say, ‘Here I am. This is me.'”
Speaking with Progarchy from his home in Sweden, Nad Sylvan is forcefully enthusiastic about Monumentata, his fifth album on Inside Out Music. As he should be: it’s a compelling listen that grabs hold and doesn’t let go, both direct and sophisticated musically, personal yet universal in its lyrical themes.
Monumentata definitely shares and expands on the musical approach of Sylvan’s Vampirate trilogy Courting the Widow, The Bride Said No and The Regal Bastard; that unique mix of rock punch, folk grace and prog elaboration riding irresistible funk and R&B grooves couldn’t come from anyone else. And moving on from 2021’s collaborative Spiritus Mundi, Nad is fully in the driver’s seat, writing all the songs and tackling most of the guitar and keyboard work. Terrific contributions from fellow prog luminaries (Randy McStine & David Kollar on guitar; Tony Levin, Jonas Reingold & Nick Beggs on bass, and Marco Minnemann & Mirko DeMaio on drums) polish impressive diamonds like the glammy album opener “Secret Lover” and the heavy rocker “That’s Not Me” to maximum brilliance, with Sylvan’s dramatic singing more upfront and delightfully in your face than ever.
What’s not here for the most part (OK, the showbizzy “I’m Steppin’ Out” is a fun exception) are larger-than-life characters or fantastic situations. As Sylvan says, “I’ve been searching for my own identity; this album gets closer to the bone than ever; it feels honest and good.” Having stashed the props of his public persona backstage, Sylvan leans into his true nature by exploring his past. While he recommends the album’s liner notes and lyrics to get the whole story behind the songs, he’s intensely communicative even without those helps, digging into the tangled roots of his family on “Monte Carlo Priceless”, standing up to users and stalkers on “Secret Lover” and “Wildfire”. But the emotional heart of Monumentata comes at the end with the deeply moving title track. Using spare, incisive brushstrokes, Nad deftly portrays his long-absent father, pays tribute to what their relationship might have been, and mourns his recent passing. It’s a devastating ballad that wounds to heal, already garnering powerful reactions online.
While Monumentata is a solid step forward in Nad Sylvan’s artistic development, upcoming tours this fall and next year with Steve Hackett mean that live work as a leader can only be an idea to pursue in the indeterminate future. But Sylvan’s OK with that. “The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway is the first album by Genesis I heard, when I was a record shop clerk in Gothenburg as a teenager; it’s still my favorite. To be singing those songs at the Royal Albert Hall to 5,000 people [documented on Hackett’s upcoming release The Lamb Stands Up Live] – it was extraordinary. Genesis is my musical DNA, and it feels like my life has come full circle.”
Whether belting out classics first sung by Peter Gabriel or Phil Collins fifty years ago or bringing his own music into the world, Nad Sylvan has been blazing a trail worth following for more than a decade. Monumentata is an ambitious, satisfying new milestone on his creative path.
This month’s selection kicks off with something very special: John & Paul: A Love Story in Songs by Ian Leslie, the most impressive book on The Beatles I’ve encountered in ages. Pop-psychology journalist Leslie blew up the Internet in 2020 with “64 Reasons to Celebrate Paul McCartney”, but the driving passion here is his scrupulously balanced estimation of both Macca and John Lennon as men and musicians. Staying off the long and winding “John versus Paul” road so many authors take, Leslie traces the arc of an exceptionally deep male friendship between “two damaged romantics whose jagged edges happened to fit.” Which birthed an exceptional creative partnership, the fruits of which still brighten the world. His thoughtful reflections on 43 songs — grounded in copious documentary evidence, the best Beatle scholarship, accessible musical analysis and his own insight into creativity — vividly portray the forging, then the fracturing of Lennon and McCartney’s bond, from pre-Beatlemania through the Fab Four’s imperial phase and their ill-tempered breakup to Lennon’s shocking death. Tangled as their connection became in the throes of professional and personal conflict, John and Paul couldn’t help but look to each other throughout the 1970s — as competition (writing “Imagine”, John wanted the melody to be as good as Paul’s “Yesterday”), as foe or friend of the moment, as the only other person who could possibly understand. Throughout, Leslie brings to bear admiring gratitude for The Beatles’ music — George and Ringo get their props as well — along with compelling clarity on the emotions that drove that music. And in the end, his portrait of a collaboration that “even as its most competitive, was a duet, not a duel” is utterly moving, equal to chronicling what Lennon and McCartney made of their tempestuous time together and apart. Just read this.
