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.
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)
Where have the last two months gone? And how many new releases have I enjoyed in the interim? Enough that I’ll be shooting to summarize each one included below in two to four sentences, max! (Though I can’t guarantee they’ll be short sentences.) Purchase/streaming links embedded as usual, so here we gooo . . .
New Music
As teased in our October interview with mainman Jem Godfrey, Frost*’s Life in the Wires(listen here) is the conceptual album of a prog fan’s fondest dreams; the storyline is vintage dystopia (1984 meets Who’s Next), the music a full-on sonic assault from the get-go (replete with widdly synthesizer solos). Pitted against the required cybernetic supervillain, in search of freedom out there in the fields, can Godfrey’s protagonist Naio escape permanent lockdown in teenage wasteland? The ultimate answer is well worth the winding journey; powered by the heady backing of John Mitchell, Nathan King and Craig Blundell, Godfrey easily conjures up the equal of previous band high points Milliontown and Falling Satellites.
On his fresh solo album Bringing It Down to the Bass, Tony Levin launches 14 low-end odysseys with (to quote the hype sticker) “too many virtuoso collaborators to list.” But whether proving that “Boston Rocks” with Bowie guitarist Earl Slick and Dream Theater drummer Mike Portnoy, “Floating in Dark Waves” below Robert Fripp’s soundscapes, or reuniting with fellow Peter Gabriel bandmembers on multiple jams, Levin always grabs the ear with his supremely melodic bass, Stick and cello work. And his low-key, half-spoken vocals prove surprisingly effective, especially on dry barbershop throwbacks “Side B/Turn It Over” and “On the Drums” and the moving John Lennon tribute “Fire Cross the Sky.”
Pioneer garage rock guitarist Wayne Kramer had one more winner in him before his passing earlier this year. Credited in tribute to Kramer’s seminal Detroit collective MC5, Heavy Lifting(listen here) rages against the political and cultural machines still standing since the band’s original heyday, agitating for a better deal with 13 brash, irresistible helpings of punk (“Barbarians at the Gate”), rock (“Edge of the Switchblade”) and soul (Edwin Starr cover “Twenty-Five Miles”). For the full skinny on why Kramer & company finally snuck into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame through the back door this year, the newMC5: A Oral Biography of Rock’s Most Revolutionary Band is essential reading.
As his long-time collaborators spin off in other directions, Neal Morse just keeps on keeping on! Teaming with The Resonance, a purpose-built quartet of young Nashville hotshots, Morse’s latest No Hill for a Climber(listen here) is a bit of a throwback; instead of full-blown rock opera, Morse builds a multi-faceted album, sandwiching creepy swinger “Thief”, head-down rocker “All the Rage” and melting ballad “Ever Interceding” between twin epics (opener “Eternity in Your Eyes” and the closing title suite). The more straight-on vibe Morse embraced on his Joseph duology predominates here, but with enough detours to keep long-time listeners coming back and intrigue new hearers.
Straight-on is a pretty good description of the new The Pineapple Thief EP Last to Run(listen here) as well; far more than leftovers from the fine It Leads to This, the five songs included here strike hard and deep. As Gavin Harrison weaves enticing rhythmic illusions on drums, Bruce Soord spins up dark, pensive vignettes of personalities in crisis (“All Because of Me”), relationships snarled by dysfunction (“No Friend of Mine”) and societies on the brink (“Election Day”). Another band that mines a familiar vein repeatedly, yet consistently leaves listeners craving more.
Speaking of dysfunction, The Smile’s Cutouts(listen here) resembles nothing so much as a numbed comedown, trailing the apocalypses unflinchingly depicted earlier this year on their Wall of Eyes. Thom Yorke’s nonsense lyrics and bleached-out vocal affect sound light-years away from the redemption Radiohead intimated even at their most jaundiced; Jonny Greenwood spins up orchestral/electronics, evoking distant, forgotten nightmares; Tom Skinner holds down the spare, spacey beat, blithely driving into nothingness. If not as gripping as this trio’s first two albums, Cutouts can still compel with its chill.
But where The Smile chills, Tears for Fears seeks warmth; the four fresh tracks on TfF’s mostly-live Songs for a Nervous Planet(listen here) home in on healing (“Say Goodbye to Mom and Dad”), lasting love (the lush “The Girl that I Call Home” and the psychedelic “Emily Says”) and self-actualization (the quirkily glib “Astronaut”). And there’s plenty more catharsis in concert, as Roland Orzbaal, Curt Smith and backing band blast out the hits of yesteryear and revisit the highlights of their fine 2022 comeback The Tipping Point, all with plenty of enthusiasm and aplomb.
(Live albums and archival releases – box set time! – follow the jump.)
This month’s connecting thread: grizzled veterans connect with high-powered talent from younger generations; the chemistry fizzes, fuses and pops — and some excellent new music is the result! (Of course, there’s an outlier or two in this month’s stack as well.) Let’s get down to it, shall we? Purchase links are embedded in the artist/title listing, with album streams or samples following the review.
