The Progarchy Interview: Tim Bowness, Part 2

In Part 1 of Tim Bowness’ latest Progarchy interview, Tim discussed his previous solo albums, working again with his first band Plenty, reuniting with Steven Wilson for new No-Man music, and how all this feeds into his new album Flowers At The Scene (released March 1 on Inside Out Music).   We dig into the new album in depth below!  Note that [brackets] below indicate editorial insertions.

Pulling it back to Flowers At The Scene, it’s interesting what you said about how really, there are some [pieces] that you’re producing, there’s some that you and Brian [Hulse] are working on, there’s some that you and Brian and Steven [Wilson] are working on.   It all feels like a unity when I listen to it.  Despite the variety of colors, it’s, as you say, it feeds on what you’ve done before, but it goes in really interesting, different directions.  Are there any particular songs that you feel are at the core of the album?

I would say you’re right, it does feel like an album.  One thing that’s important to me is, I know in this age of streaming and Spotify it’s not particularly fashionable, but I love the album.  I’ve always loved the album as a statement.  And in some ways, although this album is different from the other albums – I mean, the previous three albums had themes to a degree.  Lost In The Ghost Light was a narrative concept album. Stupid Things That Mean The World and Abandoned Dancehall Dreams had linking lyrical themes in a way.  This is different in the sense that it’s eleven very separate moods, very separate lyrics, very separate songs.  And yet it fits together, I think, in a kind of classic 43-minute album format.  And in some ways, I think it’s the album that flows best of all four.  There’s something about it that it kind of moves from one mood to another.  And yet it holds together.

I suppose the key songs would have been when “Flowers At The Scene” and “Not Married Anymore” were written.  And I just felt that Brian and I had been coming up with material that had its own distinct identity.  And I also had a certain idea of how I wanted them to sound – and suddenly that was it!  And I guess that there’s this [Robert] Fripp line, he would always say that a new direction presented itself.  And I think that it’s true, because I’d continued writing material on my own, and I’d continued writing material with Stephen Bennett while I was recording the Plenty album.  And although the material was good, it felt like it was gonna be a continuation of Lost In The Ghost Light or Stupid Things That Mean The World.

And I think that it was when I’d written the fifth song with no purpose really – Brian and I just kept on writing together because we were excited by what we were doing.  And I think it would have been “Flowers At The Scene”, the title track itself, and I thought, “this is the new direction; it’s presented itself.” And from that moment on, it became a very exciting and immersive project and I said to Brian, “I think this is the basis of a new solo album. And it feels like a fresh direction after the other albums.”  And you’re right that, what’s kind of interesting for me is it’s fresh, it’s a reset, but perhaps because of the mood of some of the music and because of my voice, there’s also a sense of continuation.

And certainly one of the things that contributes to it being fresh is this cast of musicians that you gathered, which is really genuinely impressive.  So many great names with great work that have fed into this.  I was wondering if I could just toss out names and, in a few words, you could try to describe what each of these guys have brought to the music for the album.  Starting with Jim Matheos.

Well, Jim’s somebody I’ve known for a few years.  He asked me to guest on an OSI album [Blood], probably about nine years ago now.  And I really enjoyed it.  So the track, which is called “No Celebrations”, felt very different for me; it was very much in that OSI art-metal style, but it accommodated my singing as well.  And after that, we carried on communicating together.  So occasionally he’s asked me for advice about things, and also we had co-written a couple of tracks that had never been released.

And when I was doing this album, I thought I’d love to get him involved.  Because one of the tracks I’d been developing had him on anyway, and he’s an incredibly versatile guitarist.  Very, very nice guy, but what people I don’t think are aware of is how versatile his talent is.  So his own music can be anything from sort of ambient experimental to metal to classical acoustic guitar.  And I knew how good he was as a soloist, and so I got him – really, he was my stunt guitarist on the album on a few tracks.  And he did some fantastic work on it.

Peter Hammill.  What a legend!