The Flower Kings, Love: A long-playing magic carpet ride, with the minutes effortlessly flying by in the capable hands of Roine Stolt and his Scandinavian comrades. Kicking off with a pair of change-ups (tough, bluesy opener “We Claim the Moon”, jazzified ballad “The Elder”), the Kings then settle into a multi-part suite that, if a bit sedate, has plenty of instrumental color and dynamic vocal shading to hold interest. But the home stretch of this album is where Stolt and company take wing, channelling their inner Yes for the acoustic lilt of “The Promise”, the orchestral build and double-time finale of “Love Is”, the grooving power ballad “Walls of Shame” and the extended closer “Considerations”. Sneakily, subtly addictive, Love is simultaneously a master class in ongoing invention and a psychedelic time travel exercise — so retro it’s actually back there, yet fresh as a daisy throughout.
Gentle Giant, Playing the Fool – The Complete Live Experience: The original 1977 release was inspired both by Gentle Giant falling victim to bootleggers and by the rush of mid-70s double concert albums (the British sextet had opened for Peter Frampton both before and after his game-changing Comes Alive set). On the edge of punk’s advent, was a mass-market breakout still possible for a prog band that promiscuously swapped guitars, saxes, recorders, violin, multi-keyboards, mallet percussion and hand drums onstage, mixing soul shouting with Baroque vocal counterpoint all the while? The Shulman brothers, Kerry Minnear, Gary Green and John Weathers give it their all here, from the ricocheting precision of “Excerpts from Octopus” to a wobbly take on “Sweet Georgia Brown” improvised when said keyboards blew up in Brussels. This brand-new reissue restores the complete live set, including three tracks off the contemporaneous “Interview” album, showcasing Gentle Giant as a jaw-dropping live act, doubtless as awesome to behold in the moment as they are to hear right now.
Haken, Liveforms: If Gentle Giant has a modern-day successor, it’s gotta be these guys! Captured in concert at London’s O2 Forum, Haken doesn’t constantly trade instruments, mind you — though the unrelenting interweave of Charlie Griffiths & Richard Henshall’s guitars and Connor Green’s bass (all downtuned, all with an extra string), Peter Jones’ Wakeman-meets-electronica keys and Raymond Hearne’s dizzily polyrhythmic drums evoke a similar instrumental giddiness. Mix in singer Ross Jennings’ searing, soaring leads and occasional demented-barbershop-quartet backing vox, and you have one singular, headturning sound.
A complete run-through of their latest album Fauna (featured on the vinyl version) is equal parts ballet and blitzkrieg. The BluRay/CD package adds a second set to showcase Haken’s catalog to brilliant effect, from the headlong pop-prog of “Cockroach King” and “1985” to the foundational metal epics “Crystallized” and “Visions”. Whether they’re pivoting on rhythmic and melodic dimes, diving into the heavy, or wrangling multiple genres at the same time, this band deserves a hearty “WWOOARRRRGGGHHH” from fans across the board.
Pink Floyd, At Pompeii MCMLXXII: A pristine new version of the classic acid-trip midnight movie, complete with a typically crystal-clear, hard-hitting new sound mix from Steven Wilson. I dig the behind the scenes footage from the recording of The Dark Side of the Moon at Abbey Road — flashes of studio inspiration, David Gilmour and Nick Mason’s passive-aggressive interview snippets, revealing glimpses of the hostile, fragile band dynamic just waiting to be completely curdled by mass success. But the main course here is Roger Waters, Rick Wright, Gilmour and Mason huddled in that ancient, haunted amphitheatre, surrounded by devastated ruins and arid desert, conjuring up the spooky sonic webs of “Echoes” and “A Saucerful of Secrets”, the obsessive mantra “Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun”, the whisper-to-scream catharsis of “Careful with That Axe, Eugene” and “One of These Days”.
Without those long years of building their lysergic, near-telepathic style to the feverishly precise pitch shown here, could the Floyd have taken the world by storm with Dark Side? Available in multiple audio and video formats, At Pompeii remains a stunning portrait of a band on the brink of an unlikely world-conquering moment.
With new releases from the first third of 2025 piling up, a desperate attempt to answer the question “Can album reviews convey the essential info listeners need in haiku form?” For example, about the format used below:
Streams linked in titles; Brief poetic impressions; Shopping links follow.
