The idea for ‘Friendship’ came to me because of an old photo of me as a child. I found this old photo at my parents’ house, depicting me standing on top of this really tall treehouse in a glade near our house. Although I of course remembered it as being really high up in the tree tops as a child, this picture proved that it really was! As I reminisced about the treehouse I started thinking about my childhood friends with whom I built it. We were the best of friends and we spent so much time together in this little village where I used to live. This of course made me think about all the friends I used to have, these relationships where you hung out all the time, went through childhood together, grew up and knew everything about each other and then all of a sudden, for some reason, disappeared from each other’s lives. This phenomenon of falling out with someone is still a mystery to me, but I’ve learned to accept it, much like the separation of death it’s just a part of life and the nature of our course of life, I guess. So this is a collection of songs about and for all of my friends, dead or alive, past and present. I chose to base the stories around the treehouse in the glade, not because all of my memories are from there, but rather that it’s the place that made me think back on all of this.
Musically, what can I say? This is prog rock, but I want to be free to move in whatever direction the music wants to go and I happily go exploring where it wants to take me. Even though there are a few softer songs and sections, most of the album turned out to be a rocker; a collection of hard rock songs with lots of tricky parts, some heavier moments and some downright jazzy elements too!
Track listing:
1. Ghost of Vanity
2. Friendship
3. They Fade
4. A Treehouse in a Glade
5. Stone Cold
6. If You Fall, Pt. 2
7. Crown of Leaves
8. Slow Dancer (Bonus Track)
9. Past Generation (Bonus Track)
10. Friendship (Utopian Radio Edit) (Bonus Track)
Toto at Frederik Meijer Gardens Amphitheatre, Grand Rapids Michigan, August 24, 2018.
Toto’s sold out my local outdoor shed twice in the past three years. Last time through, they stacked the deck, playing plenty of hits and radio favorites. This year, with the anniversary compilation 40 Trips Around the Sun to flog, they took more chances with a deep-cut setlist, a semi-acoustic storytellers interlude, and extended displays of their fearsome chops. Riding a fresh wave of Internet love, they could do no wrong for the hyped-up crowd.
And the same held true for me; I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart (and possibly my critical faculties) for Toto. A posse of Los Angeles studio aces melding Steely Dan’s shuffles, Boz Scaggs’ blue-eyed soul, crunchy proto-Van Halen guitar and proggy synthesizer fanfares, with the mission statement (from founding drummer Jeff Porcaro in Rolling Stone) “craft is content”? No wonder rock critics hated their guts, especially when when they got triple platinum sales out of the box. Their goal was to make sleek, catchy pop with a touch of musical ambition, get on radio and move records — not bare their souls, change the world, or even necessarily write sensible lyrics. There’s an odd, appealing purity to that aim, no matter how calculated the strategy.
Top 40 radio courts a different sound these days, but Toto still has a knack for the killer hook; kicking off, new songs “Alone” and “Spanish Sea” were every bit as engaging as the singalong version of “Hold the Line” and Toto IV’s “Lovers of the Night” that they framed. Following spirited takes of tracks from forgotten-stepchild albums like Tambu and Turn Back, the band lit the fuse on Kingdom of Desire’s funky instrumental “Jake to the Bone;” guest keyboardist Dominique “Xavier” Talpin (subbing for founder David Paich) and guitarist Steve Lukather stoked their lengthly solos to the boiling point, while synth whiz Steve Porcaro and the rhythm section (Shem von Schroeck on bass, Shannon Forest on drums, Lenny Castro on percussion) simmered underneath. Building on the momentum, “Rosanna” was a foregone, happily welcomed conclusion to the first half, with singer Joseph Williams (the John Williams’ son! Really!) and sax man Warren Ham helping bring the crowd to their feet.