Jon Anderson and The Band Geeks, True: Anderson (going on 80, and as seemingly immortal as Keith Richards) has consistently worked with little-known yet impeccable virtuosos since his abrupt exit from Yes; watching him front a high-impact big band from the 10th row in 2019 was a thrilling experience. Now, teaming with a quintet of killer players half his age, he delivers the album fans have desired for decades. Sure, there are times when The Band Geeks (bassist Richie Castellano, guitarist Andy Graziano, keyboardists Christopher Clark and Robert Kipp and drummer Andy Ascolese) seem a little too eager to ape their counterparts in the classic Yes lineup, but overall they lean into epics like “Counties and Countries” or “Once Upon a Dream” and shorter romps like “True Messenger”, “Shine On” and “Still a Friend” with full commitment, fresh creativity and chops galore. Then there’s Anderson, still soaring into sub-orbit with that unmistakable voice, still preaching peace, love and understanding with his trademark New Age word salads. (Is there no way this man could run for U.S. President? At this point, he’d get my vote.) At first, I thought Time Lord’s full review was a bit over the top — but repeated hearings are bringing me around. Most hardcore Yes-heads will flip over this, and casual listeners will find plenty to lure them in.
Tim Bowness, Powder Dry:the exception to this month’s rule, Bowness’ first-ever “solo solo project” hits the speakers like a cold slap in the face. Instead of the languorous widescreen ruminations of previous albums, we get brusque, sparse song sketches (rarely more than 3 minutes); a disorienting mix of natural tones, machine rhythms, bracing industrial grit and gnarled lo-fi samples yields shocks, disturbances and wake-up calls aplenty across these 16 tracks. Well practiced in the dark arts of ineffable yearning and melancholy, here Bowness hones and refines his lyrics to bare-knuckled, highly charged haikus, whether staring down decadent cultures (opener “Rock Hudson”), devolving psyches (“This Way Now”, the title track), disintegrating connections (“Heartbreak Notes”) or the unholy conjunction of all three (“Summer Turned”, “Built to Last”). With his stoic vocals bearing the brunt of this emotional tangle, Bowness’ voice plumbs fresh depths, flickering in desperate hope one moment, driven to sublimated fury and fear the next. If you’re already a Bowness fan, stow your expectations — but whether he’s familiar or brand new to you, don’t hesitate to strap in for a compelling, cathartic ride.
David Gilmour, Luck and Strange: another prog legend who can sound like nobody but himself cranks up one more time. But the canvass Gilmour paints on here accents different tones and tints, with youthful co-producer Charlie Andrew shaking up instrumental backgrounds and song formats to good effect. There’s a sense of lightness, air and space this time around, a less obviously Floydian palette that both complements and contrasts with Gilmour’s craggy singing and singular take on blues guitar. Polly Samson’s lyrics level up as well, tackling well-worn topics (nostalgia on “Luck and Strange”, spirituality on “A Single Spark”, love as refuge on “Dark and Velvet Nights” and “Sings”) from newly contemplative angles, sounding absolutely right coming out of Gilmour’s mouth. (Oh, and daughter Romany Gilmour totally enthralls in her vocal turn on The Montgolfier Brothers’ “Between Two Points”.) By the time Gilmour hearkens back to which one’s Pink, firing off a final round of Stratocaster fireworks on orchestral closer “Scattered”, he’s taken us on the most varied – and I’d argue, most sheerly enjoyable – ride of his solo career; this one’s already a 2024 Favorite.
King Crimson, Sheltering Skies: OK, so this one isn’t “new” new. But when Crimson sherpas Robert Fripp and Bill Bruford teamed with American upstarts Adrian Belew and Tony Levin back in the 1980s, the result was a revitalized second reign for the King, swapping out trademark Mellotrons and prodigious pomp for raucous noise, limber polyrhythms and surging, seething energy. With Belew and Levin now touring this music again as BEAT, this issue of a 1982 show previously released on video couldn’t come at a better time; opening for Roxy Music on the French Riviera, Crimson pulls the unsuspecting audience right into the clinches for the hottest of hot dates. From the subdued intensity of “Matte Kudasai” and “The Sheltering Sky” through the dynamic clatter of “Indiscipline” and the hypnotic guitar weave of “Neal and Jack and Me” to Bruford and Belew’s ecstatic percussion duet that kicks off “Waiting Man”, this is that rare live album of nothing but highlights. Banter, bicker, balderdash, brouhaha, ballyhoo — whatever their desired flavor of elephant talk (including some 70s throwbacks), Crim devotees will find it here.
Nick Lowe, Indoor Safari:almost 50 years on from his solo debut at the crest of the New Wave, Lowe’s pure pop for now people remains pin-sharp and on point. Who else can still pump out breezy rockers like “Went to A Party” and “Jet Pac Boomerang” (the latter complete with high-culture similes and a Fab easter egg), ring wry changes on the battle of the sexes in “Blue on Blue” (“You’re like a mill, you run me through”) and “Don’t Be Nice to Me”, then capture the emotional devastation of the quietly crooned “A Different Kind of Blue”? Masked surf-rockers Los Straitjackets (currently celebrating their 30th anniversary) prove crucial here, laying down swinging retro grooves for Lowe’s originals and hoisting just the right backdrops as he nails the blue-collar aspiration of Garnet Mimms “A Quiet Place” and the innocent romance of Ricky Nelson’s “Raincoat in the River”. Lowe’s smart-aleck satire has always entertained, but his later embrace of pre-rock stylings deepened his songwriting and singing; now, even at his jauntiest, his aim for the heart is true. This is a real charmer that’s gone straight onto my 2024 Favorites list.