Spawton’s young heartache Sparked this grandiose concept – Well-wrought remaster. (CDs sold out; vinyl available at Burning Shed and The Band Wagon USA)
For more than 50 years, guitarist/singer/songwriter Phil Keaggy has pursued his singular muse. Cruising under the radar of the general public and fashionable tastemakers, Keaggy’s reputation among fellow musicians and knowledgeable fans is deservedly stellar; his formidable skills in acoustic fingerpicking, stinging electric solo work, and free-flowing improv are complemented by a tasty melodic sense, a impressively broad spectrum of influences, and a singing voice that can’t help but remind you of Paul McCartney at his most yearning and wistful. His lengthly discography of first-rate albums under his own name speaks for itself.
But Phil Keaggy truly loves nothing more than collaborations – with other singers, full bands, duets, trios, ambient players, jazzers, jammers, proggers and even poets, well-known and unknown – and his latest project testifies to that. Recruited by the ever-prolific Neal Morse to join forces with ace bassist Byron House and live Genesis drummer Chester Thompson, Keaggy’s playing and singing is all over Deep Water, Cosmic Cathedral’s “prog meets yacht rock” debut on Inside Out. In advance of that album’s release this week, I had the privilege of connecting with Phil in his Nashville studio to talk about both this latest project and his eclectic career. A transcript of our interview follows the video.
So congratulations on Cosmic Cathedral’s first album!
Yeah, maybe there’ll be another album after this, yeah.
That would be really great.
So have you had a chance to listen to it, Rick?
I have, and I really did enjoy it. And we will certainly have some conversations about that as we go on. But the first question I kind of wanted to set up, because as I mentioned, I’ve known your work for a number of years, and you’ve had this amazingly prolific and varied career. But just on the off chance that there’s someone who picks up this album and someone says, who’s this Phil Keaggy guy? How would you describe your life in music to somebody who hasn’t necessarily heard much of what you’ve done?
Well, I started out making records when I was just in eighth, ninth grade. And then I formed a band eventually, called Glass Harp, in 1968. And we recorded for Decca Records. We did three records and one live album. None of them did that well, but we were popular in the northeastern Ohio area – Cleveland, Akron, Columbus, Pittsburgh, especially. We did a West Coast tour in ‘71. We used to go up to Detroit a lot and play. We opened up for a lot of big bands like Humble Pie and Yes, Chicago, Grand Funk, etc.
But then I left the band and I started making albums that centered upon my faith and communicating my faith in Jesus. And so to the world, I became kind of lost to the world of music. And then when I got signed to Christian record labels, they really didn’t know exactly what to do with me because I wasn’t in the center of what CCM music was, contemporary Christian music. I was a bit more adventurous. I was a bit more guitar oriented and not so much songwriting oriented, even though I wrote songs. And so I was too religious for the world and too worldly for the religious.
So that’s why 99 percent of the world has no idea who I am. And so, it doesn’t offend me, doesn’t bother me. It’s just the path that I’ve been on all my life. But I’ve met up with some great players. I’ve had a chance to play with giants like Neal Morse, Tony Levin, Jerry Marotta, Byron House, Chester Thompson, and even jammed with Paul McCartney one time. So, I’ve had great highlights in my life.
But the greatest highlight is knowing God through his Son, Jesus, and also being married to a wonderful woman for almost 52 years. And we’ve got kids that have grown up and who love us. Yeah, I don’t think I feel like I suffer from any lack of anything, especially because of the love that I’ve known in my life, love of family, friends, and the love of music.
I hear that testimony, and that’s a wonderful thing to hear. In your life in music, as you’ve noted, you seem to be kind of a musician’s musician. You collaborate with a lot of people who maybe have a higher profile. And as you say, Neal Morse is one of those talents. How did the two of you hook up originally? And what’s your history together been like?
Well, our history has been very sparse, in fact. But we did meet back at the time he did this album called One. And he invited me because he knew of my albums, like Sunday’s Child, which is a very British rock kind of sounding album, Crimson and Blue, which was a real fun jam album with really good players on it. In fact, John Sferra from Glass Harp played drums on that album. And also I’ve had a life of acoustic music with Beyond Nature and various albums like that.
But I think he liked the idea of the two of us singing on something together. And so I sang a little bit, “Cradle to the Grave”, “What is Life”, that George Harrison song with him. I played guitar solo on the tune called “Creation”. And then we kind of got out of touch for many a year.
And then all of a sudden about a year and a half ago, he contacts me about the possibility of getting together with Chester Thompson and Byron House, who I’ve been in the studio with. Chester played on my All at Once album. And I did an album with Byron House and another friend of ours, Kyle Jones, who’s a percussionist/drummer on an album called Catz’n’Jammuz; it’s basically an improv album. So in the past, I’ve worked with all three of these good men, these good musicians, great musicians.