The storytellers interlude — with everyone sitting on stools and Lukather playing acoustic guitar — had its charms, even though the six selections (including Porcaro’s “Human Nature” from Michael Jackson’s Thriller) were truncated to keep things moving. Ramping up again, the band dove deeper into their catalog, holding the audience’s attention even through obscurities like the Dune soundtrack’s impressive “Desert Theme”. But in the end, past was all prologue; the moment Lukather shouted, “Are you ready for that song?” and Castro and Forrest launched the polyrhythms of “Africa,” Meijer Gardens went joyously, deliriously nuts. It was gonna take a lot to drag 2,000 fans away from that moment; they were all in — dancing, singing along, clapping during Castro’s exhilarating solo, chanting back and forth vocals with Williams, responding with a full-throated standing ovation. Hard to beat an extended moment of pop ecstasy like that — even if you’re frightened of this thing that you’ve become.
One quick and grungy cover of Weezer’s “Hash Pipe” later (sadly, without Rivers Cuomo or “Weird Al” Yankovic in sight), Toto was done, the crowd went home happy, and my streak of satisfying showsin 2018 was unbroken. Check out another review of the show, with an extensive photo gallery, here.
Though I’m a prog man at heart, I like to think of myself as open to all forms of music. Granted, I have yet to hear a single country or rap song that I like, but I certainly love much of classical and symphonic, jazz, and various forms of rock. One thing I miss in the rock world are compilation albums. I definitely don’t mean “greatest hits” packages. I mean albums that contain songs by various artists coming together for a particular purpose. Usually, this purpose was for movie soundtracks, but not always.
Looking at my own collection–however limited–it looks to me that the best of these came out in the 1990s. I will admit, though, that my love of these specific compilation albums might have much to do with some happy nostalgia for a pre-9/11, far more innocent world.
Here are my favorite four from that time period.
Before it’s too late. . .
4. “Until the End of the World”–a soundtrack for the Wim Wenders film of the same name. The album features songs–every one of them good–by a number of artists I would never listen to, otherwise, such as Depeche Mode, Lou Reed, and T-Bone Burnett. Even the major bands that appear–such as Talking Heads, Nick Cave, and U2 give it their best. My favorite song, by far, is “Calling All Angels,” performed by Jane Siberry and K.D. Lang.
The musical entity that is Rush is not an easy thing to define. Where many have foundered, there is no reason to assume that I will fare any better, except perhaps that I have access to the actual facts, and some inside information on the motivations. We have always done our utmost to elude any convenient classifications, in spite of those who must affix a label and assign a function to everything in sight, whether they really fit or not.
It may be that the only term loose enough to encompass anything of the concept of Rush, is simply “progressive rock”, for it is to this ideal of enjoyment, integrity, and freedom of expression that we have dedicated ourselves. Our music is aimed at the head, at the heart, and at the abdomen. We can only hope that it finds its mark in yours.
Prejudice. It’s something all of us have. As a product of human error, all of us sometimes unfairly judge based off stereotypes and predetermined opinions, musical or not. I have always had a prominent discrimination against something many people love. That something is metal music. My opinion on metal music was harsh and unfair, quickly dismissing it as shallow and insignificant. To me, metal always consisted of repeated chugging chords and strange animal noises replacing actual singing, with cheesy and soft sections interspersed. I thought of metal as a self-indulgent form of music, that served only to please the ostentatious and overblown bands and their ridiculously loyal fans. It was a brutal criticism of a genre I didn’t know well at all, and it served only to damage my listening experience. The worst part was, I believed myself for the longest time. That is, until I listened to Subnoir’s debut masterpiece A Long Way From Home. Rarely can a single album give you a completely different outlook on an entire genre, but the album did it, and if I have one regret about it, it’s not listening to it sooner.