Pure Reason Revolution, Coming Up to Consciousness:a variation in reverse of this month’s theme, as long-time Pink Floyd/Gilmour bassist Guy Pratt brings extra low-end oomph to the latest from Jon Courtney, Greg Jong and their fellow electroproggers. As Time Lord ably spells out in his full review, once again PRR relies on the proven recipe of previous high points like 2006 debut The Dark Third and 2022’s Above Cirrus: float in on low-key ambience, keep the verses chilled out, ramp up on the bridge, kick hard into the chorus! (While seasoning to taste with lush harmonies, towering guitar riffs and slamming club beats, whipping up maximum tension and release before serving.) Here the results are consistently yummy, not least because the soundscapes’ ebb and flow echo Courtney’s perennial lyrical themes. As Courtney, Jong and Annicke Shireen’s voices entwine, splinter, and reunite, there’s a serene insistence on transfiguration, on something more than material, beyond the harsh realities of eros (“Dig til You Die”, “Betrayal”), fear (“The Gallows”), and death itself (“Useless Animal”, “As We Disappear”). Pure Reason Revolution isn’t giving us answers, but Coming Up to Consciousness points us toward the mystery they’ve pursued all along.
2024 is out of the gate hot — three of the albums below are already on my Year-End Favorites list, and there are no duds in this bunch! As usual, purchase links are embedded in the artist/title listing, with a partial or complete streaming preview below the review.
Anchor and Burden, Extinction Level:MoonJune Music mainman Leonardo Pavkovic has labelled this brutal beauty “uncompromising progressive avantgarde doom-jazz post-metal”. That pretty much covers it! Kicking off with opener “Fractured Self” and “Body Expansion”, touch guitarists Markus Reuter and Alexander Dowerk spend the next hour launching knife-edged slabs of sonic concrete into sub-orbit; drummer Asaf Sirkis pulverizes any semblance of a steady beat into terrifying quick marches (“Mutual Assured Destruction”), hyperactive polyrhythms (“Nine Gates to Dominion”), or just lethal, unanticipated deadfalls; and electronics wizard Bernhard Wöstheinrich provides both breathing space for a comedown, as on the closing “The Crust of This Earth”, and crash pads for droning, sludgy guitar plunges throughout the extended title track. Absolutely bonkers, already a favorite; you may have to be in the right mood for it, but Extinction Level’s free-for-all improv (not far removed from King Crimson’s outer limits) turns out to be a heady, head-banging good time.
The Bardic Depths, What We Really Like in Stories (released March 7): both more direct and more varied than their previous releases, TBD’s third is a first-class album that delivers generously on its title’s promises. Brad Birzer’s graceful lyrics effortlessly transport us into the minds of creators as diverse as Ray Bradbury (“You’ve Written Poetry, My Boy”), Willa Cather (“Old Delights”) and Robert E. Howard (“The Feast Is Over”) — then into the creations themselves (the Orwellian dystopia of “Vendetta”, the postapocalyptic “Stillpoint”, the high adventure of “Whispers in Space”). In turn, Dave Bandana and Gareth Cole’s compositions are appealingly streamlined, giving Cole’s guitars, Bandana’s guitars & synths and Peter Jones’ keys & saxophones plenty of room to shine but never straying into aimless jams. Add a warm vocal blend from the quartet (with Jones and Bandana at the forefront) to Tim Gehrt’s steady, sparkling grooves, and you have a prog album that’s accessible without compromise, thought-provoking without pretension. This one’s charms might sneak up on you, but repeated listens will thoroughly repay your kind attention. (Check out our Bardic Depths roundtable here.)
Big Big Train, The Likes of Us (released March 1): the wonder here isn’t that indefatigable founder Greg Spawton and his international crew have regrouped with such power and panache; it’s that they’ve tackled the struggles and sorrows of recent years head-on, forging them into the band’s most direct, integrated album since Grimspound. From mission statement/overture “Light Left in the Day” through epics “Between the Masts” and “Miramare” to killer ballad “Love’s Light” and finale “Last Eleven”, new singer Alberto Bravin fares forward into the unknown, summoning the essence of friendship and the pain of loss, calling on all in earshot to seize the day. There’s tons of musical variety, too, from the hard-rocking “Oblivion” to the playful “Skates On” and the 12-string weave of “Bookmarks”, with all seven players (five of whom sing) each getting their time to shine. And yes, that brass section pops in at just the right moments, to bring a tear to the eye or lift the spirit as required. Familiar yet fresh, and destined for that year-end faves list, BBT fans can be well satisfied with this latest excursion – and The Likes of Us is well turned out to welcome new Passengers onboard as well! (Check out our interview with Alberto Bravin here.)