And so when he invited us all to join him at his studio in White House, I’d say it was about January 2024. We just jammed and his co-producer/engineer Jerry [Guidroz], recorded everything. And some of those songs that ended up on Deep Water, the album [by] Cosmic Cathedral, were inspired by some of those jams. And then they further developed, Neal primarily arranging and developing the songs.
I helped out with the lyrics of “Walking in Daylight”, and I sang it. Actually, I proposed a vocal to it as an idea. But I was surprised he left my vocal on the album, as a lead vocal. And that was pretty cool.
But they gave me a lot of space to play on the album. I had ample opportunity to express myself on my electric guitar. At that time, last fall, I did a lot of the guitar work in my own studio, because when they tracked this album in July last summer, I had just been through hand surgery. I had trigger thumb and finger, and they cut open my hand, and I was in a cast for three weeks. And so there was just no way.
But by the end of September and early October, I started getting on the guitar. And they sent me the files. They said, “hey, want to try playing on something?” And I played on a section of the “Deep Water Suite” I played a little bit of acoustic on it, and I sang. He asked me to sing on that.
That’s the first thing Neal invited me to do. I did it in my studio here. And then at the end, [sings the line] And then I did this electric thing, and that was the very first time I played on a recording for Neal.
And then they sent me “The Heart of Life”, the opening track. I spent a lot of time just learning the licks and the riffs and the changes, and then they had these beautiful open spaces for me to solo. There are two major solos in that song, and that was when I thought, even though it’s painful to play, I really dug in. And the second solo, which is after the part when he sings about, “I thought of God as Captain Bligh”.
That’s my favorite line on that album.
I know, it stands out, doesn’t it, Rick?
It’s just so off the wall, and yet it fits perfectly.
And it’s so ominous. It’s so ominous in this section. And then when I heard that, and then there’s this big space, and I opened up my solo with this note that I reversed. So it kind of creaks in, and then all of a sudden, I go into this Allan Holdsworth kind of mode on the tone, even though I can’t play all those licks that Allan does. But I’ve always honored his guitar playing, always thought he was a genius and a great inspiration to that feeling you get when it doesn’t sound like a typical guitar solo, and that’s what I wanted to do.
And I love also the different modes, because I’ve been influenced by various music from other cultures. It doesn’t matter, anywhere on the earth, if it’s good, I love it. Bulgarian, Indian, Chinese, Middle Eastern, South American, Irish. I love the gifts that God gives to people all around the world musically.
So that kind of comes out here and there. And so when I did the five albums with Jeff Johnson, we’ve got one called Ravenna, which is inspired by the art in Italy, and Cappadocia, which is inspired by perhaps the region of Turkey; the Frio Suitealbum, which was inspired by the Frio River in Texas, and so on and so forth.
This newest one called Spinning on a Cosmic Dime, I mentioned to Neal, I said, you know, my last album out with Jeff Johnson has the word “cosmic” in it. He never mentioned anything about it. So everybody’s getting into a cosmic kind of mood, aren’t they? Cosmic dime, Cosmic cathedral. Maybe somebody ought to come up with an album called Cosmic Capers. That would be kind of interesting.
Who knows, that one might be next. So I’m hearing you say that you get a lot of your vocabulary on guitar from folk, from modal cultures. What are some of the other sources of your style? It’s very unique, and yet you can tell there’s a lot behind it.
Yeah, a lot of years, a lot of playing, a lot of listening, a lot of appreciation. And of course, with the level of artistic giftings that Neal Morse has and the other fellas, Chester and Byron, elevates my desire to play well, really something that must really fit and belong to the essence of this creativity.
So yeah, I just feel that because of all the years we’ve all listened to music, we just want it to be done really, really well. Not just a quick building that was erected, but as beautiful as a cathedral. And it’s ominous, you know what I’m saying?
Yes, yes, that sort of over-towering feel. It’s like when Jacob wakes up from the dream at Bethel, and he says, how awesome or how terrible is this place, depending on what translation you use.
Oh yeah, yeah, yeah. You know, it’s interesting because I was not sure I was even going to be on the album because of my hand situation. I didn’t know how long it was going to set me back. I always look at those three guys as they are the cathedral, and I’m this little chapel over to the right.
Oh, okay.
You know, a little chap. Yes. “Hello, you’re just a little chap, aren’t you?” I’m a chapel.