What makes ALWFH differ from other metal albums A.D. is that it’s simply a way in for anybody who doesn’t warm to metal easily. It effortlessly mixes elements of indie rock, sludge metal, post-rock, progressive, and even ambient into its own unique hybridization of genres. However, it’s still recognizable as metal (and some damn good metal at that): its rich and heavy chords and growling vocals are staples of the genre done one better, and its unconventional song structure recalls progressive metal bands such as Opeth or even Mastodon. However, Subnoir remember something so many metal bands seem to forget: to make their music beautiful. When not pounding out chords so rich they seem tangible, the band are creating softly meandering interludes that are nothing short of gorgeous (if in a subtly menacing way).
In addition to improving on already-established standards of metal, Subnoir constantly find new ways to innovate and expand the genre’s depths. The album is “progressive” in every sense of the word. Subnoir also constantly show restraint on the album; instead of taking the “easy way out” and constantly letting the songs devolve into sludgy jam sessions, the band choose to take longer musical paths and let the songs build themselves to beautiful apexes. The band constantly discard conventional structure in favor of an infinitely more interesting way of building their songs: sometimes subtly disquieting passages will suddenly give way to triumphantly blasting guitar chords, or the band will introduce an unexpected riff, or even give ad-lib nods to other genres. Whatever it is they end up doing, the band always excite and are never predictable, giving the album an impulsive edge.
While they show brilliance in the songwriting category, the band’s members also make it known that they sure as hell know what they’re doing with their instruments. Frontman Kenneth Mellum is the best of both worlds: his singing has a gruff yet affecting edge, while his growling never feels forced or laughably indulgent, like so many others do. His voice fits perfectly with the astoundingly rich chords played on the guitars, and, both his voice and the guitars acting as instruments, the pair is one you won’t likely see bettered in almost any metal band. Subnoir excel in other instrumental fields as well: the drumming is consistently strong, while the atmospheric tones that complement the quieter sections are always placed to near-perfection.
A Long Way From Home is not an album that can be taken apart track-by-track. While each track makes for a fascinating individual listen, the album is best taken as a whole. The length of the album’s songs (the album spans eight songs and 50 minutes) may seem a little daunting for the uninitiated, but the album is easily welcoming for anyone willing to give it their undivided attention. The album is a seductive experience, trading in structure and melody for overall sound and tone. It may not be the most accessible metal album on the market, but it should have any listener quickly scrambling for their future works. I know I will.
Until then support Subnoir by checking out A Long Way From Home on Bandcamp.
Seven albums on, Soft Machine was stuck. Founding organist Mike Ratledge was still around, but his contributions had diminished to an ongoing flow of “cosmic tinkles” — minimalist electric piano patterns enhanced by tape delay effects. Keyboardist/reed player Karl Jenkins had taken up the compositional slack, but the music was edging into blandness onstage, no matter how much oomph bassist Roy Babbington and drummer John Marshall kicked up. At Marshall’s suggestion, the Softs decided to freshen their palette with a different solo voice — namely, Allan Holdsworth on guitar.
Recruiting a guitarist for a band that hadn’t had one since 1968 seemed a drastic move, but the gamble paid off handsomely. The young Holdsworth brought guts and brio back to Soft Machine’s sound, digging deep to play off Babbington and Marshall, spitting out energetic improvisations that channeled his idols John Coltrane and John McLaughlin. Equally fired up, Jenkins and Ratledge composed extended suites with plenty of space for blowing, and the Softs hit the road with a completely new set. Archive releases from that year’s world tour such as Cuneiform’s Switzerland 1974 and MoonJune’s Floating World Live (recorded in England in early 1975) amply display the impressive results.
The excitement carried over to 1975’s Bundles, the Softs’ first album for EMI’s Harvest label. The side-long epic “Hazard Profile” is the perfect introduction to the new sound: Holdsworth’s light-speed melodicism nicely complements Jenkins’ classically tinged ruminations; Babbington and Marshall groove relentlessly; Ratledge even provides a skittering synthesizer solo that nods at his salad days. The players are in full flight throughout, locking in over a variety of backgrounds and moods; there’s new room for acoustic interludes (Holdsworth’s “Gone Sailing”) and multi-sectioned proggy workouts (the Jenkins/Holdsworth mashup “Bundles/The Land of the Bag Snake”). Even the “cosmic tinkles” get a shot of adrenalin in Ratledge’s unstoppable crescendo “The Man Who Waved at Trains/Peff” and Jenkins’ lush, spacious “The Floating World.” The future looked bright again.