Steve Hackett, The Circus and the Nightwhale: Prepare to have your ears pinned back here: Hackett leaps out of the gate with freshly energized songwriting and ferocious guitar work and doesn’t let up throughout this compact, compellingly listenable concept album. The restless opening sprint of “People of the Smoke”, the “Squonk”-like stomp of “Taking You Down” (with standout lead vocal by Nad Sylvan and towering sax from Rob Townsend), the lush orchestral interlude “These Passing Clouds” are all full to bursting with devastatingly melodic, wildly spraying six-string excursions from Steve; even lighter tracks like the harmonious “Enter the Ring” and luxuriant 12-string centerpiece “Ghost Moon and Living Love” overflow with prime solo licks, mind-melting and heart-gripping in equal measure. Add Roger King’s richly scenic keyboards to a succession of marvelously eclectic tunes that waste no time and a coming-of-age narrative that climbs from the gutter to the stars (braced with a dose of the marvelous — there’s that Nightwhale, after all). And voila! You’ve got a Hackett opus that immediately goes to the 2024 favorites list, ranking right up there with Spectral Mornings,At the Edge of Lightor whichever of his 30 solo efforts you prefer best.
No-Man, Housekeeping – The OLI Years, 1990-1994:Ben Coleman, Tim Bowness and Steven Wilson’s earliest singles for One Little Indian (oops, Independent), “Days in the Trees” and Donovan’s “Colours”, are the perfect sneak peek/summation of this compilation’s garishly romantic delights. Just as you start thinking “ho hum, fey indie Nineties dance-pop”, the heavens – or are they the abysses? – open, accompanied by lush squalls of immaculately recorded dissonance. As if Roxy Music and ABC had somehow wound up co-headlining a vaudeville show, Bowness’ desperate vocals and Coleman’s slashing violin work match up swoon for swoon, while Wilson toughens the grooves and hoists ambitious synthesized backdrops, colorful splatters of guitar punctuating the aching pantomimes all the while. Containing the first two No-Man albums (the singles-oriented Loveblows and Lovecries and the ravishing, guest-heavy Flowermouth) plus the early EP Lovesighs, a singles disc and radio sessions, Housekeeping is a generously filled, beautifully designed boxset that points unerringly toward Bowness and Wilson’s more mature achievements (whether together or apart), but is also thoroughly listenable and intriguing in its own right.
The Pineapple Thief, It Leads to This: more badass guitar loops and riffs (spaghetti westerns and surf music entwined in a Steve Reich soundscape); more bleak musings on our pervasive inability to connect, crooned with Bruce Soord’s trademark tenderness and fury; more moments of tasty, laterally-inflected drumming from Gavin Harrison. The current edition of the Thief’s fourth studio album is its own self-contained world, set in motion by the Soord/Harrison team’s moody interplay and rotating on Jon Sykes and Steve Kitch’s steady axis; undeniably of a piece with their recent catalog, and all the better for it. If none of the eight songs particularly stand out, they’re all honed to sleek perfection, building through seductive, bracing miasmas of dread and determined pursuits of flickering light to the knockout punch of the last two tracks. Whatever nightmare Soord is sleepwalking through, his eyes and heart are wide open as he edges forward, with Sykes, Kitch and Harrison urging him on all the while. (Soord’s recent “unplugged” solo CD/DVD, the already out-of-print Caught in the Hum, is an even more distilled example of this melancholy, coolly yearning aesthetic.)
Unless otherwise noted, title links are typically to Spotify or Bandcamp for streaming, with a purchase link following the review.
The Flower Kings, Look At You Now:The Stolt brothers — Michael on bass, Roine on almost everything else — vocalist Hasse Fröberg and drummer Mirko DeMaio crank up that progressive-psychedelic roundabout, and what comes out the chute is yet another spellbinding album-length suite. Snippets from the past and fresh in-studio invention lock together seamlessly; from the merry-go-round kickoff “Beginners Eyes” and the Beatleish “Hollow Men” through renaissance pastoral “The Queen” and blues-edged workout “Scars”, to the closing workout (cinema showoff vamp “Father Sky” into bolero build “Day for Peace” into the closing title epic), TFK don’t miss a trick, evoking vintage Yes and Genesis while always leaning into their own unique, up-to-the-minute spin. This is easily the equal of recent double-disc standouts 2020’s Waiting for America and last year’s By Royal Decree, on track to be one of my favorites at the end of the year. Order from Burning Shed here.
Steve Hackett, Foxtrot at Fifty + Hackett Highlights – Live in Brighton: Yep, this is Hackett’s eighth live album since he made “Genesis Revisited” a regular feature of his live set and rejuvenated his international touring career. But doggone it if he doesn’t make this latest set make worth our while yet again! Leading off with a refreshed solo repertoire (blending in vintage throwbacks “A Tower Struck Down” and “Camino Royale”) that provides new showcases for his talented band (Rob Townsend and Roger King’s wind/keys duet on “Ace of Wands”, Jonas Reingold’s fleet-fingered solo spot “Basic Instincts”), Hackett proceeds to blow out Brighton’s doors with an inspired romp through Genesis’ 1972 breakout album. Especially noteworthy: singer Nad Sylvan, at his personal best on “The Devil’s Cathedral”, “Watcher of the Skies” and a taut, compelling “Supper’s Ready” — well, really all through the night. I thought I might have actually seen Hackett enough (four times!) in the last decade, but this release has me eager to catch this show when he returns to the States next spring. Order from Burning Shed here.
