No, no, no: this is not a post about choosing my favorite concert of 2013 out of fifty concerts attended —for the simple reason that I’ve not attended a single rock concert this year. Not one. (However, I did attend an organ concert a couple of months ago, and it was stunning. But that’s another post.) The fact is, I am one of those pathetic souls (I’m only being half-self-deprecating) who owns some 60,000 songs and has been to very few concerts over the years. In fact, I’ve attended so few relative to my love for music that the one concert that really stands out to me is one I missed: Jeff Buckley in Portland, Oregon, on May 8, 1995. I thought of going, but it was on a Monday night, I had to work early the next morning, I was newly married (and my wife wasn’t a Buckley fan)—and then Buckley drowned two years later. Rock concerts that stand out for the right reason—that is, I actually attended them—include Seal (1994), Martin Sexton (three times), Brandi Carlile (three times), and Def Leppard (1988). I’ve never attended a true prog concert, which probably should get me kicked off of Progarchy.com.
However, I’ve had better luck with jazz—my favorite musical form, when push comes to shove—having seen Herbie Hancock, Dave Holland, Brad Mehldau (twice), Michael Brecker, Roy Hargrove, and Wayne Shorter in concert, all here in Eugene, Oregon, of all places. Eugene, the home of the University of Oregon (or Nike, if you will), does have some big names drop in on occasion—Elton John was here a couple of years ago, as was the Dali Lama, who did not sing—but not many. Portland is two hours away, but rarely has prog groups perform, as far as I know.
All of which to say that my concert of the year is going to be a solo Chris Cornell show in a couple of weeks at The Shedd, a wonderful and intimate venue (see here and here) all of five minutes from my house. And, yes, my wife is going with me, because she’s game for hearing Cornell with just an acoustic guitar; I doubt she’d go for a Soundgarden gig. This is Cornell’s second “Songbook” tour, and his performances on the first tour earned rave reviews, leading to the release of the “Songbook” album, which featured plenty of great Cornell tunes and some covers (“Imagine”, “Thank You”, and “Billie Jean” being favorites). Cornell is a triple threat: a great rock singer, a fabulous (if often under appreciated) songwriter, and a fine interpreter who likes to go into surprising territory at times, as his cover of Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean” demonstrates (he first played it about ten years ago in Sweden). Those who have read my, ahem, detailed review of Soundgarden’s “King Animal” know that I find Cornell’s lyrics to be particular fascinating. A good example of the lyrical prowess is evident in a little known but intriguing Cornell song, “Scar on the Sky” from his second solo album, “Carry On”. Meanwhile, I plan to write about the concert, which will likely be free of prog but still long on great music.
As I fall I leave this scar upon the sky
A simple note for you, I’ll wait for your reply
And in your answer I’ll regain my will to try
So hover in the diving light
We will rip the night
Out of the arms of the sun one more time
Close your eyes and we will fly
Above the clouded sky
And over the dumbstruck world we will run
In these hills they wash the golden grains away
To the valley under all of this I lay
And may you dig me out unearthed and saved
Listening to the re-released and remixed version of Vapor Trails (originally released May 14, 2002) over the last several days has been akin to a great hike in the Rockies with my brothers. Clean air, deep conversation, and almost ceaseless movement through ever-changing vistas.
Indeed, I often think how much I’d love to have Neil Peart as an older brother. He’s 15 years old than I am, and I doubt if any figure (and, be prepared to be shocked–I was a nerd kid; I read everything I could find) influenced my own view of life and the world more than did Peart, especially between my 13th birthday and my 21st.
During the most troubling parts of my childhood, the Canadian drummer always seemed to offer some of the best advice I received in those days. And, without exaggeration, I can say that some of the lyrics on Moving Pictures, Signals, Grace Under Pressure, and Power Windows saved my life–quite literally and truly.
I owe Peart a lot.
I know I’m not alone. There are, at the very least, a generation of us North Americans who were guided far more by Peart than by any of our teachers, our pastors and ministers, and, even, our extended relatives. Certainly, between roughly 1981 and 1986, given a choice between spending time with headphones on listening to Rush or watching TV, I would’ve (and did) choose Rush every time. The images Geddy, Alex, and Neil evoked had far more power–at least in my mind, heart, and soul–than that of any exec, writer, or actor associated with the small screen.
I’ve never lost my love of or appreciation of Rush. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve only grown with them.
In particular, I’m happy to note, I’ve celebrated with them. Much of what I knew in the 1990s (those somewhat dreary, pre-marriage graduate school years) came from the internet forum (new in those days), the National Midnight Star and the long-involved discussions of Rush, the lyrics, and the music. The three members of Rush continued to guide me–again, much like my older brothers, always a bit ahead of me in life, always willing to share wisdom with the pesky, somewhat annoying, little brother.