But, predictably for those who know both Soft Machine and Holdsworth history, it wasn’t that simple; Holdsworth left just as Bundles was released, joining Miles Davis alumni Tony Williams’ New Lifetime. With more touring already booked, the group quickly tapped up-and-coming guitarist John Etheridge (Holdsworth’s suggestion) for the open slot. Etheridge fit the bill, with his spare, muscular style leaving more space for his bandmates to shine onstage.
Recording the next album brought further changes: Alan Wakeman (Rick’s cousin!) joined on hard-charging solo sax, so Jenkins could focus on keys and composing; the new tunes drew sharper lines between tightly arranged prog/classical movements and vamps to improvise over; and Mike Ratledge’s long exodus from Soft Machine culminated in contributions to just two tracks. Despite all these shifts, 1976’s Softs had plenty of energy and appeal, a striking variety of well-crafted textures, space for free blowing on Side Two (dig “The Camden Tandem” and the end of “One Over the Eight”), and first-class playing throughout.
Still, poor record sales and precarious finances took their toll. Wakeman bailed on the eve of another tour, replaced by Ray Warleigh; afterwards, Warleigh and Babbington left, with the bass chair taken first by Brand X’s Percy Jones, then by Steve Cook; violinist Ric Saunders became the second soloist, lending a Mahavishnu Orchestra tinge to the proceedings. By 1977, the band was actively splintering, with members taking lucrative side gigs to make ends meet and a variety of live substitutes (even Holdsworth!) filling in as necessary.
Given the situation, recording Soft Machine’s 1977 Paris gigs was deemed the way forward to another album. Disaster ensued: equipment was held up at customs, safety officials limited attendance, an assistant recording engineer failed to turn up, and Etheridge and Cook’s instruments were stolen after the first night. And yet Alive and Well: Recorded in Paris comes off remarkably well: the new music is solid; the band interplay on “Huffin'” and “The Nodder” is stunningly on point, and even the Giorgio Moroder-style disco funk concoction “Soft Space” (complete with uncredited contributions from Ratledge) clicks. (Note that Esoteric Recordings’ 2010 reissue features an extra disc of live outtakes.)
And then — nothing. Well, nothing except 1981’s Land of Cockayne — in actuality, producer Mike Thorne’s invitation for Karl Jenkins to record with both rock and orchestral forces. Despite a stellar cast (including Softs alumni Marshall, Warleigh and Holdsworth, plus bass legend Jack Bruce) and echoes of past glories like “Panoramania” and “Sly Monkey,” Land of Cockayne is a completely different beast, the most mainstream music ever released under the Soft Machine name. Ultimately, it proved a marker toward the rest of Jenkins’ career, occasionally in collaboration with Mike Ratledge: advertising jingles (including the inescapable-for-a-time DeBeers Diamond music), then the 1990s classical crossover project Adiemus, then a full-blown career as an orchestral composer, culminating with a 2015 knighthood.
It had been a good run, but after one last week-long London residency in 1984, Soft Machine was no more. Still, the legacy of the band lived on in its recordings and in the work of its numerous alumni until …
Bongripper simply proves vocals are optional for an idyllic doom atmosphere. For an instrumental sludge/doom album clocking 43 minutes, and with just two songs, it takes stunningly creative song writing directions. Sublime and adequately downtuned, Terminal integrates those dreary elements from doom straight into an atmospheric sludge wall.