Bruce Soord, Luminescence:Just a songwriter and his gear (plus the occasional electronica and orchestral seasonings); on break from The Pineapple Thief, Soord descends into the postmodern maelstrom, in search of an evasive inner tranquility. A placid, brooding first half of string swells (“Dear Life”), slinky acoustic funk (“Lie Flat”) and pensive melodic sketches (“So Simple”) gathers momentum, only to hit a stalled-out sense of desolation (“Instant Flash of Light”, “Stranded Here”) — which gives Soord’s concluding pleas for human connection (“Read to Me” and “Find Peace”) a vulnerability that chills to the bone, even as it cracks open all the feels. Spacious, shimmering and seductive (kudos to Soord and mastering engineer/TPT bandmate Steve Kitch), Luminescence’s stoic gaze into the heart of darkness packs a serious emotional depth charge. Order from Burning Shed here.
The Who, Who’s Next / Life House (Super Deluxe Edition):Who’s Next is an album that changed my life, and over the decades, it’s developed a reputation as one of rock’s finest moments. But Pete Townshend remains haunted by his original, unrealized post-Tommy concept of The Life House — a gathering place for the outcasts of a nightmarish virtual reality, with rock music as the saving sacrament of a splintered counterculture. Thus, this behemoth box: two discs of impeccable Townshend demos; three discs of session outtakes and singles; two complete, ferocious live sets; and an immaculate spatial audio remix of the final product by (of course) Steven Wilson. Even with exhaustive liner notes and a graphic novel version included, the Life House storyline simply refuses to cohere. But listening to The Who as they wrestle with the throughline, then pitch it away and just slam into “Baba O’Riley”, “Behind Blue Eyes” and “Won’t Get Fooled Again”, you hear the fragments of one man’s overweening ambition transmuted into a furious, majestic rush of sheer hard rock glory. Order from The Who online store.
Wilco, Cousin: 2022’s Cruel Country (my top favorite album of last year) interrupted Wilco’s work on this excursion back into art-pop, made with Welsh multi-instrumentalist/co-producer Cate Le Bon as sidekick. Here Jeff Tweedy’s elusive, folky reflections are splattered with spectral atmospherics and thick blobs of tonal texture; workouts like technicolor opener “Infinite Surprise”, the sunnily chaotic title track and the Wild West gallop of “Meant to Be” sit side by side with morose elegy “Ten Dead”, baroque/dance crosscut “A Bowl And A Pudding” and the compelling meander “Pittsburgh”. The proceedings here lean a bit to the downtempo side, but it’s great to hear Tweedy and his merry crew of cutting-edge players revisit the experimental approach of their Yankee Hotel Foxtrot/A Ghost Is Born era, with the gains of the decades since then thoroughly integrated. Few American bands offer such solid work on such a consistent basis. Order from Wilco’s online store.
Steven Wilson, The Harmony Codex: On which Wilson decides not to pay homage to one particular musical style, bringing his magpie/studio boffin tendencies fully to the fore. Digging into the resources of vintage synthesizers, SW leans on mood more than movement, warming up the temperature from the glacial electronics of The Future Bites a bit, spinning trippy webs of sound braced with a percussive snap. As he flicks through a dizzying array of genres, there are plenty of hypnotic moments (the 1970s spiritual jazz/fusion of “Inclination” and “Invisible Tightrope”, pop nugget “What Life Brings”, imaginary Bond theme “Rock Bottom” with Ninet Tayeb, the langorous switched-on Bach/spoken-word melodrama of the title track), but it can also feel like Wilson is channel-surfing for its own sake; the focus of his best work is only intermittently there, and shorter tracks sometimes peter out instead of paying off. Still, as far and wide as The Harmony Codex wanders, there’s lots to catch the ear as it rambles, and it’s already rewarded repeated listens for me; Wilson remains an artist well worth checking out and reacting to. (So, yeah, Time Lord and I have very different opinions here. And, in line with de gustibus non est disputantum, I’m down with that.) Order from Burning Shed here. (BTW, thanks to the Burning Shed crew & the Royal Mail for getting my copy across the pond to my mailbox in 6 days!)
(As always, purchase links are included in the artist/title listing, with available online audio/video following.)
This month’s favorites:
The Zombies, Different Game. Led by singer Colin Blunstone and keyboardist Rod Argent, The Zombies notched three hit singles (“She’s Not There”, “Tell Her No” & “Time of the Season”) and a noted album of psychedelia (the misspelled, wildly adored Odessey and Oracle) back in the 1960s. This fourth effort since their late-90s reunion is my unexpected album of the month: a mesmerizing mix of the Baroque, the blues, witty lyrics worthy of the Great American Songbook and pile-driving soul. Argent’s compact yet ambitious songwriting is at a peak here: check out the elegiac, Bach-meets-John Lee Hooker title track; the doo-wop harmonies of “Rediscover”; the Motown/Steely Dan workouts of “Runaway” and “Merry-Go-Round”; the forlorn, string-laden balladry of “If You Would Be My Love” and “I Want to Fly”. And Blunstone can still stir up a furious storm with his R&B-inflected shouting or calm troubled waters with his cool serenity, frequently in the same tune! Mostly cut live in the studio, this is rock classicism at its finest; don’t miss it.