And, of course, as we all did, I mourned with them. When word arrived of Neil’s double losses in the late 1990s–the death of his daughter and his wife–I was devastated for him.
At the time, Neil disappeared, and we all, more or less, assumed Rush was done. Rumors abounded that Neil had gotten on his motorcycle and just taken off. Several friends and I looked for him in the news–an odd announcement here or there might reveal a small detail or a hint. Could he be in Texas, hiding out, looking for a small band to form, perhaps to heal? Perhaps he’d driven to Argentina or Chile.
As it turns out, we were partially right. Neil, as he soon revealed, had indeed been traveling throughout North America on his touring motorcycle, looking for solitude and solace.
After reemerging from a year on the road, he rejoined Geddy and Alex, and the band recorded one of its best albums, an album, as Neil has explained, of victory and redemption.
This would be reason enough to love Vapor Trails. But, the album is also a stunning work of art.
Little did I know when Vapor Trails came out in 2002 that my wife and I would experience something similar, losing our third daughter, Cecilia Rose, named after a great aunt as well as the patron saint of music, in August 2007. Neil would once again–though at a distance–serve as older brother, helping me understand our own terrible and confusing loss. But, this is not the post to go into this. Suffice it say, I understand what Neil experienced.
Vapor Trails
Vapor Trails, as I saw it then, and still do, is three very important things.
First, it’s the most intense album Rush had written and produced since Grace Under Pressure (my favorite Rush album; an album that defined the rather broken, tense world of the 1980s for me).
Second, what’s not to love? The album, even in its resignation and mixed tone, is nothing if not a celebration of life, a tribute of two brothers, supporting and loving the third, helping Neil grieve and helping him overcome. Geddy and Alex throw themselves into this album, as does Neil.
Third, the album is the beginning of an entire re-emergence of Rush, a more rocking as well as more progressive Rush. It’s nearly impossible for me to separate Vapor Trails from Snakes and Arrows and Snakes and Arrows from Clockwork Angels. It’s as though Rush tapped into the very essence of the third wave of prog, having been early pioneers in the genre in the 1970s, and adding their own very Rushian spirit to the movement in the first and second decades of the twenty-first century.
Complaints–but not from me
A lot of long-time Rush fans complained about Vapor Trails when it came out, and many still do. For the diehard Rush fan, Vapor Trails is accepted, but it rarely ranks high. The key excuse for not liking the album has always been, first and foremost, that it was poorly mixed and mastered.
I would never have even considered this as an issue unless others had told me it was. Perhaps I just don’t have the right ears, but I’d always assumed the album was meant to have a bit of a post-grunge, hollowish, sound. I’d assumed this sound quality was a part of its charm.
If, however, the remixed and released version of Vapor Trails is what Rush originally had wanted, then, I finally understand some of the grumblings over the last 11 years.
The remixed 2013 version is a piece of sonic brilliance, an audiophile’s equivalent of an 8- pound bag of peanut M&Ms from Costco, even with the blue dye number 3.
Whatever my own aural limitations, I’m hearing things with the 2013 release that I’d never even imagined with the 2002 version. Every instrument is punctuated and individually enhanced while yet remaining rather seamless in its integration with every other instrument. This is one tight band.
Themes
Not surprisingly, the emotional tone of the lyrics is all over the place. One Little Victory: exactly what it states, victory of life over death. Ceiling Unlimited: hope. Ghost Rider: resignation and penance. Peaceable Kingdom: wishes. The Stars Look Down and How It Is: fate and acceptance. Vapor Trail: fleeting and ephemeral. Secret Touch: stoic fortitude. Earthshine and Sweet Miracle: wonder and grace. Nocturne and Freeze Part IV: unworthiness. Out of the Cradle: victory and pronouncement.
If anything, the 2013 version only highlights Neil’s very personal and confessional lyrics. Indeed, if Grace Under Pressure examines the state of the world and laments, Vapor Trails examines the state of the soul and rejoices. . . mostly.
For my first foray into Progarchy, I would like to talk about the prog god of the year, Jethro Tull’s Ian Anderson, who thankfully is not too old to rock and roll and is definitely too young to die. More specifically, I would like to talk about Ian Anderson’s Thick as a Brick 1 & 2 tour, which I saw at Ravinia, in Highland Park, Illinois, in July of this year. This concert was simply amazing. From the first notes of Thick as a Brick to the final bow, Ian Anderson and co. never cease to amaze. They do not bill themselves as Jethro Tull because Martin Barre is currently not a part of the band. Instead, Florian Opahle fills in as a more than capable guitarist. In fact, every musician in the band is excellent. The lineup is Ian Anderson on flute, acoustic guitar, and vocals, David Goodier on bass, John O’Hara on keyboards and accordion (yes! accordion), Florian Opahle on guitar, Scott Hammond on drums, and Ryan O’Donnell on vocals and stage antics. The latter is an excellent move on Ian Anderson’s part, as O’Donnell can reach the high notes that Anderson can no longer reach. He also has a remarkably similar voice to Ian Anderson of the ’70s, but never fear, for Ian Anderson still does the majority of the singing.