Yeah!  Well, Peter’s somebody who when I was growing up, when I was in my teens, he was one of my favorite singers.  And as I’ve said to people, what’s interesting with this album is that, probably my five favorite singers when I was 13 would have been David Bowie, Peter Hammill, Peter Gabriel, Kate Bush and Kevin Godley.  And I’ve two of them on the album, and it’s an incredible thrill to have that!

Over the years, Peter’s become a friend.  We ended up playing on lots of the same albums in Italy, and we got to know one another.  And over the years, he’s guested on my work; and we even live in the same small town in England!  And so he’s probably my sort of coffee and chat companion, where we’ve put the political and the musical world to rights once a month.  And as I always say about Peter, he’s as nice, generous and decent as his music is frightening!

[Laughs] Oh, that’s a great summary!

[Laughs] Absolutely!  Cause, you know, you wouldn’t want him to be as frightening as [Van der Graaf Generator’s] Pawn Hearts really, would you?

[Laughs] No, not in the slightest!

It is true; you’d be coughing your coffee up.  It’s not good!  [Both laugh] So yeah, lovely guy, and we’ve worked on a few things.  And the thing about Peter is he is very honest about his opinion.  So interestingly enough, I’d asked him to work on Lost in the Ghost Light, but he wasn’t as much a fan of that material.  So basically, he works on what he likes.  And he’d worked on the Stupid Things That Mean the World album, and I’d played him this album in progress.  He’d mixed an album for me as well.  There’s a Bowness/[Peter] Chilvers album that’s been unreleased that Peter’s mixed, which is quite an interesting project in itself.

And while I was making the new album I said, “ah, you know, a couple of Hammill-shaped holes here!”  And he heard it, and he heard exactly what I wanted, and he really liked the material.  One of the tracks he put a great deal into it, there’s a track on it called “It’s The World”.  I’d played it to him, and initially I wanted his bite – there’s a real sort of bite in his voice, I wanted this in the chorus.  And he said, “Yep, I know exactly what you want; I’ll get it to you.  But I tell you what else I’ll give you; I’ll give you guitars, because the guitars on this aren’t working!”  And so he completely re-recorded the chorus guitars, and almost went into sort of Rikki Nadir [from Hammill’s proto-punk solo album Nadir’s Big Chance] mode, and did a fantastic job.

So on the track “It’s The World” he’s on kind of backing and lead vocals, and also adds some really ferocious guitar parts.  And he made the piece work.  So that was an interesting case, where the piece I think was pretty good as it was, but he gave it an extra edge and an extra looseness.

Got it!  One of the newer singers on the album is David Longdon.  I know you collaborated with Big Big Train on a b-side [“Seen Better Days (the brass band’s last piece)”].  What did David bring?

Well, I suppose I asked him to be on the piece [“Borderline”] and I’d suggested a particular approach to backing vocal which he used.   I almost wanted this kind of rich, Michael McDonald/Steely Dan approach.  That’s something I wanted: a comfortable bed of David Longdon voice, really, and he gave that.  And then he added some flute as a means of contrasting with the trumpet.  And he did a beautiful job in both cases, really.  So I suppose what he gave was himself, so he kind of knew the places where I wanted him to play, and where I wanted him to be, and with the backing vocal he was effectively re-singing the melody that I’d already sung on the demo.

But with the flute, he performed a really beautiful solo, and it was great!  Because although the trumpet was recorded in the outback in Australia – I used a jazz musician, a guy called Ian Dixon, who’s worked with No-Man, he was on Returning Jesus, several tracks on that, and he’s a wonderful sort of jazz trumpet player.  And his studio is a tin shack in the outback in Australia!  And he said when he recorded it, it was in the middle of the rainy season.  So he’s recording that with crashing rain on the tin roof – which I thought was very romantic!  And David really beautifully worked with Ian’s trumpet.  And to me, it sounds as if the two could be in the room together playing!  So they worked very nicely together, and I suppose in that case, I knew what I wanted, and I got what I wanted.  But it was still different, the playing, the expression that the two of them had given was entirely their own.

