The sun shone warmly again on the south side of Chicago as Progtoberfest III kicked off its second day. Taking in the view as I exited the ‘L’, it was amusing and welcoming to see a familiar screaming face painted on the exterior of Reggie’s:
Hoping to get Alphonso Johnson’s and Chester Thompson’s autographs in the VIP Lounge the night before, I’d struck up a delightful conversation with members of the North Carolina Genesis tribute band ABACAB. In 2016, festival organizer Kevin Pollack had given them “homework” for this year: to play all of Genesis’ live album Seconds Out on the 40th anniversary of its release. You could tell the band was nervous (they focus on 1980s Genesis to get bookings, so they had to learn half the album in the past year) but also absolutely thrilled to bring it to the Rock Club stage. And on Saturday afternoon, they nailed it, to the joy of an enthusiastic, supportive crowd and rave reviews from other acts. They’re already planning to return to Reggie’s in April as a headliner, and for Progtoberfest IV next October. Check out why below:
The Uppsala, Sweden-based song-writer, performer, guitarist and composer, Jay Matharu, is set out to explore a wide variety of genres and unleash his full creativity on his debut album “These Clouds are So Undisciplined!,” clearly stating that he is not into music to make it big, but more importantly, for his passion for creating music.
One of the most striking features of his music is definitely Jay’s ability to cross different genres and platforms, incorporating elements of music from different styles: from metal to jazz fusion and even some subtle hints of hard rock and djent in the form of really memorable arrangements.
On this material, Matharu is showing an incredible amount of versatility, as a composer, performer and musician, casting a beautifully diverse collection of songs. Fans of good instrumental guitar-oriented rock with jazz fusion and metal excursions are certainly in for a treat.
On Friday, October 20, hundreds of dedicated proggers converged on Chicago from around the country — and even from across the globe. The location: Reggie’s Rock Club & Music Joint on the Near South Side, only two blocks away from the former Chess Records, the birthplace of great discs by Muddy Waters, Chuck Berry, The Rolling Stones and countless others.
Reggie’s has two main rooms, both dedicated to Progtoberfest this weekend. The Rock Club is designed for concerts, with a raised stage, a main floor, an upper level mezzanine —and a wire fence decor motif throughout. The Music Joint has a tinier stage tucked into the back of a narrow bar and grill. This weekend, merch tables were crammed into every inch remaining on the main floor, and patrons less interested in the music (or needing a break from the density of the sound) took advantage of Friday and Saturday’s warm weather to eat and drink at sidewalk tables. An upstairs space that held a record store until recently was turned into the VIP/Meet and Greet lounge for the duration.
Due to the usual complications of traveling to and around Chicago as the weekend starts, I got to my spot in the Rock Club just as Schooltree was taking the stage. With only an hour on the schedule, they powered through highlights of their Heterotopia album, condensing the narrative to zoom in on its main character Suzi. The set left no doubt that Lainey Schooltree is a major talent; her songwriting chops, keyboard skills and vocal versatility all came through loud and clear, grabbing and holding the audience’s attention. The rest of the band bopped along brilliantly too, with the ebullient energy of Peter Danilchuk on organ and synth leading the way.
The crowd for Schooltree was solid, but hometown heroes District 97 were the first group to pack the place, filling both seats and standing room on the main floor. The band took no prisoners, blasting right into riff-heavy highlights from their three albums that showed off every player’s monster chops. Soaring above the din, Leslie Hunt pulled in the crowd with her astonishing vocal power and range. New songs were mixed in that sent the audience head-banging and prog-pogoing with abandon.
Mike Portnoy’s new supergroup, Sons of Apollo, is the prog metal bombast we have been waiting from the legendary drummer ever since he left Dream Theater. While DT have struggled to define their sound moving forward, Portnoy has dabbled in seemingly disparate genres in an endless number of bands (all of them admittedly amazing). Sons of Apollo finds him coming home to the wonderful world of prog metal with a lineup of extremely talented musicians.
Featuring Portnoy on drums, Bumblefoot (formerly of Guns N’ Roses), on guitar, Derek Sherinian (ex-Dream Theater keyboardist circa “Falling Into Infinity”), Billy Sheehan (Winery Dogs) on bass, and Jeff Scott Soto on vocals. I initially was hesitant when I heard Sheehan would be playing bass, because I’m not the biggest fan of his heavily distorted bass tone, even though I think he is a brilliant player. However, in a heavy metal setting, his tone works quite well. Soto’s vocal range matches the music quite well. He can go from Brian Johnson-esque screams in the beginning of “Coming Home” to Steve Perry highs later in the same song.