For the concert itself, the band plays Thick as a Brick 1 & 2 in their entirety, as well as Locomotive Breath as an encore. Ian Anderson’s ability to play the flute is unequaled, and he has only gotten better with age. Ian Anderson’s voice has changed considerably over the years, but he still sounds good. Thick as a Brick 2, however, sounds better in concert than it does on the album. I can only attribute that to the fact that the band has been touring for over a year, and knows the music to a tee. Ian Anderson’s flute playing draws the viewer into the concert and captivates their full attention. Thematically, Thick as a Brick 2 makes the listener ponder what life might have been like if they had made different decisions in life, all through relaying several possible career choices for our beloved Gerald Bostock. The final song of the concert, Locomotive Breath, brings the audience to its feet in a finale worthy of Jethro Tull. Throughout the concert, Ian Anderson proves that the music of Jethro Tull really does stand the test of time and that he will never be too old to rock and roll.
Hello Progarchy! As a new member, I’d like to start off with a series that focuses on underappreciated prog rock groups, and Cathedral will be the first. In 1978, this quintet released one of the better American prog albums, Stained Glass Stories, which took elements of Yes, Genesis, and Gentle Giant, and combined them into one beautiful symphony. The album consists of five songs, two of which (Introspect and The Search) are wonderful epic pieces reminiscent of some of Yes’s finest music. Gong is a shorter instrumental piece that hearkens back to Peter Gabriel-era Genesis. The other two songs (The Crossing and Days & Changes) also have a captivating symphonic sound that will remind listeners of Relayer-era Yes or King Crimson’s In the Court of the Crimson King.
Overall, Cathedral did a superb job creating symphonic music inspired by their more popular British contemporaries while also maintaining their own distinct sound. The musicianship is top notch (listen to the crisp sound of Fred Callan’s Rickenbacker bass and Rudy Perrone’s dexterous handling of lead guitar) and let’s not forget the great cover art. The beautiful pastoral setting (dare I say Tolkienian?) arouses a sense of awe and suits the music perfectly. I hope you enjoy this album as much as I did.
It’s almost impossible to go wrong when quoting Bernard of Chartres. It’s also nearly impossible to go wrong when you’re Robin Armstrong. A moving piece of gratitude.
This is turning out to be quite a year for Cosmograf. February saw the release of TMLIS which has exceeded all my expectations in terms of critical acclaim. I was even nominated for a PROG award, as well as the album getting great reviews in the progressive rock press.
The new album scheduled for release in Spring 2014 is now all written and about to go through the exciting phase where I start asking guests to bring the whole thing to life. Once again I’ve been blessed to be able to add Nick D’Virgilio to the cast, and the gods of prog have aligned, allowing his incredibly busy schedule to afford me a tiny window to add his talent on the drum throne.
Set in stone. Chiseled, carved, done. Or, at the very least, set in digital stone.
For the ever-growing number of Big Big Train devotees (now, called “Passengers” at the official Facebook BBT page, administered by everyone’s most huggable rugged handsome non-axe wielding, non-berserker Viking, Tobbe Janson), questions have been raised and discussed as to how BBT might successfully combine and meld English Electric 1 with 2 plus add 4 new songs.
How would they do it with what they’re calling English Electric Full Power? Would they make it all more of a story? Would the album become a full-blown concept with this final version? Where might Uncle Jack, his dog, or the curator stand at the end of the album? Actually, where do they stand in eternity?
The members of BBT have already stated that EE as a whole calls to mind–at least with a minimum of interpretation–the dignity of labor. Would the new ordering and the four new songs augment or detract from this noble theme?
Somewhat presumptuously, many of us Passengers proposed what we believed should be the track order, and I even took it upon myself to email Greg last spring with a list. Well, I am from Kansas, and we’re not known for being timid–look at that freak, Carrie Nation, who dedicated her life to hacking kegs and stills to bits, or to that well-intentioned but dehumanizing terrorist, John Brown, who cut the heads off of unsuspecting German immigrants.
And, then, there’s the fact, for those who know me, that I can produce track lists like I can produce kids. No planning and lots and lots of results.