Continue reading “The Progarchy Interview: Tim Bowness, Part 2”

PET SOUNDS, 1966-2016: Fifty Years of Prog

pet-sounds
Arguably, the very first prog album.

Though I’m sure someone could make the case for either REVOLVER or SGT. PEPPER’s being the first prog album, I’ve always turned to PET SOUNDS by the Beach Boys.  I’m sure there’s a bit of the American in me that desires this to be so, so I can’t completely claim to be unbiased.  I know English proggers–understandably–think of Prog as one of their many national gifts to the world, somewhere above the Magna Carta.  And, it is!  Still, it’s conceivable that it came about in California but then was perfected by the English.  Maybe.  Maybe not.

 

As Brian Wilson has noted, he found his own inspiration for the album in RUBBER SOUL by the Beatles.  Is it possible the influence went both directions across the Atlantic?  Most certainly.

Regardless, PET SOUNDS is fifty years old.  And, what an extraordinary achievement it is.  Though one might regard it somewhat probably as a Brian Wilson solo album, it came out under the name of the Beach Boys, and it carries with it many of the trademark Beach Boy sounds and touches.

Continue reading “PET SOUNDS, 1966-2016: Fifty Years of Prog”

$350. Not a Cheap Book.

Andy Partridge and Todd Bernhardt – Complicated Game – Inside The Songs Of XTC – One-Off Hardback Edition (book preorder)

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Andy Partridge’s new book is rather pricey.  Are WWII paper restrictions still in effect?

A truly unique hardback edition of Complicated Game – Inside The Songs Of XTC.

Covers will have a one-off dust jacket depicting a song title from XTC’s career hand-painted by Andy Partridge himself. Additionally, there will be a bookplate signed by Andy inside the book.

The book is presented as a black clothbound hardback with muted green endpapers and lilac page edging.

Limited to one copy per customer. Only 50 copies are available.

Shipping from 31st March onwards (as paintings are completed).

All Rise! The Feast of St. Dave Gregory

Mister Lazy he's not.  Photo borrowed from guitargonauts.info.
Mister Lazy he’s not. Photo borrowed from guitargonauts.info.

I’m not sure if I could exactly articulate my reasons as to why, but I’m not the least surprised that Dave Gregory’s birthday is two days away from the Autumnal Equinox.  There’s a fullness and a force of the seasons not only in the calmness that radiates from Gregory’s humane qualities (he’s a true gentleman), but there’s also an intensity of life in all of his art.

Clearly, his music resides somewhere in that last joyous blast of summer love and freedom.

Regardless, happy birthday, Mr. Gregory.  I know I speak for many upon many when I thank you for all you’ve given to the music world over the past four decades.  Whether it’s pop, punk, new wave, rock, chamber, or prog, you give your absolute all.

The best way to celebrate such a feast?  Listen and watch away!

And best of all, a brilliant interview with Dave.  Well worth watching it all.

Arrived at Progarchy This Week

Lots of good stuff–old, new, redone–arrived at progarchy hq this week.  Not bad.  Not bad at all.

In no particular order:

Aronora, the new project by Ben Cameron.  The album: Escapology.

aronora

New Order, Brotherhood (collector’s edition)

NEW-ORDER-BROTHERHOOD-COLLECTORS-EDITION-L825646936991

XTC, Nonsuch (the Steven Wilson remix version)

nonsuch xtc 2013

ABC, The Lexicon of Love  (deluxe edition)

abc lexicon of love

Neal Morse, Neal Morse (Morse’s first solo album)

neal morse

Mayfield, Mayfield (Curt Smith’s side band)

a0031168066_10

U2, War (deluxe edition)

u2 war

AndersonPonty Band, Better Late than Never

andersonponty

The Catholic Imagination of Roland Orzabal: Tears for Raoul

Review retrospective: Tears for Fears, RAOUL AND THE KINGS OF SPAIN (Sony, 1995; Cherry Red, 2009).

