I’d like to share these words regarding music, from a rather underappreciated philosopher/social and political theorist/psychoanalyst named Cornelius Castoriadis (1922-1997).  Castoriadis, for whom the idea of creation was of central importance, was greatly admired by Ornette Coleman, among other musicians.

In truth, the ground against which the musical figure rises up, its proper ground, is a silence such as would not exist in its absence, and which it creates by its being: a silence which is, for the first time perhaps in the history of the world, Nothingness. Everything which surrounds music, conditions it, everything which it presupposes, remains laughably exterior to it. Even if, as is almost inevitable, we only ever listen to it ‘impurely’, still the musical figure rises up through an abolition of the world. Its only ground is nothingness, silence — a silence which it does not even bring into existence as its background, for it annexes it without violence and makes it be as its own part. And, listening, we can have only one wish: that this should never end or that everything else should end, that the world should never be anything other or that it should be this very Nothingness.

Cornelius Castoriadis, Crossroads in the Labyrinth (MIT Press, 1984), p. xxvi.

The following is contributed by the Columbus Ohio area organist, drummer, educator, and recording artist Linda Dachtyl.  Thanks from the bloggers at Progarchy for her willingness to share it here!  (Pete)

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I was saddened to learn of Peter Banks’ passing when I read fellow eSkip bandmate Larry Smith’s Facebook entry this morning.  While I can’t say I have everything Peter ever recorded, I was always inspired and impressed with his playing, his contributions to the first two Yes LP’s, later with Flash, and the various solo works I had heard over the years.

I am most familiar with his work with Yes as far as any “drop the needle” test is concerned. I became a fan of Yes and progressive music in general from hearing some radio hits and then being introduced to various other progressive bands by my grade school friend and fellow prog rock enthusiast, Pete Blum, who invited me to share some thoughts on Peter Banks.

Fragile was my first introduction to Yes, and to pieces developed beyond the single, or in the case of “Roundabout”, the “single edit”.  The purchase of The Yes Album soon followed, and then came the waiting for the release of Close to the Edge. I immersed myself in these three LP’s and couldn’t wait to hear more.

I recall seeing a couple of earlier Yes albums, which I was not familiar with at all, in various record stores. On a lark, I bought both and thus learned of the fine guitar work of Peter Banks, the original guitarist of Yes and originator of the group name.

One of Peter’s greatest strengths was his skilled improvisation, deeply influenced by jazz in his choice of timbre and linear playing. This was first evident to me on the creatively reworked cover of The Byrds “I See You” from the first Yes LP. Banks and Bill Bruford’s sensitive interplay put me in mind of a Wes Montgomery/Elvin Jones meeting, and opened my ears to free jazz improvisation.

He added many tasteful guitar leads, accompaniments, and vocal harmonies to the first two Yes LPs. I can’t think of any more easily recognizable use of the minor 6^th chord than in the opening of “Astral Traveller” from the Time and a Word LP.   There a single chord becomes the hook of the song, much like the opening chord to The Beatles “A Hard Day’s Night”.  I also always enjoyed his tasteful use of volume swells throughout both albums, and particularly on “Survival”.

The tremendously innovative cover of “Every Little Thing” shows genius. While these were group efforts in terms of finished product, I cannot imagine these tunes without Banks’ original innovative contributions.

Over the years, it’s been nice to see video of his earliest documented work with Yes live, especially on the selections from Time and Word without the orchestral layering.  While enjoyable to listen to on the studio recording, the layering was not necessary to complete any of the arrangements or compositions.

My collection of Banks’ works beyond his time with Yes is a bit spotty, but I enjoy Flash’s “Lifetime” in particular, again looking to the innovative musical arrangement. Peter’s acoustic work on “The White House Vale” is a favorite of mine from Two Sides of Peter Banks.

While I am not a guitarist myself, it was easy to appreciate the tasteful approach Peter had to his music, and he will be missed.

As I’ve listened to NdV-era Spock’s Beard, I’ve been reflecting on words, meaning, their problematic relationship, and how music swirls around that relationship, clarifying but never really clarifying.  Some things begin to come together as I listen again to the opening of the eponymous album (2006).  “Perfect Day” in the song title reminds me of Lou Reed, which in turn reminds me of a viscerality in rock music without which…  I guess I’d say: without which not.  That’s all.

And that viscerality is here, as much as on its predecessors.  Sure, I can hear the proggishness, but damn, it’s wonderful rock music.  Alan’s guitar leads on this album as much as Nick’s vocal, with a confidence that breathes.  I can feel the respiration, like I might notice the breathing of a companion, reminding me forcibly in a needed moment of the companionship even though nothing is said

But as I’ve been noticing, there are things that are said.  The words, I’m hearing here, are for another time.  YES!  Of course they are for another time.  A more “perfect” day, whatever that might mean.  Their meaning is deferred, but is not any less meaning for that.  It’s as though I do have the meaning, even though I don’t really have it, and may never have it.  Still, I have it.

And now I can read back the viscerality more clearly, read it back into the respiration that was Feel Euphoria and Octane.  Yes, I have to admit it, though I hate to…  There’s a profundity and an ecstatic cohesion to those two prior efforts that has retreated a bit here.  I lean in the direction of disappointment, but I’m surprised by how slight is that leaning.  Why?  Because, damn, this is wonderful rock music!  One of the things I remember about my seventies-self is the expectation I developed that there should be something sustained over the course of a whole album.  It became such a strong expectation that even the albums coming closest to perfection in this regard (many of which were NOT “concept” albums) were not without a pinch of that disappointment, a little of that leaning.

If there is something that the eponymous album does for me at a deep level, it is reinforce the viscerality, the album-long sustenance, of which these guys seem so consistently capable.  It makes the previous two discs shine even brighter across the current landscape of my listening.

“So, you’re saying it’s not quite as good as the last two, then?”

You could take that to be what I’m saying, I guess, and you wouldn’t really be wrong.  But I have to say it again…

Damn, this is wonderful rock music!

(Special mentions:  That exquisite transition, all piano, from the fading dischord at the end of “Wherever You Stand” into “Hereafter.”  And the very much up-to-snuff suite, where the textural high points of the album seem especially to lurk, beginning with the irresistible “Dreaming in the Age of Answers.”)

And this brings me to a scary place in the journey with SB.  One more studio effort with NdV (whom I’ve already shyly followed onto his next Train).  What will I think of that?  Yes, there’s the latest release too, and I WILL do SB the service soon of getting all the way to that place.  My resolve is still strong to remain something of a heretic, and wait a while yet before I go back to a serious sojourn with the earlier recordings with Neal.  I will get there, but I will risk irritating the true believers by refusing to hurry.

With Spock’s Beard, I very much recommend avoidance of hurry.