Or, that other pesky fact, that I’m so far into BBT that I could never even pretend objectivity. [Or, as one angry young man wrote to me after I praised The Tangent, “your head is so far up Andy’s @ss, you can’t even see sunlight.” Cool!; who wants to spend tons of time writing and thinking about things one doesn’t like? Not me! As Plato said, love what you love and hate what you hate, and be willing to state both. Guess what? I love BBT and The Tangent! And, just for the record, I’ve never even met Andy in person, so what was suggested is simply physically impossible.]
Admittedly, maybe I’m such such a fanboy that I’ve gone past subjective and into some kind of bizarre objectivity. You know, in the way Coleridge was so heretical that he approached orthodoxy. Or, maybe I’m just hoping that Greg and Co. will ask me to write the retrospective liner notes for the 20th anniversary release of EE Full Power. I’ll only be 66 then. Who knows? Even if I’m in the happy hunting grounds (I’m REALLY presuming now), I could ask the leader for some earth time. . . .
If you’ve read my bloviations this far, and you’re still interested in my thoughts on English Electric Full Volume, well, God bless you. A real editor would have removed the above rather quickly.
The members of Big Big Train with Dutch photographer, Willem Klopper.
Back from the Blessed Isles of soulful prog realms. . . .
In my reviews of English Electric 1 and 2, I stated that these albums were the height of prog music perfection, the Selling England By the Pound of our day. I wouldn’t hesitate to proclaim this again and, perhaps, even more vocally and with more descriptives.
At the risk of turning off some of my friends, I would say that EEFP is even superior to its 1973 counterpart. How could it not be, really? Selling England is now an intimate and vital part of the prog and the rock music traditions, and it has been for forty years. Add that album and hundreds of others to the integrity, dedication,and purposeful intelligence, imagination, and talents of Greg Spawton, David Longdon, Andy Poole, Dave Gregory, Nick d’Virgilio, Danny Manners, and Rob Aubrey. Putting all of this together, well, of course, you’d demand genius.
You’d expect genius.
And, you’d be correct.
It’s the height of justice that Jerry Ewing of PROG awarded Big Big Train with the Prog Magazine Breakthrough Award.
That breakthrough started with that meaningful paean to British and western patriotism in Gathering Speed, reached toward sublime spheres in The Difference Machine, found a form of edenic Edenic perfection in The Underfall Yard and Far Skies (it’s hard for me to separate these two albums for some reason), and then embraced transcendent perfection in English Electric 1 and 2. Each member who has joined the original Greg and Andy has only added to the latest albums. Nick, the perfectionist drummer; Dave, the perfectionist guitarist; Danny, the perfectionist keyboardist; Rob, the audiophile. And by perfectionist, I don’t mean it in its modern usage, as without flaw, but rather as each having reached his purpose.
I don’t think this point can be stressed enough: these guys are perfectionist NOT against each other but with, around, near, above, and below each other. They are a unit of playful perfectionist individuals who become MORE individual, not less, in their community.
Looking at the history of art from even a quasi-detached and objective viewpoint, I think we all have to admit, this is more than a bit unusual.
Breakthrough, indeed, Mr. Ewing. Breakthrough, indeed.
Greg and Andy don’t become less Greg and Andy as the band grows beyond what they have founded, they become more Greg and more Andy. In the first and second wave of prog, how many bands are known for only getting better and better with each album? Those that did are certainly the exceptions. One of the most important differences of this third wave of prog is that the best only get better, even after twenty years of playing. Exhaustion and writers-block seem to be of another era.
BBT exemplifies this trend of improvement in this movement we now call the third wave of prog. And, not surprisingly, when BBT asks artists to guest with them, they invite those with similar trajectories–Andy Tillison and Robin Armstrong to name the most obvious.
David Longdon. Photo by the Willem Klopper.
Longdon
Again, if you’ve made it this far in this review, you should be asking–hey, Birzer left out David Longdon above, what the schnikees?
Yes, I did. So, let me now praise famous Davids (with apologies to Sirach). I’ve not been shy in past writings (well, over the last four years) to note that I believe David is the finest singer in the rock world at the moment. He has some rather stiff competition, of course, and I reject the notion that he sounds just like “Phil Collins.”
No, David is his own man and his own singer. I do love and appreciate the quality of David’s tone and voice. He possesses a beautiful and talented natural one, to be sure. Nature or God (pick your theology) gave this to David in abundance, and he’s used his own drive and tenacity to bring his voice to the height of his profession.
But, what I love most about David is that he means every single thing he sings. These aren’t “Yeah, baby, let’s do it” lyrics. These are the lyrics of a bard (Greg’s lyrics are just as excellent, of course, as I’ve noted in a number of other articles; these are two of my favorite lyricists of the rock era–rivaling even Mark Hollis).