Nickel Creek, Celebrants. On their first outing in nine years, the progressive bluegrass trio riffs off an unlikely source to stunning effect. Inspired by the Beach Boys’ unfinished modular masterpiece SMiLE, mandolinist Chris Thile, violinist Sara Watkins and guitarist Sean Watkins conceived this album as a suite, with songs and instrumentals interconnected by recurring melodies and lyrics. The result flows brilliantly from beginning to end, impelled by these technically formidable, yet invitingly inventive players; the music moves like a flash from supple chamber textures (“The Meadow”) to propulsive rock (“Where the Long Line Leads”), through pensive slices of life (“To the Airport”) to hard-pickin’ instrumentals (such as the widely separated bookends “Going Out . . . Despite the Weather”). And that’s to say nothing of the trio’s thrilling, acrobatic vocal work, both solo and in harmony. Nickel Creek opens my local outdoor amphitheater this summer — and I, for one, can’t wait to hear what they do with this material!
London Brew. As with so much floating in the atmosphere of early 2020, this concept (a London concert celebrating the 50th anniversary of Miles Davis’ groundbreaking fusion album Bitches Brew) mutated along with COVID-19. Instead, we got something that’s arguably better — a dozen of the hottest young British jazzers jamming for three days in the studio, inspired by Miles’ ideas but whipping up a double-length set of free playing that’s more a seething maelstrom than a reverent tribute. Saxophonists Shabaka Hutchings (Sons of Kemet, The Comet Is Coming) and Nubya Garcia are probably most familiar to American listeners. along with drummer Tom Skinner (Sons of Kemet, Radiohead side project The Smile). Their fluidly molten lines and explosive grooves are core elements of this stormy music — but so are Nick Ramm and Nikolaj Torp Larsen’s floating keyboards, Martin Terefe and Dave Okumu’s boundary-bursting guitars, Raven Bush’s arcing violin, Theon Cross’ pumping tuba, and the volatile rhythm section of Tom Herbert and Dan See. The end result spins unpredictably between open, spacious textures and unstoppable torrents of furious sound, delivering 90 minutes of inspired, spectacularly unclassifiable music that never doubles back on itself.
This month’s jazz:
Chick Corea, Now He Sings, Now He Sobs (reissue). thanks to the no-frills Dutch reissue label Music On CD for bringing back this 1968 gem; arguably the first great album in Corea’s mind-boggling discography, it’s a near-perfect blend of lyricism and experimentation, simultaneously honoring and stretching the jazz tradition of the time. Teaming up with bassist Miroslav Vitous (later of Weather Report) and legendary drummer Roy Haynes, Corea weaves seamlessly through classic early compositions (“Matrix”, “Windows”), standards (Thelonious Monk’s “Pannonica”, “My One and Only Love”) and in-the-moment improvisations (the bulk of the original album and the additional session tracks included here). Laced with snatches of iconic Corea moments to come, this is also a solid, satisfying record in its own right.
Rickie Lee Jones, Buried Treasures. You can argue that Jones was always a jazz singer, even on her folk-inflected debut smash and her cinematic follow-up Pirates. (And hey, if Bob Dylan can sing songs made famous by Frank Sinatra . . .) Reunited with her original producer Russ Titelman and fronting a wonderfully sympathetic instrumental quartet plus horns, Jones lovingly leans into ten classic pre-rock songs, her inimitable voice gently caressing the melodies, her sparky gift for bringing the words and sentiments she sings to life blissfully intact. Hushed and intimate, but with rough edges in all the right places, Buried Treasures lives up to its title – and then some.
Rob Mazurek Exploding Star Orchestra, Lightning Dreamers. The latest from Chicago’s headily progressive jazz label International Anthem. Take trumpeter/composer Mazurek’s programmatic depictions of South American landscapes married to the free-form poetry of Damon Locks; add Gerald Cleaver and Mauricio Takara’s sturdy, hip-hop inflected percussion, Jeff Parker’s liquid post-rock guitar, and the atmospheric keys of Craig Taborn and Angelica Sanchez; then run the whole thing through a mixmaster of electronic treatments. Listen to this music with open ears, and you may come out the other side looking at the world around you with new eyes, too. A celebratory, cathartic experience.
This month’s veteran (cosmic?) rockers:
Jethro Tull, RökFlöte. After his revisionist take on the Bible on last year’s The Zealot Gene, Ian Anderson turns his gimlet eye on the old Norse gods, with 12 new songs that portray that mythology’s pantheon and flesh out present day cultural parallels — all in strict poetic meters, no less! The music is welcoming and nimble, often reminding me of classical or Celtic tunes I can’t quite place; Anderson’s flute work is wickedly sharp and his back-up band (including new guitarist Joe Parrish-James) give each tune plenty of oomph. And while Anderson can’t attack this material with the vocal gusto and range he had in Tull’s heyday, he’s learned how to cannily work with his limitations to pull the listener into each vignette. Reminiscent of the Songs from the Wood/Heavy Horses era of Tull, this will charm long-time fans while holding open possibilities for broader appeal.