Twenty years ago, Roland Orzabal (born Raoul Jaime Orzabal de la Quintana to an English mother and a Basque/Spanish/French father) released the fifth Tears for Fears studio album, RAOUL AND THE KINGS OF SPAIN.

Overall, we should remember, 1995 was a pretty amazing year for music—really the year that saw the full birthing of third-wave prog.

Raoul's mythic mother.
Raoul’s mythic mother.

Not all was prog, of course, but there was so much that was simply interesting.  Natalie Merchant, TIGERLILY; Radiohead, THE BENDS; Spock’s Beard, THE LIGHT; The Flower Kings, BACK IN THE WORLD OF ADVENTURES; Marillion, AFRAID OF SUNLIGHT; and Porcupine Tree, THE SKY MOVES SIDEWAYS.

As the time that RAOUL came out, I liked it quite a bit, but I didn’t love it.  The first five songs just floored me, but then I thought the album as a whole fizzled in the second half.  Or course, when I write “fizzled,” I mean this in the most relative sense.  Even Orzabal’s weakest track is far better than most musicians will ever achieve in and with their best.

So, I’m judging one TFF song only with another by TFF.

There’s a bit of interesting history behind the release of the album.  This would be the second of only two albums that appear under the name Tears for Fears without Curt Smith.  Whereas the first, 1993’s stunning ELEMENTAL dealt with the breakup of the twosome, RAOUL tells a mythical story about himself.

More on this in a bit.

So, not only was this the last album without Smith, it was also the first album on the new label, Sony.  Previously, Tears for Fears had shared label space with Rush: on Mercury Records.  Mercury had gone so far as to release promo copies of RAOUL, complete with different artwork and a different track listing.  I’ve never actually seen a copy of the Mercury promo, but I’d love to get my hands on one at some point.  Instead of the tracks “Hum Drum and Humble” and “I Choose You,” the original listing had “Queen of Compromise.”

Since its official release in 1995, there have been three different versions of the album: the Sony 12-track original; a deluxe cigar box edition; and the 2009 Cherry Red edition—the original release remastered, five b-sides, and acoustic versions of the tracks “Raoul and the Kings of Spain” and “Break it Down.”

Not surprisingly, given Orzabal, the b-sides are every bit as good as the full-blown tracks, and the acoustic version of “Break it Down” is quite moving with its additional line: “No more walls of Berlin.”  My favorite of the b-sides is “War of Attrition,” a martial exploration of relationships that simply slide out of existence.

Though written and produced in a post-LP/vinyl world, RAOUL has, for all intents and purposes, two sides.  Tracks 1 through 5 make up the first side, and the seven remaining tracks, bookended by versions of “Los Reyes Catolicos,” make up the second side.  This isn’t surprising either, given that SONGS FROM THE BIG CHAIR and ELEMENTAL have the same structure.  Orzabal has never embraced the term “progressive,” identifying it with Pink Floyd, but he is certainly the most experimental pop musician alive—rivaled only by Paul McCartney, Robert Smith, Andy Partridge, and Peter Gabriel.  From my perspective, Orzabal is the greatest living pop musician, but I think this would be open to debate.  And, of course, the debate would demand a proper definition of pop.

Side one of Raoul is jaw dropping.  The first time I played the second track, “Falling Down,” for fellow progarchist, Kevin McCormick, back in late 1995, he replied, “Wow.  It’s just so earnest.”  I’ve never read or heard a better description of the song.  It is, utterly and essentially, earnest.  There exist both revelation and humility in the song, perfectly intertwined.

Some of us are free

Some are bound

Some will swim

Some will drown

Some of us are saints

Some are clowns

Just like me they’re falling down

All five songs of side one—again, as I’ve defined the sides—flow so readily from one to the other.  No break in sound.  Essentially, these are five parts of a single track.  While my favorite track is “Falling Down,” “God’s Mistake” is also a standout.

And, frankly, so is the finale of side one, “Sketches of Pain,” an obvious and intelligent allusion to Miles Davis’s “Sketches of Spain.”  As with “Falling Down,” this track is confessional without mere navel-gazing.