But because they are the foundation, you know, they are truly the foundation of this, all three of them in sync, you know, as strong as Cream was or as strong as Emerson Lake and Palmer, a threesome. And I feel like I’m on this album by invitation, for sure.
Okay. Chester and Byron’s groove. It’s very different than most people would think of when they think of prog rock.
Exactly.
It does seem like there’s so much, like you say, not just space for solos, but there’s space in the beat they generate. What’s it like playing over that groove?
Well, that’s what got me excited. I didn’t know what to expect when they first sent me the files, you know. The first file was “Fires of the Sunrise” and then “The Heart of Life”. And I was able to just sit back and listen to it. And first of all, I was blown away by the fidelity, blown away by the expertise of these guys on their instruments. And I thought, man, this is a dream to be able to play on something like this.
Yeah, the intensity, the quality, like you mentioned, there’s a different groove going on from what people would consider prog rock, which I oftentimes think of prog rock as kind of mechanical sometimes. It’s just kind of intellectual, cerebral, you know, right brain to the nth. But the thing is, what Chester brings into with Byron is this sense of soul.
So I think they influenced Neal and how Neal played himself. I mean, on “Time to Fly”, for instance, it just sounds like a Steely Dan thing, Great horn. He knew what he was going for and he got it with the horn player, the sax player, the BGVs [background vocals], which has that what Donald Fagen would do.
And just the fact that there’s a nice amount of space. It’s not just constant noise; it’s not just music that just kind of like can get irritating after a while. I mean, there’s a couple of places where it does sound a little bit like a video game to me. But that’s tongue in cheek almost, isn’t it? Yeah.
It’s deliberately over the top.
Yes. But then it gets into some fantastic grooves, you know, the kind of stuff you want to play over. You just have to play over, you know. And so they gave me a lot of nice space to play. In fact, one of the sections, “New Revelation”, I think it was, I played a solo and then Jerry said, “we’re going to extend the solo a number of measures longer. Would you mind playing some more?” [Both laugh] I go, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Twist my arm. You know, sure. I’d be happy to.” And then we went back and forth and they actually, toward the end of it — because I liked one solo and Jerry liked this other one. So what he ended up doing was he put toward the end of the solo, both of my guitar solos going on. OK. And you know what I’m talking about?
Yeah, I do. That was like “And now, in stereo!”
Yeah. Yeah. Yeah, that’s right. And that was that was great. It’s like, why not? You know, it’s like — what was that McCartney song? “Rockshow”.
Yeah. You know, it’s kind of like let everybody join in, you know, but it was just primarily the four of us, you know. They had tasty percussion on it, too. And as I mentioned, the BGVs and the horns well, added a really nice touch to everything.
Neal has so many ideas. He is so prolific. You and he are a really good match instrumentally, certainly. Are there any other moments we’ve talked about like “Time to Fly”? We’ve talked about the opening track. We’ve talked about those two spots in the “Deep Water” suite. Is there anything else that you recollect as being a special favorite of yours from the process?
I love the closing. “Heaven is opened.”
Yeah.
Opening “The Door to Heaven”. What is it called?
I do not recollect. But yes, that’s the gist of it.
You know, the piece starts beautifully. And I was influenced by Anthony Phillips.
Oh, OK. The Genesis guy.
The Genesis guy. And when I did my album, The Master and the Musician in 1978, he was, [his] album was on my turntable a lot, you know.
Oh, OK.
He and [British guitarist] John Renbourn were real influences to me. [That part of the suite is] just so pretty.
And the way it develops, you know. “You’re the water, the deepest place I know”. Neal has me singing that latter part of it because he said, “I can’t reach those notes. I thought you could”. And it pushed me. It modulates to another higher key before the very ending.
And then you got that “big life” which sounds like a chorus of voices. That’s the payoff. That whole ending is just so powerful to the the epic piece. I think the ending is epic and powerful. It’s spiritual. It’s musical. It’s fulfilling. But but I love every song. I mean, every song holds its own, even the ballad. “I Won’t Make It” that Neal wrote with the strings in it. And yeah, it’s just an honest — it’s like Emerson Lake and Palmer’s “Oh, what a lucky man he was”. For a prog guy into to create such an honest and beautiful melodic piece like that. That’s a really sweet place where it sits in the album, too. So, yeah, what a great album.
[After the jump: Phil Keaggy tells how his wildest dream came true, muses on Cosmic Cathedral playing live, and reflects on his power trio improv album with Tony Levin & Jerry Marotta.]
Progarchy 