Stephen Stills, Live at Berkeley 1971. The latest fuel for my ongoing Crosby Stills Nash & Young fixation. No wonder they called Stills “Captain Many Hands”; two-thirds of this archival set feature the man holding an audience of 3,500 spellbound with just his voice, guitar, piano and banjo (oh, and David Crosby chipping in harmonies on two songs). Which makes the impact of the full band finale even stronger, as a six-piece group plus the Memphis Horns power Stills’ singing to soulful heights (while sounding remarkably proggy in the 7/4 section of the epic “Cherokee”). With impressive tunes spanning a broad spectrum of roots music and superb musicianship throughout, this set offers a valuable chance to hear a now-underrated American master at his best.
The Who with Orchestra, Live at Wembley. In 2019, I attended the first concert of Roger Daltrey and Pete Townshend’s foray into playing with a full-blown orchestra; recorded six months afterwards, this double set is now released in advance of The Who taking their symphonic show across Britain this summer. The bugs of that opening night had definitely been ironed out by the time they got to London; the orchestral backing on their “greatest hits plus a couple new tunes” set hits hard consistently, reaching majestic heights on the extended suite from Quadrophenia. And if Daltrey and Townshend’s voices are showing their age at long last, their gutsy commitment to the material triumphs over any moments that reveal the wear and tear. Still, the highlight of the show for me remains the duo’s acoustic duet on the evergreen “Won’t Get Fooled Again”, with Townshend supplying an introduction that pokes holes in any lingering political pretensions: “You provide the [expletive deleted] activism; we’ll provide the soundtrack.”
Box Set of the Month:
Blackfield, An Accident of Stars – 2004-2017. Customer service alerts first: the “limited one-time pressing” of this CD-based set, collecting Steven Wilson and Aviv Geffen’s first five albums under the Blackfield banner plus live audio and video is already sold out, though Amazon and indie stores like Michigan’s Dearborn Music are listing stray copies as available. Oh, and there’s a technical glitch with the included BluRay, which won’t play in American and Asian players. (Though purchasers can get a free replacement BluRay via press@snappermusic.co.uk) All that aside, Blackfield made a whole bunch of gorgeously doomy art pop in those 13 years, with Wilson and Geffen’s vocals adding salty, sour, spicy notes to their melancholy, string-laden soundscapes. While the debut Blackfield album is still my favorite, albums II and V really aren’t that far behind in quality – and there’s good stuff to be found on the lesser albums as well (all available individually through Burning Shed or Bandcamp). So if this piques your curiosity, go for selected highlights – or the complete set! (But be forewarned — KScope has announced a similarly limited box of early Pineapple Thief albums for June release, and a set of Wilson’s No-Man albums with Tim Bowness is rumored to be in the works. So start saving your shekels now . . .)
Six months in, 2022 is already shaping up as a banner year for new music. My own positive bias prevents me from objectively reviewing The Bardic Depths’ brand new album (though modesty doesn’t seem to prevent me mentioning it; I’m still stoked that I got to participate) — but there are still plenty of fresh releases to cover this time around! As usual, purchasing links are embedded in each artist/title listing; where available, album playlists or samples follow each review. But first, the latest installment in what’s becoming Progarchy’s Book of the Month Club . . .
Big Big Train – Between The Lines: The Story Of A Rock Band: when Greg Spawton and Andy Poole started a band, it didn’t stand out at first; one early concert promoter called the nascent Big Big Train “fairly mediocre” in retrospect. How BBT became a prog powerhouse — through sheer bloody-mindedness, growth in their craft and a keen ear for what world class musicians like Nick D’Virgilio, David Longdon and so many others could contribute — is the tale at the core of this passionately detailed band bio/coffee table book. Standout features include lavish design, with a overflow of revelatory photos; fully rounded portraits of major and minor participants, mostly unfolded through Grant Moon’s thorough interview work; and remarkable candor, especially in a self-published effort, about the human costs of BBT’s rise to genre prominence and mainstream media attention. (Moon’s portrayal of Spawton and Poole’s gradual estrangement, even as their joint project finally gathers speed, is both sensitive and haunting.) Between The Lines covers all of Big Big Train’s great leaps forward and forced backtracks through Longdon’s untimely death, leaving the reader with Spawton and his fellow survivors determined as ever to continue. Not shy about celebrating the beauty and ambition of the music the group has made, on record and in person, it also doesn’t flinch from portraying the price paid to scale those heights.
The Pineapple Thief, Give It Back:on which Gavin Harrison gives his new band’s vintage repertoire a kick up the backside with his stylish stick work, and Bruce Soord willingly “rewires” his own songs with new sections, verses and narrative closures. The results probe further into the moody motherlode that new-era TPT mines and refines: dramatic vignettes simmering with emotional turmoil; lean, mean guitar riffs arching over roiling keyboard textures; and always, those simultaneously airy and propulsive grooves. But while Soord and Harrison take the creative lead, this is a marvelously tight unit at work; Steve Kitch (keys) and Jon Sykes (bass and backing vocals) are indispensable contributors throughout. All of which makes Give It Back another enticing entry in the Thief’s discography — deceptively low-key on first impression, it blossoms into a compelling combination of tenderness and grit. (With plenty of headroom in the mastering to pump up the volume!)