Side two, gives the listener snippets of what can really only be described as a mythic autobiography.  And, yet, despite the autobiographical nature of the entire album, side two seems to look at the life of the protagonist from a broader perspective than side one.  If side one is confessional, side two is almost historical and analytical.

What if, as family history has suggested, Roland had been Raoul, descendent of the Catholic kings of Spain?  Naturally, this side begins with a version of “Los Reyes Catolicos”:

When time is like a needle

And night is the longest day

A home is a cathedral

A place where a king can pray

Ghosts all gone

Ghosts all gone

The following track, “Sorry,” explodes into a bitterness that emerges every once in a while in TFF songs.  Accusations and questions fly.  “Do you love or do you hate?  Why do you hesitate?”

“Humdrum and Humble” begins with an experimental loop before transforming into a clever pop song.

“I Choose You,” a piano ballad of emotional depth follows.

Immediately after comes an up-tempo song filled song effects as well as some appropriate absurdities, “Don’t Drink the Water.”  This is pure pop sweetness.

The penultimate track, “Me and My Big Ideas,” sees the return of soul diva, Oleta Adams.  Much as they had on “Sowing the Seeds of Love,” she and Roland offer a meaningful—if not downright profound—duet, balancing the strengths of each other well.

The album ends with a softly building version of “Los Reyes Catolicos.”

My blurry picture of TFF in Denver, June 2015.
My blurry picture of TFF in Denver, June 2015.

Like all of the music of Tears for Fears, this album holds up very well, even after twenty years.  Indeed, the flaws I thought I perceived when this album first came out simply don’t hold up.  I don’t think the flaws have disappeared as much as I simply didn’t understand or appreciate what Orzabal was doing in 1995.

In hindsight, I appreciate the art and the choices he made to make this art.  Not that he needs my appreciation, but Orzabal certainly has it.

With the Coming of Friendship: Kevin McCormick’s First Album

with the coming
Cover of 1993’s WITH THE COMING OF EVENING.

This month at Progarchy, in addition to writing and analyzing about many, many things, we’re having a bit of celebration of Kevin McCormick’s first album, With the Coming of Evening (1993).  It’s been 20 years since it first appeared, and, sadly, this masterpiece is still relatively forgotten.

This needs to change.

It’s nearly impossible to label in terms of styles.  McCormick, much influenced by every great composer, performer, and group from Andres Segovia and Viktor Villa-Lobos to Rush and Talk Talk, brings everything good to his music.

A nationally award-winning poet, published composer (for classical guitar as well as choir), and professional classical guitarist, he offers his very artful being and soul to his music.  Like many in the prog world, McCormick’s a perfectionist in everything he does.  But, it’s not completely fair to label this album “in the prog world,” though it comes as close to prog as any genre in the music world.

Had With the Coming of Evening been released now, in the days of internet sovereignty, many would label this album as post-rock or post-prog, akin to the Icelandic shoe-gazing of Sigur Ros.  No doubt, Spirit of Eden and Laughing Stock hover lovingly over this work, though McCormick is always his own man.

Very much so.

Nor, would he have it any other way.  As humble as he is talented, McCormick would gladly take blame for any fault, and, being Kevin, he would rarely take credit for anything brilliant he produces.  He would say he discovered what is already, simply having been the first to notice it or remember it.

Still it’s his name on the work, and he recognizes that this comes with a certain amount of responsibility and duty–to all who came before him and all who will come after him.  McCormick would even want his inspirations to be proud of him.  After all, what would Mark Hollis think of just some ghastly American cover band?

No, McCormick is his own man.

My bias

I should be upfront about my bias.  I’ve known Kevin since the fall of 1986, when we were each freshmen in college.  Though we’d talked off an on our first month and a half of the semester, it was on a plane ride from Chicago to Denver over fall break that really allowed us to get to know each other.  After that, we were as thick as thieves.  Well, as thieving as two would-be Catholic boys could be.

