“My argument was that there aren’t many novels which are written by a committee.”

–Peter Gabriel (from Hugh Fielder’s The Book of Genesis, quoted by The Annotated Lamb Lies Down on Broadway)

Novel?  Suggesting the new?  Suggesting a sort of SERIOUS STORY (the unavoidable uppercase insinuating itself into any thought of that suggestion)?  Sure, it’s like a novel.  We’re used to calling it a “concept album” too, as if most albums are somehow without (bereft of) a concept.  Both novels and concept albums had significant histories behind them in 1974, when The Lamb was loosed.  One might say that they were “old hat,” though there are always folks around interested in wearing old hats, tilting them at what they take to be new angles, or perhaps sticking new feathers in them and calling them “Mac” or “Tony.”

It’s like a novel, like a concept album, like a sharp bend between genres.  Taken to the stage on its infamous tour, it’s like a multimedia circus (remembering that some adore a circus, others think a circus puerile, and still others are just deathly afraid of the clowns).  It’s like a Gesamtkunstwerk, in a Wagnerian idiom of “express to excess.”

So just what the hell is it?  Or give that question a nastier edge with the “F-WORD,” implying a deep skepticism regarding whether it is, in any sense, FORWARD.

But does it have to be?  Must it be?  Muss es sein?

These gestures of “criticism,” this architectural dance — whether printed or blogged or just traded with intense sincerity on the floor of one’s room, between the speakers — has so often turned into a flippant flame, fueled by the expectation that whatever it is, it must be something novel.

I’ve recently been watching the TV-series, Castle, the one about the rich crime writer who teams up with the hot detective, and much murder and dark hilarity ensue.  Novels are the business of the title character, but they are clearly the kind of novels that are not really meant to be particularly novel, at least not in the sense that they might eventually be discussed with great solemnity in future seminar courses in departments of English Literature.  (Yet who can predict?)  I love the program, not because it brings me something new, but because it does something that is NOT new, that is familiar, friendly, and it does it (in my estimation, at least, and perhaps sometimes more than others) exceptionally well.  It constantly and deliberately teeters on the edge of the cheesy, embracing formulaic characters and dialogue with breathtaking abandon, concentrating not on breaking any molds but on filling and caressing every part of the mold, lovingly filling the mold and affirming its shape and texture.  (And the frequent humorous references to Nathan Fillion’s earlier role in Firefly are a lot of fun.)

I don’t watch Castle with the same expectations that I bring to the BBC’s more edgy and exploratory Sherlock.  Hopefully you get the picture.

So what does this have to do with The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway?  No, no, don’t hurry me.  The answer is not necessarily “everything.”  It should be clear, however, that the answer is also a significant distance away from “nothing.”

It dawns upon me slowly, as I am writing this, that my impetus here is a polarity, a bidirectional field of force between a pole that is supposed to be new, innovative, groundbreaking, trendsetting, cutting edge, so-cool-only-hipsters-know-about-it on the one hand, and a pole that is content with breathing as much life as it can into something old, something “stock,” something cliché.

Having followed associations along an idiosyncratic path in the manner of the Freudian dream analyst, I arrive at the final word of the last paragraph, ‘cliché,’ and finally lay a hesitant hold on what I’d like to offer you in this Look at The Lamb.  I’m reminded of Todd Rundgren’s song, “Cliché” (from the album, Faithful [1976]).  It exudes Rundgren’s trademark pop relational agonizing, and captures a certain heartfelt gesture of negation at the banality of the familiar, of the expected.  “Who makes up the rules for the world?”  “I vivisect and then pretend to know.”

So here’s my recommendation this time:  Listen to that Rundgren song, and feel the painful, frustrated resignation in Todd’s inimitable voice.

Done that?  OK, now go back to The Lamb.  Listen and resign.

What the hell is it?