In a way, Sons of Apollo reminds me of AC/DC if they were super proggy, super complex, and had a keyboard master. Sherinian really is a brilliant keyboardist, and I like that he uses more traditional organs rather than the nintendo theme-song keyboards that other DT keyboardists have overused. In the music videos, it is clear that Sherinian is thrilled to be working with Portnoy again, and based upon the drummer’s Twitter feed, the feeling is mutual.
I kept my expectations pretty low for Sons of Apollo’s “Psychotic Symphony” because there seemed to be a lot of hype surrounding it. After listening to it several times, the album has grown on me, and I can honestly say the hype is justified. This is a fantastic metal album well worthy of any progger’s collection.
It’s been 30 years since the release of Marillion’s Clutching at Straws, the band’s fourth album and their final recording with the legendary frontman Fish. For many, this also makes it the last true Marillion album. Although the band may have continued, to both critical and commercial success with Steve Hogarth at the helm, they never truly recaptured the poetic grandeur and lyrical luxuriance of those days under Derek W. Dick aka Fish.
Source: Wikimedia
“I am a writer who can sing, rather than a singer who can write,” explains Fish, who will retire from the industry next year after a final album and tour. “I was also an arsehole and my ego was out of control at that time.”
“That time” was the sudden pop star status that the success of their third album, a number one album no less, had brought the band, which included Top of the Pops appearances for the hit singles, “Kayleigh” and “Lavender”. It was the excess of these experiences, along with the problems it brought to his own private life, that Fish channeled into Clutching at Straws.
We get a taste of life on the road with “Hotel Hobbies” and “Sugar Mice”, Fish’s ego unleashed in “Incommunicado”, and even a track that Fish describes as his resignation letter to the band in “That Time of the Night”. There is melancholy, there is melodrama and there is more than a touch of self-pity; perhaps even self-loathing in the half a dozen or so songs of the original release.
Clutching at Straws was an altogether different beast from the mercurial third album, with its haunting lyrics and sweeping melodies flowing seamlessly from one to the next. Clutching at Straws was a collection of distinct songs with a much darker, heavier theme, which exposed the problems within the band and foreshadowed their breakup the following year.
Source: Wikimedia
Nicknamed Fish because he apparently drank like one, it’s hard not to read autobiographically into the sad central character of “Torch”; propping up the bar, failing in his marriage and family life and insisting on “Just for the Record” that he’s going to put it down and turn his life around.
There are echoes of the poetry of the third album in tracks like “Sugar Mice” and the way the brilliantly observed “Warm Wet Circles” mourns the loss of the age of innocence, but even these tracks are bittersweet.
For all the bolshy bravado of “Slainte Mhath” and his dreaming big of “adverts for American Express cards, talk shows on prime time TV, a villa in France, my own cocktail bar”, the bitterness of hollow fame is laid bare for all to see. When the final track pronounces the band to be “terminal cases that keep talking medicine, pretending the end isn’t quite that near”, it’s clear that despite there being a four-second track listed as “Happy Ending”, there is nothing like that on the horizon for Marillion and Fish.
Unlike the previous album, we won’t be waking up to find that it was all just a bad dream. This time, the nightmare is all too real: the band of brothers split asunder by the arrival of fame and fortune.
It may have been Fish’s personal favorite of his four Marillion outings, and it may have been voted number 37 on the Rolling Stone’s 50 Greatest Prog Rock Albums of All Time, but in the end, they were always just clutching at straws.
A few months later, in a row over the way the band was being handled, Fish gave them an ultimatum to choose between their manager and him. They chose the manager. And the rest, sadly, is history.
When Beck walked a talking blues over a sample of Johnny Jenkins’s cover of Dr. John’s “I Walk on Gilded Splinters” for “Loser,” his giant 1994 hit, there was an aesthetic purpose lurking underneath its vibe of off-the-cuff spontaneity that, 25 years later, continues to infuse his work with vitality. While “Loser” itself is marked by the wild west feel of early 90s indie rock, with all its many faces, Beck’s subsequent work shapes that freedom into something beyond any particular rock and roll era — his catalog reflects possible trajectories across time rather than a simple series of destinations.