As with all meaningful college friendships, we talked late into the night, read and critiqued each other’s work, had deep (well, at the time, they seemed deep) philosophical debates, talked (of course) about girls, discussed which albums were the best ever, mocked the cafeteria food, and so on.

The following year, we traveled throughout southern Europe and also the UK together.  I spent the year in Innsbruck, Austria, and Kevin lived in Rome.

When traveling together for three weeks in England, we paid homage to all of the great recording studios, tried to find Mark Hollis at EMI headquarters, and even (oh so very obnoxiously) thought we’d tracked down Sting’s house.  Kevin rang the doorbell, but, thank the Good Lord, neither Mr. Sting nor Mrs. Sting answered.

We also, of course, visited Stonehenge.

If we’d had Facebook, then, we probably would’ve visited Greg Spawton, David Longdon, Matt Stevens (was he in kindergarten, then?), Robin Armstrong, Matt Cohen, and Giancarlo Erra, too.  “Who are these crazy Americans knocking on our door!  Go visit someone like Mr. and Mrs. Sting!”

Our loss.

IMG_0018
Our dorm room in Zahm Hall, U. of Notre Dame, Fall 1988. Kevin and his future wife, Lisa. Notice the stereo system and cassettes behind Kevin and Lisa.

Our third year, back at our Catholic college in northern Indiana, we shared a dorm room.  That year, I also hosted a Friday night prog show (called, can you believe it, “Nocturnal Omissions”–I really thought I was clever) on our college radio station, and Kevin would often co-host with me.  He founded a band, St. Paul and the Martyrs, which became the most popular band on campus, covering everything from XTC to Yes to Blancmange.

Our final year, I helped produce an extremely elaborate charity concert, and St. Paul and the Martyrs performed–the entire Dark Side of the Moon, complete with a avant garde film and elaborate stage lighting, followed by a performance (less elaborate in terms of production) of side one of Spirit of Eden.

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Kevin and Lisa’s wedding. Notice Kevin’s ponytail. This automatically makes him a cool artist.

When Kevin returned from several years in Japan and (truly) traveling the world, we spent a few years together in graduate school, Kevin in music, me in history.

Kevin is godfather to my oldest son, and I to his second daughter.  We remain as close as we ever were.

What about the music?

Come on, Birzer.  This is a music site, not a “here’s what I did in college” site.  True, true.  But, so much of my own thoughts regarding Kevin’s music are related to our friendship.  Every time I put on one of his albums, it’s as though I’ve just had one of the best conversations in my life.

So, I’ve asked others at Progarchy to review With the Coming of Evening.  You know my bias–so, now I’ll state what I believe as objectively as possible.

Kevin is brilliant, as a lyricist, as a composer, and as a person.  His first album, With the Coming of Evening, the first of a trilogy, is a stunning piece of work, and it deserves to be regarded not just as a post-rock classic, but as a rock and prog classic.

It’s not easy listening.  Kevin takes so many chances and weaves his music in so many unusual ways, that one has to immerse oneself in it.  It’s gorgeous.  It’s like reading a T.S. Eliot poem.  No one who wants to understand an Eliot poem reads it as a spectator.  You either become a part of it, or you misunderstand it.

If there’s a misstep on the album, it comes with the 9th track, “Looks Like Rain.”  Its blues structure and blue lamentations stick out a little too much.  A remix of this album would almost certainly leave this song out.  It’s still an excellent song.  It just doesn’t fit tightly with the rest of the album–which really must be taken as an organic and mesmeric whole.

Kevin took six years to write and record the follow-up album, Squall (1999), and he’s ready to record the conclusion to the trilogy.

More on Kevin to come. . . .

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Kevin and I revisit Notre Dame, 20 years later. Kevin has cut the ponytail, but, otherwise, he’s not aged.

But, for now, treat yourself to his backcatalogue.  I give it my highest recommendation.  And, of course, it doesn’t hurt that he one of the nicest guys in all of creation. . . .