Longdon can make me as happy as one of my kids running to the playground on the first day the snow thaws (“Let’s Make Some Noise”); he can make me want to beat the living snot out of a child abuser (“ABoy in Darkness”); and he can make me want to start a novena for a butterfly curator.
In no small part, Longdon has a voice that makes me want to trust and follow him.
Put David and Greg together, and their lyrical abilities really knows no known bounds. They are the best writing team, to me, in the last fifty years. I know most would pick Lennon/McCartney, but I’m a firm believer that “electrical storms moving out to sea” trump “I am the walrus.”
Master of many things, Greg Mark Aurelius Spawton. Photo by Willem Klopper.
EEFP
So, what about this third manifestation of English Electric, English Electric Full Power? Well, all I can state with some paradoxical certainty, Spawton, Longdon, and five others, have now shown it is possible to perfect perfection. I’ll use perfect here in its proper sense: not as without flaw (though that would apply as well) but as having reached its ultimate purpose, as I noted above.
EEFP is still very much about the dignity of labor, and, as such, it has to deal with the dignity of the laborer, that is, the fundamental character of the human person in all of his or her stages.
The song order of EEFP, consequently, follows this natural logic.
The opening track, a new one penned by Longdon, celebrates the joys of innocence. David has said it was his goal to invoke the glam rock of his childhood. For me, it invokes the rock of my mother’s college days. A shimmering, pre-Rolling Stones rock.
The video that the band released just makes me smile every time I watch it. The video also confirms my belief that these six (and Rob, the seventh member) really, really like each other.
Rather gloriously, “Make Some Noise” fades into one of the heroic of BBT tracks, “The First Rebreather.” This makes “The First Rebreather” even better, especially when contrasted with the innocence of track one. After all, in The First Rebreather, the hero encounters beings from Dante’s Fifth Circle of Hell (wrath).
The second new song, “Seen Better Days,” begins with a strong post-rock (read: Colour of Spring) feel, before breaking into a gorgeous jazz (more Brubeck than Davis) rock song. All of the instruments blend together rather intimately, and David sings about the founders and maintainers of early to mid 20th century British laboring towns, while lamenting the lost “power and the glory” as that old world as faded almost beyond memory. The interplay of the piano and flute is especially effective.
The third track, “Edgelands,” begins immediately upon the end of “Seen Better Days,” but it’s short. Only 86 seconds long and purely a Manner’s piano tune, it connects “Seen Better Days” with “Summoned by the Bells.” If at the end of those 86 seconds the listener doesn’t realize the creative talents of Mr. Manners, he’s not thinking correctly.
The fourth new track, “The Lovers,” appears on disk two, after “Winchester” and before “Leopards.” The most traditionally romantic and folkish song of the four new ones, Longdon’s voice has a very “Canterbury” feel on this tune, and the tune provides a number of surprises in the various directions it takes.
What’s next for BBT?
Thanks to the delights of social networking, we know that Danny’s kids are concerned that he doesn’t look “rock” enough (he needs to show them some Peter Gabriel videos from Gabriel’s last studio album), and we know that Greg’s middle name is Mark.
Ok, yes, I’m being silly (though all of the above is true).
We do know that Big Big Train is working on a retrospective of their history, but with the current lineup. I don’t think any of us need worry that this (Station Masters) will be some kind of EMI Picasso-esque deconstruction of Talk Talk with a “History Revisited: The Remixes.” Station Masters will be as tasteful, elegant, and becoming as we would expect from Greg and Co.
After that, we know that BBT is writing a full-fledged concept album, their first since The Difference Machine. We know that the boys are in the studio at the very moment that I’m typing this (NDV included).
Perhaps most importantly, though, we trust and have faith that Greg and Co. are leading progressive rock in every way, shape, or form. EEFP is the final version of EE. At least for now. But, BBT is not just breaking through, it’s bringing a vast audience, sensibility, and leadership to the entire third movement of prog. And, for this, I give thanks. Immense thanks.
When it comes to BBT, perfection only gets more interesting.
Manning, is the self-titled band name of the ridiculously talented and very modest Guy Manning, the singer, composer and multi-instrumentalist and former member of The Tangent, very ably backed by a large assembled cast of musicians.
It’s the eve of Manning’s latest album release, the mysteriously book sounding “The Root, the leaf and the Bone” a collection of stories and ideas which predominately centre round the concept of ‘Change’.
For those unfamiliar with his work, this is the fourteenth (!) release in a very impressive and diverse catalogue of albums, that started with the 1999 debut of “Tall stories for small children”.
Over a very prolific decade and a half where he shared his creative time and energy with The Tangent, Manning has crafted his art and production skills and worked as many modern musicians do, on a minuscule budget and with limited time and resources. It’s one of the many things that are to be admired about him and his work.