It is the jigsaw. it is purple haze.
It never stays in one place, but it’s not a passing phase,
It is in the singles bar, in the distance of the face
It is in between the cages, it is always in a space
It is here. it is now…

It is real.  It is Rael.

Resign and allow it to be between the cages, always in space, not fixed at a pole but perpetually spinning between.

If it seems like a cliché, let it be so and listen for the loving caress.  If it seems novel, let it be so and watch for “the big reveal.”  But most of all, if it seems to be neither, please please just let it be so.

<—- Previous Look     Prologue     Next Look —->

As other Progarchists have mentioned last weekend was the Classic Rock Society awards night at the Montgomery Hall, Wath Upon Dearne and as John Simms and Alison Henderson have already gone into great depth about the winners, I won’t elaborate too much more on whats already been said.

The Classic Rock Society is a special place for me beacuse as a 17 year old prog fan growing up in South Yorkshire nearly 20 years ago in a world full of Brit pop, Cool Britannia and girl power the one thing I was looking for was an organisation full of like minded individuals putting on prog gigs and writing about the music I listened to.

Less than 10 miles from home was the Rotherham Classic Rock Society, as it was then, rather like being in Wigan at the rise of Northern Soul, or Liverpool at the birth of the Beatles, I was in the right place at the right time. How lucky was I?

Since then I have had the immense pleasure of writing for their magazine, had the joy of interviewing some of my musical heroes, helped out at gigs, made some great lifelong friends and been introduced to some wonderful music all before the days of streaming, downloads and You Tube!

This makes going back to Rotherham for whatever CRS gig always feels like going home, as I bump into old friends and, with the internet having revolutionised socialising, meet people I consider friends for the first time in the flesh.

It was a Big Big night for Big Big Train, and their beer was something that I sampled (several times, I had to make sure I liked it!), whilst leaving with a copy of The Underfall Yard for the journey home, their victories were on the were recognition of their finest musical achievement so far, and a reflection that their English brand of prog has captured the hearts of many people, myself included. Magenta also triumphed with some well-deserved awards, as detailed elsewhere in Progarchy.

Having helped out at Awards nights in the past where there have been technical difficulties, or guitarists going AWOL, it’s quite nice to be a spectator rather than a participant, and I’m always glad when I’m not the one on the door trying to calm a prog crowd anxious to get to the bar!

Progarchys friend Mr Andy Tillison played a blinder,despite having minor technical issues earlier and his live version of probably my favourite Tangent song Perdu Dans Paris in his inimitable solo style, if the absence of a Tangent tour means more Tillison solo gigs then I for one won’t be disappointed.

I spent a great night meeting and catching up with fellow Progarchist Alison Henderson. I had a good chat with Steve Taylor vocalist with Strangefish who have reformed, and I heartily recommend that if you’ve never heard anything by them, give them a listen then try and get to one of their comeback gigs. On their night they were one of the finest live bands around and its good to have them back. I caught up with Bryan Josh from Mostly Autumn whose always a good bloke to chat to, and he reminded me, that it’d been nearly 15 years since Mostly Autumn first played Rotherham, my how the time flies.

One person I enjoyed chatting to was Jarrod Gosling (of I Monster and Henry Fool fame) who’s a Sheffield musical legend and who has a new prog opus out under the name of Regal Worm. If you like your prog quirky, playful, intelligent and ambitious then grab yourself a copy of Use and Ornament, you won’t be disappointed.

Going to a CRS gig makes you feel part of a big family, and you can go alone but still find people to talk to. I spent time with the talented Simon Godfrey of Shineback and Tinyfish fame, and Robert Ramsay wordsmith extraordinaire, both great guys and bad influences (I blame Mr Ramsay for suggesting I try the Big Big Train beer!!).

Clive Nolan’s Alchemy was an epic prog musical, and whilst I really enjoyed the stage show, I would like to see the full musical performance to really get the feel for the work. Clive Nolan never disappoints whatever he turns his hand to, and Alchemy was no exception with Andy Sears in fine form, and the band really tight and on it all night.