*****

To order With the Coming of Evening, go here.

To read more about McCormick, go here.

To read what allmusic.com thinks of McCormick, go here.

Music and Me

Me, sophomore year of college, fall 1987.

A few days ago, Progarchist and classical philosopher Chris Morrissey asked about our first introductions to music.

The youngest of three boys, born in the summer of love (September 6, 1967—only 3 months and five days after the release of “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” by the Beatles), and coming of age in the late 1970s and early 1980s, I grew up on progressive rock: Yes, Kansas, Genesis, and the Moody Blues.  We faithfully shunned the 3-minute pop format and we sought mightily the 20- and 30-minute epics of European (usually liturgically derived) symphonic music with rock instrumentation and bizarre time signatures.

I remember hearing lots of longish, prog songs as early as 1971 or 1972.  Though I’ve never played an instrument with any degree of passion, I’m assured by my mom and two older brothers that I was obsessed with music even as a toddler.  Somehow, I figured out how to crawl out of my crib and down the stairs to the family stereo.  Even as a one-year old, I would wake the entire household up, blaring the Banana Splits or Snoopy and the Red Baron at 3 in the morning.

My first great awakening came, though, from seeing the sleeves of YesSongs.  I spent hours trying to figure out how the animals made it from one floating island to the next.  And, I’ll never forget the first time I played side one of YesSongs—I was overwhelmed by the depth and complexity of it.

As is now well recognized, the prog lyrics as well as the cover art tended to be fantastic, pretentious, overblown, and theological.  There have even been some interesting scholarly articles about progressive rock thriving in the western and midwestern states of America, mostly among middle-class, conservative kids.  And, of course, we, with great confidence, derided disco and top-40 music through junior high, high school, and college.  Disco and top-40 music, as we understood it, were decadent and vacuous.  As far as we were concerned, progressive rock artists (and some New Wavers) were the only real musicians outside of the classical and jazz world.

In many ways, progressive rock helped define my own childhood and teenage years.  I will never forget seeing abolitionist John Brown on the cover of a 1974 Kansas album (it sparked all kinds of historical questions re: Kansas, abolitionism, and the American Civil War); hearing Pink Floyd’s “The Wall” at the University of Notre Dame in the fall of 1979; being introduced to Rush’s 1981 “Moving Pictures” in the Liberty Junior High School library in Hutchinson, Kansas; or listening to Yes’s “Fragile” over and over again and trying to figure out the “deep” meaning of the lyrics.  In high school, I worked as on overnight D.J. at a local rock station (KWHK), which doesn’t exist anymore.  And, while in college at Notre Dame, I had a Friday-night progressive rock show (WSND) my junior and senior years, often playing two hour blocks of Rush or other groups.

As powerful as any of the albums just mentioned, though, was my first listen to Talk Talk’s Colour of Spring in the spring of 1987 and, even more so, my first listen to Talk Talk’s Spirit of Eden in September 1988.

My comrade in arms in college was the singer of the most popular band on campus, St. Paul and the Martyrs.  They even opened for Phish when Phish played on campus, spring 1990.  The leader singer, Kevin McCormick, even became my oldest son’s godfather!  Now, he’s a well-known classical guitarist and even a Progarchist.

But, I’ll never forget the two of us listening to Spirit of Eden for the first time.  We were just stunned and in complete silence as we explored every note and every silence of the album.

Having turned 13 in the autumn of 1980, I also, of course, grew up with New Wave: Thomas Dolby, Kate Bush, The Police, The Cure, Oingo Boingo, XTC, Siouxie and the Banshees, and Echo and the Bunnymen.  Over the Wall!

Our local Kansas radio station—KWHK—had briefly been formatted for New Wave, so I was able to get every new album sent by the record labels.  The one that hit me hardest was XTC’s Skylarking.