Key to Manning’s charm and appeal are the ingredients that have not changed much since his first solo outing. Guy is a storyteller and a damn good one at that. From tragic tales of doomed ships to World War one nurses shot for treason, we have a rich library of characters and tales to enthrall the listener.
“Root” is no exception. Several of the tracks on this release are from an original conceived idea of a English village and the stories that centre around that. During the writing phase of the album it was clear that the concept was too limiting for Guy and the village theme was side-lined for a larger overarching theme instead. That said the village stories are there such as the Huntsman and the Poacher, a tale of the hunter becoming the hunted and the Old School which deals with the oppressive systems in the old English boarding school and the desire to overthrow them.
It’s the title song, the album’s 12 minute epic opener that detracts from the village theme and sets the stall for the wider theme. ‘The root, the leaf and the bone’ is key to the whole and deals with the ideas of what is lost in the midst of time, and more importantly, the perceived progress of mankind in the pursuit of improvement. Guy questions, as we all do, perhaps more so as we age, if things are actually better now with our gleaming clean lines of glass and concrete instead of what was before. The charms and the individuality of what came before us has been buried over time, and yet he points us to the truth that eventually the circle comes round and we again look for what was lost and dig it up. Philosophically it looks at our need to keep revisiting our timeline. Where are we going and where have we been? A potent idea that reoccurs again and again throughout the album, finishing spectacularly with the monumental ‘Amongst the Sleepers’. A slow building song which ends in true elevated and grand fashion, similar to the ‘The Southern waves’ from the 2011 release, ‘ Margaret’s Children’.
Capturing the beauty of change as well as the loss.
Musically this album is true to the sound of Manning, in so far as it is anything but clear cut and unafraid to entertain the listener with a vast breadth of influence and style. From Prog to pop to folk, Guy draws on his expansive musical taste and ability and crafts it effortlessly together. A great example of this can be found in the track ‘Decon(struction) Blues’; Guy’s –“Paved paradise and put up a parking lot” – “moment. “Don’t tear it down.” pleads Guy. Ranging from a Tull-esq opening riff to a feeling of Northern soul with pop single sensibilities to a storming rock out moment and a brilliant brass section which evokes lost classic TV theme tunes from a sixties detective series. Guy throws so many elements into the air and seamlessly stitches them together. From the off, this track appeals and has you tapping your foot enthusiastically.
The following track ‘Autumn song’ is a brilliant piece that continues with the theme of change. Less story and more poetry, the lyrics explore the beauty of the change of season which draws the writer into a moment of self-reflection, a feeling we all get from time to time as we ask “So…Is this all there is?” And yet Guy doesn’t want to wallow in melancholy, instead he points us back to the appreciation of the beauty that is all around. Rich in brassy sounds and in particular a lovely bassoon which provides a woody, dark tone this track stands out for its richness. It’s the whiskey liqueur in a box of dark chocolates, a delightful melting quality which feels like something that should be enjoyed in front of an open log fire. Credit goes to the superb Chlöe Herrington for providing this new addition to the Manning palate. The song in some way defines the differences in this release in that Guy has used the wind instruments to a greater extent this time around.
The oak like flavour of Autumn song gives way to the industrial clanging of ‘The Forge’ which revisits an industrious time of craft and manufacture in the heat of the furnace and the chime of an anvil. A view of the lost art of making in the modern times of automation and mass production.
The forge is constructed in a way that other songs on the album follow, it embraces the listener in the golden glow of nostalgia.
Palace of Delights is a prime example of this as Guy takes us into his past through the treats found in a packed village shop, a cornucopia of toys and collector’s items from our youth, all packed into the tight space of an independent local shop. It serves to remind us that our past is easily traced through a series of objects we owned or desired through the years. A truism of the late 20th century, that our lives are mapped out through commercialism.
Old School is part nostalgia and part lesson. (pardon the pun). Whilst it seems interesting to revisit the corridors and classrooms of the past we learn the ugly side of old school, of the overbearing authoritarian practice which bordered on abuse “Make a stand today against draconian violence.”
It’s another Manning bit of story telling, this time we see the pupils rise up in a Grange Hill style siege on the establishment.
‘Mists of Morning calling to the day’ is another outstanding song with its ghostly goings on, it’s a story within a story. Guy’s tale of haunting tales from the village’s past. Its opening folkier riff is pure Manning and something the long-time fans will saviour. This track grows on the listener and opens its beauty with repeated listens.
The Huntsman and the Poacher completes the set of songs that were part of the original village concept along with ‘Mists’ which has found its way into this release. It’s a good track but seems to cling to the edge of the theme rather than fit within it. However it is clear that Guy never intended the listener to see this album as a concept piece and so its place provides an important reminder of this fact.