Porcupine Tree, Closure/Continuation: The big news is that this is recognizably a Porcupine Tree album — that’s why, over repeated listens, it works so well. Steven Wilson is as happy and carefree as ever, cutting loose about fraught relationships (“Harridan”), nihilism in high places (“Rats Return”, “Walk the Plank”) and, of course, the inevitability of death (“Chimera Wreck”); plus there’s a spooky take on a Lovecraftian invasion (“Herd Culling”), a compassionate portrait of a man with nothing (“Dignity”) and a drop-dead gorgeous ballad that looks forward in hope and back in regret at the same time (“Of the New Day”). Still, it’s the reconstituted band, mostly writing the music in team formation, that gives the record its core integrity and guts. Wilson’s angular guitar and bass work, seemingly effortless songcraft and vocals that often climb to a wordless falsetto (a legacy of The Future Bites?) are perfectly swaddled in Richard Barbieri’s squelchy sound design and ineffably eerie synth solos, then hurtled forward by Gavin Harrison’s consummate percussive drive — whether he’s cruising the straightaways or leaning into jaw-dropping polyrhythmic curves. Of a piece if not conceptual, Closure/Continuation is never less than well-wrought and frequently awesome, worthy to stand alongside Porcupine Tree’s catalog as either a next or a final chapter in their saga. Now floating like a butterfly, now stinging like a bee, with commitment evident in every note, it may well knock you out.
Short, sharp shocks this month: all albums and EPs reviewed below come in under the old school LP limit of 45 minutes! Purchasing links are embedded in each artist/title listing; album playlists or samples follow each review.
Entransient, Ghosts in the Halls: My hometown’s very own prog-metal band lays out the cards for all to see on their Facebook page: “Melodic neo/post-prog rock from Michigan. Influenced by Anathema, Alcest, and Porcupine Tree.” The good news is that guitarists Matt Schrauben & Doug Murray, bassist Nick Hagen, drummer Jeremy Hyde and vocalist/keyboardist Scott Murray refine those influences into a distinctive blend, marked by rich atmosphere and a towering core sound. The opening epic “Parasite” grabs hold immediately with its games of acoustic/electric musical chairs; “Synergize” and “Last Strawman” drive forward without mercy, as Murray testifies fiercely over bare grooves and fuzzed chords alike. More reflective moments like the title track, “Misplaced” and “Where the Shadows Lie” dial down the tempos and the lyrical angst while keeping the edge intact as the band prowls lush, more aerated soundscapes. (Kudos for Hagen’s mixing and engineering, as well as for the mastering work of The Pineapple Thief’s Steve Kitch; the band’s dynamic and textural range is captured with crystalline clarity throughout.) Entransient has an open, readily appealing touch to their music; as they blaze a fresh trail in a style that easily collapses into cliché, they’re well worth a listen.
Envy of None: No, this sounds nothing like Rush, even with Alex Lifeson’s guitar work in the mix. (If that’s what you want, the new anniversary edition of Moving Pictures is now available — and getting glowing reviews from unlikely sources like Pitchfork, for pete’s sake.) Lifeson does provide satisfying crunch, acoustic contrast, and creative lead work in spades, bedding in seamlessly with fellow core players Andy Curran (bass & guitar) and Alfio Annibalini (guitar and keys). They weave a darkly enticing aural mesh that cradles the understated, seductive singing of Maiah Wynne; her breathily fragile volleys, playing off the sticky minimalist hooks embedded in EoN’s web, are what might really ensnare you. Musically, this is all about basic song forms deployed in ambient/industrial/goth/post-rock styles; the seasoned instrumental interplay and Wynne’s preternaturally mature vocal work are what elevate the album above the obvious genre markers. So it’s old-fashioned chemistry and star quality, from veterans and newcomer alike, that turn out to be key to Envy of None’s appeal. Try it on that basis and see if it grabs you.
Brought to you (mostly) by the letter B! Purchasing links are embedded in the artist/title listing; a sample follows each review.
Dave Bainbridge, To The Far Away: put simply, a thrilling, ravishingly beautiful album. Separated from his fiancée on the eve of their wedding by the COVID pandemic, guitarist/keyboardist Bainbridge focused on the essentials — love and the longing it stirs, the beauty of the world and the changing seasons, the desire for hope and a future. Poet Lynn Caldwell’s words (movingly sung by Sally Minnear and Iain Hornal) capture these themes with rich simplicity, cradled in a lush orchestral blend of rock, prog and Celtic folk. Often evoking the palette of his breakthrough band Iona, Bainbridge and a stellar group of collaborators grab your attention and your heartstrings again and again, whether on the dramatic instrumental “Rain and Sun”, the epic paean to the creative spirit “Ghost Light”, the classically-tinged rhapsody “Infinitude (Region of the Stars)” or the yearning sprint of “Speed Your Journey”. Already one of my favorites of 2022, and recommended without hesitation. (And check out our extensive interview with Dave here.)
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