Highlight of the night however was having the pleasure of meeting Fish again, the first time I met him was at the 2005 CRS awards, when he last presented the awards, who was over the moon at picking up his best lyricist award, one he rightly deserved.

This was another fine awards night even though I didn’t win anything on the raffle and showcases the hard work the CRS has put into promoting prog rock since 1991.

For over 20 years they have been putting on fine quality gigs and the awards night at various venues, and it’s a great organisation to be a part of, has shaped my life and musical tastes in so many ways and the gigs are always a great atmosphere, so if you’ve never been before I recommend you try them out.

There are not many occasions for which I would happily strap the Progmobile to my derrière and take a four hour drive north for an overnight stop in Rotherham. However, this was the must-attend Classic Rock Society Awards held at the rather modest Montgomery Hall, Wath-upon-Dearne, close to the bright lights of Barnsley, Rotherham, Sheffield and Doncaster.

As prog’s pride of Yorkshire Andy Tillison told me last year, the Montgomery Hall was at the forefront of activities back in the early 80s as it was there that Arthur Scargill, firebrand leader of the National Union of Mineworkers, started rallying the troops against widespread pit closures and more pointedly, his nemesis, Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher.

So, this was a hall with a volatile history, a million miles from the peaceable, gentle gathering of loons, musicians and fanatics who make the annual pilgrimage to the awards that always seem to throw up a few surprises during the course of the evening.

Part of its appeal is in the way fans and the band members, many of them up for a prestigious award, all mingle and interact, affirming once again what a big lovely cuddly happy family prog now is.

Because it was an awards ceremony, Martin and I took it upon ourselves to “dress up” for the occasion, his steampunk jacket catching the eye of one of the night’s major players and my black velvet cape apparently coveted by one of the award presenters.

One of the thrills was meeting people there for the first time and I was so looking forward to finally making the acquaintance of David Longdon, whose leg I had been pulling on FB about winning the Male Vocalist Award. Like all those other awfully nice Big Big Train chaps, his modesty was disarming and charming.

It would not be a proper gig if Maestro Tillison did not encounter some form of technical hitch. Sure enough, his trusty keyboard conked out 15 minutes before he was due to go live, so he had to borrow Mike Varty’s stack. Proving yet again how intimate prog can be, he delivered compelling renditions of GPS Culture and Perdu Dans Paris enhanced with some Floydian flourishes and a drum solo. I did not and could not move throughout the show. It had me riveted to my seat.

Out in the corridor after Mr Tillison’s spellbinding work-out and observing Big Big Train’s Messrs Longdon, Dave Gregory and Danny Manners, I heard myself saying to anyone who would listen “I wish Brad Birzer was here tonight”.

We then bumped into Steve and Jo Hackett – as you do, exchanging pleasantries with them about the Genesis Revisited gig at Southampton Guildhall in October to which we are going, but this time with the addition of Nick Beggs back as bassman. The great man pointed out that he was now surrounded by huge long haired, blond Viking types, the other being the show’s rather splendid chanteur, Nad Sylvan.

And so it was on to the business end of the evening, the awards themselves. Fellow Progarchist John Simms has eloquently documented the winners elsewhere in these columns. The Classic Rock Society’s Stephen Lambe and Steve Pilkington kept the tone light, frothy and occasionally chaotic, handing over to the imposing Fish, the Master of Ceremonies, to “open the envelopes” and announce the winners.

Well, there was no disputing any of the winners this year. The Big Big Train camp scooping best song and band was reason enough, but according to sources close to the CRS, it was neck and neck between David Longdon and Damian Wilson for Male Vocalist. And no, I did not know the result beforehand but wishful thinking is a very underrated force.