A final part of this album that needs to be mentioned is the important contribution from the large cast of gifted musicians that have contributed. Not least the regular members, Kris Hudson-Lee on Bass, Julie King’s lovely vocals and Rick Henry on Percussion and David Albone on drums. Completing the main line-up is a return for David Million who is a returning member to the Manning fold. Steve Dundon’s distinctive Flute playing, a feature of so many of Manning’s albums and Marek Arnold on Sax are essential to the band as are so many others involved. The full cast is available on the Manning page under the new release section.
Sometimes overlooked, Manning have produced another gem of an album that is enjoyable from the first listen. After 14 releases it could be easy to assume that this is just another release but that isn’t the case and there is much here for the fans as well as the newcomers. Grab a copy from the Manning website and see what you’re missing. Maybe it’s time for a change?
Art by Brian Watson. Courtesy of Fractal Mirror and Watson.
In one of his most famous books, The Everlasting Man, G.K. Chesterton noted that men (persons; let’s not be sexist!) never come together merely by mutual consent for some advantage or personal gain, at least in the beginning. Long-term societies–civilizations–do not arise out of some abstract compact in which every person agrees to help every other person.
Instead, society–and, hence, civilization–arises when two or more persons find themselves as brothers (sisters, too!) in arms, defending what they believe sacred. Once they recognize they’re each fighting for the same thing, they trust one another, and society is born.
Call it the romantic in me, but Chesterton’s origin story is a lot of more compelling than, say, John Locke’s.
What does this have to do with Fractal Mirror, you might very well be asking? Everything.
As many readers of progarchy know, this site arrived in the world out of an intense love for Big Big Train and a desire to let others know about Greg, David, and co.
Not surprisingly, our progarchists have found that we actually really love all kinds of music, especially when it apprehends or reaches toward the beautiful. Not just BBT, but Cosmograf, Talk Talk, The Reasoning, Cailyn, Kingbathmat, TFATD/Matt Stevens, Ayreon, The Tangent, 3RDegree, Gazpacho, Neal Morse, Transatlantic, The Flower Kings, Nosound, Oceansize, Riverside, Rush, Spock’s Beard, Sanguine Hum, Glass Hammer, and the list goes on.
Some folks love prog for the innovations, and we progarchists (speaking broadly and a bit presumptuously) generally see the innovations as subservient to the drive for truth, beauty, and goodness.
It was almost exactly one rotation around the sun ago that the first post appeared at progarchy. Since, citizenship in our little quasi-anarchist polis has grown wildly. Amen.
***
Art by Brian Watson.
As with progarchy, Fractal Mirror began out of a love for BBT, especially as a community formed around the BBT Facebook page. It’s one of the most interesting–and one of the most neglected aspects–of the current prog scene. Though this third wave of prog is now roughly 20 years old, tight communities have been growing within around, above, below, and near it for just as long!
Probably no current prog group, however, does this better than BBT. While the conversation can take an odd turn here or there, BBT’s FB page hosts and encourages some of the best discussion of music, culture, and history anywhere. Never a dull moment at the BBT FB page, administered, interestingly enough, by everyone’s favorite Swedish progarchist, Tobbe Janson.
There are more connections, some of them rather intimate. Leo Koperdraat inspired much of the writing for progarchy from and with his own many reviews written for DPRP (our heroes), while Frank Urbaniak (drummer) and Brian Watson (artist) are citizens of perfect standing in the pseudo-anarchical progarchy.
[Progarchy, it should be noted, has no border guards, border fences, customs officials, or TSA agents]
After reviewing and talking about music for years, DPRP’s Leo Koperdraat (voice, guitars, keyboards, and lyricist) decided to create a band. He and Ed Van Haagen (bass and keyboards) have been playing together for years, and the two recruited Frank (drums and lyrics on one song). Throw in Brian’s always stunning artwork (and the lyrics on one song), guest spots by Don Fast (an unofficial fourth member of the band and brother of famed keyboardist, Larry Fast) on guitar and Charlotte Koperdraat (Leo’s daughter) on vocals, and some advice from Nosound’s Giancarlo Erra, and the result is a thing of brilliance, a thing of beauty, a treasure, frankly.
I’m never a fan of labels or of categorization. Prog generally needs no descriptives to modify it. Retroprog, crossoverprog, etc., seem so bloody (may my English friends forgive me for employing their perfect word) redundant to me. I’m fully with Andy Tillison on this. Prog means everything can be thrown in the mix. It’s music as art, and art as music. In the same way that Arvo Part uses amplifiers to make a point in modern symphonies, so a rock artist should feel free to employ anything traditionally classical to underscore the drama of the music.
Prog, by definition, means breaking boundaries.