Morning Phase, released in 2014, is Beck’s ninth, an “acoustic” record that ran away with a clutch of awards and praise from critics. All deserved. He makes a pallet on the floor in support of his considerable vocal power and melodic finesse (things he’s not always interested in showing off), rich strings and rolling rhythms stacked beneath a lyrical prowess speaking of a talent well-nurtured: if he’s not always successful in his endeavors, Beck is an active creator not inclined to coast.
In its length, in its lyrics, “Wave” appears a slight, slip of a thing. But in its undertow it is a song of deep release, a beautiful orchestration of removal, isolation, perspective; and so reminds me of King Crimson’s Starless and John Wetton’s treating the lyric as if he’s singing an emotionally interior “Jerusalem” — the land falls away, and you are at sea.
soundstreamsunday presents one song or live set by an artist each week, and in theory wants to be an infinite linear mix tape where the songs relate and progress as a whole. For the complete playlist, go here:soundstreamsunday archive and playlist, or check related articles by clicking on”soundstreamsunday” in the tags section.
One of the most satifying things a music fan can do is make a new discovery. That happened to me lately as I was given a review copy of Damanek’s debut album, On Track. Lucky me. On Track is one of the best releases I’ve heard in what has been a pretty good year for prog releases.
A little background here is in order – Damanek is the brainchild of Guy Manning, who among other things is a veteran of The Tangent. For this release, Manning is the chief composer and lyricist. Beyond that, there are numerous contributors to the album. Among them, Manning borrows from his former band to tap Luke Machin on the electric guitar, Marek Arnold contributes on a number instruments (his sax figuring prominently), and numerous other musicians play their part.
The first track, Nanabohza and the Rainbow, sets the tone for the album. Beginning with some native-sounding beats, the song evolves into a jazzy looseness (the latter being very pervasive throughout the album). The aforementioned saxophone makes its first appearance toward the end of the song, along with some superb piano, with the song closing on some motifs that could be described as mid-Eastern. That’s quite a palette, and it’s only the first song.
Long Time, Shadow Falls follows next, and has a bit more of a new-agey feel to it, with some African rhythms to drive the point home. Lyrically, the song is a commentary on poaching and preservation (or more precisely, the lack of the latter), and the music is most effective in underscoring the message.
Track three, The Cosmic Score, is largely piano driven and is the most relaxing track on the album. Arnold’s sax makes an appearance midway through, playing off the piano, followed by a synth solo that harkens back to first golden age of prog in the 1970’s. Lyrically, The Cosmic Score is sung on a grand scale; musically, it invites you to kick back and relax as you contemplate.
The musical palette widens even further on the next track, Believer – Redeemer. If you have ever been looking for some funk/R&B influence in your prog, then this is the track for you. The Santucci Horns (as they are known in the album credits) provide some brass here with trumpet and trombone to further accentuate the dominant influence here.
The following track, Oil over Arabia, begins with some jazzy piano and guitar before the saxophone once again joins in the fun. Midway through, the pace picks up and the song begins to rock out a bit more, and eventually Arnold provides some excellent clarinet to the song as well. Lyrically sparse, this is almost an instrumental track, and a damn good one at that. As with all the songs, the playing is top notch, but this one really stood out to me.
The Big Parade has a somewhat Beatle-esque sound to it, and it’s not hard to imagine John Lennon circa 1968 writing or singing a song like this. The fact that it is an anti-war song makes this all the more so. This song qualifies as the most quirky diversion on the album, and despite its protesting nature, it’s a fun listen.
The melancholy Madison Blue is up next. This is a relatively simple track musically, primarily driven by the piano. Here, however, what sounds like a small string section and the flute beautifully underscore the mood of the piece, which lyrically concerns the loss of someone dear.
Saving the epic for last, the album closes with the 13 minute plus Dark Sun. The first five minutes or so feature a slow groove with Arnold’s clarinet adding some nice color at various points. Midway through, the pace picks up dramatically, with excellent guitar work by Machin, some jazz-tinged electric piano and more of Arnold’s clarinet (come to think of it, I can’t think of many prog albums where the clarinet played such a prominent part). Some very proggy organ is also included before the song slows down and eventually returns to the same groove with which it began. It’s a quite-satisfying musical journey.
In closing, On Track has some of the best musicianship of any album I’ve heard in quite some time, and that’s saying quite a bit given the plethora of outstanding progressive rock releases we’ve seen this year and for several years running now. Overall, the music is a, well-balanced mix of styles, including classic and modern prog, jazz, and various world music styles, tastefully and seamlessly combined. As debut albums go, this one is a smashing success.