The most emotional moment was seeing the gorgeous Christina Booth join her Magenta band-mates Chris Fry and Rob Reed to pick up Album of the Year for The Twenty Seven Club. Christina has been very public and positive about the recent treatment she has been receiving for breast cancer. Now sporting a short punky, elfin haircut, Christina got the loudest cheer when she was practically enveloped by gentle giant Fish when he presented her with the Female Vocalist award.

There were other moments of personal satisfaction, Moon Safari picking up the CRS live gig award and them pipping Lazuli among others for the Best Overseas Band of the Year. Their submitted speeches were wonderful – articulate in their precise and perfect English, Stephen Lambe reading them out like schoolday English essays. How this bodes well for the joint Moon Safari/Lazuli tour for which I am acting as chief cheerleader later this year. You will all be there, won’t you?

And there was joy for my lovely fellow lady of the prog, Jill Lerner, as her band HeKz picked up the Best Newcomers Award. Steve Hackett received the bass player award on behalf of Lee Pomeroy, his erstwhile band member who has also been seen in concert outside Buckingham Palace, supporting Grace Jones, and with some boy band called Take That. His acceptance speech gave thanks to all for granting him the John Jowitt Award – the IQ/Arena /Frost* bassman now exempt from being voted for having won it almost every year since inception.

Magenta’s Rob Reed won the best keyboards award and the young, dapper and hirsute Henry Rogers of Touchstone, Alan Reed and DeeExpus picking up the drumming honours. Even our esteemed MC got himself an award for his lyrics from sponsor Mr Tillison.

The highlight was an on-going missing guitarist situation when best guitarist Steve Hackett was declared officially absent, presumed getting something from out of his car. It must have been a very dark night out there because Fish had to tell a few tall tales while a search party was sent out to retrieve him, but in the end, the hunt was called off.

Stephen Lambe also found himself in a tricky situation, having to receive the Unsung Hero award for his fellow Summers End co-conspirator Huw Lloyd-Jones, no nepotism or altruism intended of course!

So, those are your winners for another year, and again, if proof was needed of what another stunning year had been for prog, take a close look at those winners and some of the other nominees such as Lifesigns, Steven Wilson, Nick Beggs, the Flower Kings and Spocks Beard who all left empty-handed.

But that was not all. Here is a recommendation for you all. Go out and get yourself a DVD of Alchemy, the rather wonderful musical, composed by Clive Nolan, keyboards supremo of Pendragon and Arena, available from Metal Mind. If ever you wanted to see what a prog rock West End musical would look and sound like, it is all here, performed by the Caamora Theatre Company.

It is a Victorian steampunk melodrama, steeped in the supernatural as good conquers evil in the pursuit of finding a way to make lead into gold through alchemy. With Nolan playing the good guy, Professor Samuel King, he has his work cut out against baddie and arch-enemy Lord Henry Jagman, a role that Andy Sears (Twelfth Night) was born to play.

“The Ends Justify The Means” is one of the funniest and nastiest songs you will ever hear and in Sears’ grateful hands, it was one of the highlights of the show. There is also romance, betrayal, pathos, passion and revenge in there too and one of the other barnstorming performances comes from Paul Manzi (Arena/Oliver Wakeman Band) looking like an exotic gypsy king as mercenary Milosh. Among the backing musicians are Pendragon’s drummer Scott Higham and keyboards player Mike Varty (Credo, DeeExpus and Landmarq).

Well, you can see what you missed and not surprisingly, a standing ovation was in order for this cracking show. Let’s hope there are further live shows planned as again, this demonstrates the diversity of prog in all its colourful splendour.

One other thing I feel I ought to point out about the evening was the number of lady proggers present for this great, great evening. The tide really has turned and most were there because they wanted to be and not under sufferance to appease their partners.

Back at the hotel afterwards, it was death by distorted disco in the bar immediately downstairs where some birthday celebrations were taking place. Somehow, I sensed we had been in the right place!

 

 

Photograph of Fish by Martin Reijman.