***
Art by Brian Watson
This written, even if I wanted to label Fractal Mirror’s first release, “Strange Attractors,” I’m not even sure how I would do so.
I can, however, state unequivocally, it’s gorgeous, stunning, moody, intense, brooding, uplifting, punctuated, driving, subtle, sustained, lush, flowing, inspiring.
One might call it New Wave/prog or alt rock/prog. Indeed, as I listen repeatedly (it’s rather addictive), I’m reminded much of the intensity of Peter Murphy or Robert Smith (Faith-era), the lushness of Reverberation-era Echo and the Bunnymen, the wall of sound of My Bloody Valentine, the punctuations of The Fixx, and the vocal sensibilities (though the voices sound NOTHING alike) of Andy Partridge on “This World Over.”
It would be fair, however, to label this music as moody, lulling, serious, and accompanied by waves of sound rather than a wall of sound. Ten tracks long, none of the songs meander, ranging from 2:56 to 5:42 minutes in length.
Yet, there’s a coherency to the album as a whole, and if an engineer–a la Todd Rundgren–might connect it all, one song to another, it would work just as well. Coherence without sameness.
The famed Rhys Marsh mastered “Strange Attractors,” and it shows. Each of the musicians is in top form. I’m especially taken with Koperdraat’s anguished vocals, Van Haagen’s fluid bass, and Urbaniak’s spacious drums. Each remains distinctive and alive, but always forming a coherent whole. Each offers a uniqueness as a part of a whole. Hard to explain, frankly, but it’s a fundamental part of this excellent album.
As some progarchists have noted, the number of releases that are prog or prog-related (those labels again!) is sometimes overwhelming, as though drinking from a fire hose. Fractal Mirrors MUST NOT get lost in this current deluge of goodness. It’s distinctive, and it needs a market. No, let me put that better. Right now, Fractal Mirror is looking at all distribution options. A record company would be foolish to pass this one up. These guys are at the beginning of something vital, ready to spring forth into the world.
I’m deeply honored to be a part of the BBT and the progarchy community, and I’m equally honored to know that something so gorgeous and meaningful has arisen out of these communities (Ave, Gregory Mark Aurelius Spawton!). Leo, Ed, and Frank–highest kudos to you. And, thank you–for trusting me with such glimpses of the rotating spheres. . . .
Dane Henrik Aakjaer founded and ran it, and he did so with a certain grace. I fondly remember the many discussions we had there about everything post-rock and post-prog (at least what would be called these things).
Lee Harris, Talk Talk’s drummer, even consented to an interview and a chat. In those days, it was still rare for musicians to communicate so openly with fans on the internet.
In the summer of 1998, Brit David Gulvin posted an offer to all readers and participants of Within Without:
Name: David Gulvin Website: Referred by: Just Surfed On In! From: UK Time: 1998-06-09 12:49:18 Comments: I just thought I’d communicate a word to you about ORDINARY PSYCHO, who with the very kind permission of Henrik who runs this site, have a free promo CD offer tagged to this site. Thanks to everyone who have replied so far, I’ve had well over 80 responses so keep them coming. Sorry for not always being able to reply directly to your e-mails, this is because my e-mail still runs on CCMAIL so each internet reply has to be set up individually. Soon I will set up an email mailing list to keep you updated. A website of their own is being planned now. I’d dearly appreciate all of you who have received CD’s to e-mail me your response, even if you don’t like OP (God forbid!) Piggybacking comparative artists on the web is part of the early promotion for OP so you guys with CD’s are some of the earliest fans. I suggest you hang on to them, and tell your friends now, so that they believe you in a few years time when you say, “I was into OP years ago, when they first started on the Talk Talk Web!” Any suggestions like the one about Roger Waters most welcome. Thanks again to all TT fans supporting OP.
I was still unmarried and living in Montana. I sent Gulvin my address, not expecting much. Happily (still a great feeling), a package arrived in the mail. He’d sent me a copy of his EP, “Ordinary Psycho,” a mixing of three different parts of a forthcoming album: Private Island; Excerpts; and Love By Sin.
I tried to follow the band’s progress, but they never made much of a splash in America, and I lost track of them. Over the last several years, I’ve tried to find out what happened. It appears from what little I can find online that they made one album and disappeared.
This EP, which seemed so unexpected in 1998, has been a little treasure of mine for fifteen years. I’m sorry that Gulvin seems to have gone underground, as so much of the 20 minutes I’ve had the privilege of hearing is quite stunning. It would fit rather nicely (and, I guess, does) in the larger world of third wave prog.
So, David, if you’re out there, please know that you’ve made one soul a very happy one for a decade and a half. And, all simply a gift that arrived unexpectedly one day at the foot of Mount Helena.
Progarchy 