As some of you might remember, fellow progarchist Dave Bandanna (of the English prog band, Salander) graciously asked me a year ago to write lyrics for a new band/project, called Birzer Bandana. We released that album, BECOMING ONE, earlier this year.
I’ve now written the lyrics for the second album–a concept album revolving around the mystery of a man trapped somewhere and in some way on a starship heading into a black hole. As with the first album, this new one explores existential questions of life, love, loss, and hope. For better or worse, these are themes I, personally, can’t escape, and, frankly, it’s really healthy for me to write them down in lyric form.
Dave just sent me a working version of the 14-minute track, “The Void.” To my mind, this is Dave’s best craftsmanship as a composer.
To write “I’m excited” would be the grand understatement of the day. Dave’s work is nothing short of brilliant. I’ll be equally excited to share it with everyone someday. . . .
Pensive, deep, and resonating strings eagerly invite listeners to immerse themselves utterly, fully, and completely in the album. From there, keyboards swirl in anthemic Emerson-esque majesty until the entire orchestra begins what is nothing less than an all-encompassing and fetching fanfare.
We the listener feel not the abstraction of the music, but its tangibility. We might very well be able to touch it. We are not “fans” witnessing a spectacle from afar, hoping to catch a mere glimpse from our balcony seats the smiles that pass between Susie and Fred, the nods between Aaron and Steve, or which guitar Alan is using on this or that tune. No, nothing like any of this. With UNTOLD TALES, we the listeners are members of the artistic endeavor as a whole, as much a part of the band as those on stage, and just as fundamental to the artistic success of it all.
King Crimson appeared in 1969 as an island, on the far side of the bridge joining a tiring psychedelic scene to a studied, if no less freaky (for its age), “progressive” rock. In its nearly fifty years the group’s membership has drifted in and out through orbits around guitarist Robert Fripp, his steady hand and heart dissolving and reforming Crimson as there is music for it to play. As Fripp assembled the band’s third incarnation, Crimson was riding a wave of popularity the rewards of which didn’t settle entirely well with him, and in promising a more difficult, rockier terrain he was able to lure drummer Bill Bruford, looking for a similar fresh start, from megaprog juggernaut Yes. With violinist David Cross and bassist/vocalist John Wetton, the band created three albums in quick succession, ranking among their diverse best. 1974’s Red, the last of the trio, is an able summation of Crimson to that point, before Fripp forcibly retired the band (he would let Crimson lie dormant until a brilliant, left-field return in 1981). The music is a metallic, abrasive take on contemplating the dying of the light, its mood no doubt reflecting Fripp’s, and his band’s, growing uneasiness.
In its lyric, “Starless” is an extension of the previous album’s title, Starless and Bible Black, but the resemblance more-or-less ends there. It has more in common with the grandeur of Crimson’s first record, In the Court of the Crimson King, mellotrons drifting into Fripp’s signature sustained tones, with Wetton’s vocal part an overtly dramatic (such was Wetton’s m.o., but here it works) preamble to a long instrumental passage as heavy a piece of jazz metal fusion as has ever been created. For all his professorial demeanor and seriousness, Fripp loves a good stoner riff, and the tension he can build around such beasts — harmonic, exploratory — separates him from the pack. Brainy, yes, but beguiling, gorgeous, devastating.
soundstreamsunday presents one song or live set by an artist each week, and in theory wants to be an infinite linear mix tape where the songs relate and progress as a whole. For the complete playlist, go here:soundstreamsunday archive and playlist, or check related articles by clicking on”soundstreamsunday” in the tags section.
When Beck walked a talking blues over a sample of Johnny Jenkins’s cover of Dr. John’s “I Walk on Gilded Splinters” for “Loser,” his giant 1994 hit, there was an aesthetic purpose lurking underneath its vibe of off-the-cuff spontaneity that, 25 years later, continues to infuse his work with vitality. While “Loser” itself is marked by the wild west feel of early 90s indie rock, with all its many faces, Beck’s subsequent work shapes that freedom into something beyond any particular rock and roll era — his catalog reflects possible trajectories across time rather than a simple series of destinations.
As some of you might remember, fellow progarchist 
King Crimson appeared in 1969 as an island, on the far side of the bridge joining a tiring psychedelic scene to a studied, if no less freaky (for its age), “progressive” rock. In its nearly fifty years the group’s membership has drifted in and out through orbits around guitarist 
Progarchy 