With thick bass lines and precision beats interleaved with dreamy solos, at times it’s slow to the point where time itself stands still. Almost like ‘Dance of December Souls’ meets the legendary ‘Odd Fellows Rest’. When this sonic grind of sludge meets doom like guitar hues, it tends to become a perfect introspective complement to a misty weekend evening, probably wasted at a dim tavern, with suitable amounts of your choice for that chilled beverage.
This summer saw the long-awaited second release from Melody’s Echo Chamber: Bon Voyage arrived after five stop-and-go and, at times, tortuous years. On its June 15 release date Melody Prochet (vocal, guitar, synthesizers, violin, viola) wrote on her Facebook band page,
Today is a day life forced me to give up waiting for… ‘Bon Voyage’ is a little monster I hope will find it’s home in some of your hearts and…if not soothe, will resonate somehow positively…
So it comes down to listeners interacting with this beast, a theme-park ride of a record, while the artist, one imagines, pulls the covers over her head. First off, it is little, clocking in at a compendious 33 minutes. But given its twists and turns, its density and scope, the brevity of the work allows repeat listens to work out its strange but satisfying logic.
As I told a friend: I can’t imagine a Syd Barrett or Brian Wilson or Todd Rundgren or Wayne Coyne not really liking this record.
Prochet (b. 1987, Puyricard, France) began working on her sophomore project and releasing tracks (e.g. “Shirim”) in 2013. Rumor has it she threw away some of the material. Then last year she was involved in an undisclosed accident resulting in serious injuries. Her fans despaired until Bon Voyage was dropped in time for the summer solstice.
Melody’s Echo Chamber (2012) was readily classified as “psych pop.” But for those who tire of musical taxonomies Bon Voyage is as open borders as they come. The opening track “Cross My Heart” begins with composite acoustic guitar chords followed by a swelling string arrangement, a mid ’60s Wilsonish verse, then a beat box section folding into a flute and percussion-driven jazz passage embellished with some fanatical bass lines. The lyrics here, as throughout the album, flow freely between English and French. We’re escorted back to the opening chords for a reprise of the main (?) verse and a riff-laden, cinematic flourish.
As soon as “Breathe In, Breathe Out” drops a power rock groove the listener’s head-bobbing is interrupted by a trance section before the track accelerates again to its finish, the opening themes reworked but almost unrecognizable in the sonic whiplash.
Prochet cites composer Olivier Messiaen (1908 – 1992) as a favorite, and perhaps what we catch on this record are flecks of his emphasis on color and unusual time signature.
The first of two foci on this record is “Desert Horse,” pairing a dark Middle Eastern groove (including on old Black Sabbath riff) with a bright but plaintive chorus,
So much blood On my hands And there’s not much left to destroy I know I am better alone
…except the isolation that birthed this record finds its emotional epicenter in the epic “Quand Les Larmes D’un Ange Font Danser La Neige.” Ironically it’s among the more conventional and readily accessible tracks on the album, even at seven minutes. Imagine the Bee Gees not taking that disco detour…
[spoken word] …it comes through the window like a whistle or a whisper under the bed and little children think that the monster —
Angels, aching Keep smiling Ain’t no karma, only love To punish those with rotten heart
Good to have Melody’s Echo Chamber back — and this creature on the loose.
A deluxe 3cd/1dvd limited edition box set of BBD’s beloved 1976 studio release.
Remastered from the original tapes, this edition features 39 tracks, stunning 5.1 and stereo mixes by Stephen W. Tayler, album session out-takes, a BBC Radio In Concert performance from January 1976, a rare John Peel Show session from February 1976, along with an unissued and previously unreleased 1976 Harvest Records promotional video for Ships in the Night and a session for BBC TV’s Old Grey Whistle Test show from January 1976.
Includes a 68 page book with previously unseen photographs and an essay by Bill Nelson, plus a facsimile of the 1976 Sunburst Finish tour programme, postcards and a replica poster.
Pre-order for 16th November release. An expanded and remastered double CD edition is also available.
Progarchy 