My college radio show at Notre Dame focused on progressive rock, as mentioned above, but I threw in a lot of New Wave.  New Wave just seemed the more radio-friendly version of progressive rock.  And, by the early 1980s, progressive rock seemed to have run its course.  Could Asia really claim to be the successor of Yes?  Or, could Genesis without Peter Gabriel or Steve Hackett really be Genesis?  We answered with a resounding “no.”  That left us with New Wave.

After all, in 1990, we still had a few years before Dream Theater and Spock’s Beard re-introduced—in the states—a new wave of Progressive Rock.

A quarter of a century later, I realize that music took on religious significance for me and my friends.  Those who embraced disco, pop, or top 40 music were heretics, and we supporters of progressive rock were the orthodox.

***

A year or so ago, some former students asked me to write about my listening tastes in the 1980s.  Here’s what I wrote for them:

High School was a long time ago for me, but I still remember it well.  During the summers, I had one of the best jobs in the world–I was a DJ at our local AM-station, KWHK.  Not only did I DJ, but I also got to write and produce commercials, and I served as a liaison between the sheriff’s department and the National Weather Service.  I grew up in central Kansas, so we had tornados and tornado warnings quite frequently.  Great job.  I’ve also been into collecting music (mostly progressive and alternative rock, some jazz, and a bit of classical) since second grade.  I started young, and, for better or worse, I’ve never stopped.  My kids (13 and under) can name bassists, singers, and drummers of the major progressive bands.  And, yes, I’m proud of them.

Freshman year of high school, 1982-1983.  It was freshman year that I really discovered New Wave.  I had been listening, almost exclusively, to progressive rock and what’s now called classic rock during the 1970s and earliest part of the 1980s.  The father of a friend of mine owned a record store, and we were introduced to all kinds of music through the store in 9th grade.  In particular, I listened to Thomas Dolby’s Golden Age of Wireless (favorite song: One of Our Submarines is Missing).  I had this on one side of a tape and ABC’s The Lexicon of Love (favorite song: 4 Ever 2 Gether).  Also lots of U2’s War (favorite song: Sunday Bloody Sunday).  Progressive Rock was never far from my heart, and I listened to Rush’s Signals (favorite song: Subdivisions) pretty much non-stop, Peter Gabriel’s IV (favorite song: Lay Your Hands on Me), and Roxy Music’s Avalon (favorite song: Take a Chance with Me).

Sophomore year of high school, 1983-1984.  This was a huge year for music.  Genesis released their self-titled album (favorite song: Home by the Sea, Parts I and II); the Police released Synchronicity (favorite song: Synchronicity II); and Yes released 90125 (favorite song: Cinema).

Junior year, 1984-1985.  Rush’s Grace under Pressure (favorite song: Between the Wheels) dominated every other album that year.  Frankly, this was THE album.  If I had to name a favorite album of high school, this would be it.  My sophomore year in college, I wrote a paper using only the lyrics from the album.  I even got an A.  I also listened a lot to The Smiths’ Hatful of Hollow (favorite song: Please, Please, Please), Oingo Boingo’s Dead Man’s Party (favorite song: same as title), and Thomas Dolby’s second album, The Flat Earth (Favorite song: same as title).

Senior year, 1985-1986.  Another great year for music, but mostly for former proggers going pop.  Albums that year included, at the top of the list: Sting, Dream of the Blue Turtles (favorite song: Fortress Around Your Heart), Peter Gabriel, So (favorite song: In Yours Eyes), Tears for Fears, Songs from the Big Chair (favorite song: Broken), and XTC, Skylarking (favorite song: The Man Who Sailed Around His Soul).  The other album I played constantly was the soundtrack to To Live and Die in LA (a pop band, Wang Chung, playing a very proggy style).  Lots of Kate Bush, Hounds of Love, too (favorite song: Hello Earth).

It wasn’t until my freshman year (1986-1987) of college that I really got into Talk Talk, the Cure, and Echo and the Bunnymen.  I also really liked Blancmange (kind of a really smart Talking Heads) and New Model Army and a few others.  That year, U2 released “The Joshua Tree.”  I’ll never forget sitting in the car with a friend, being about 1/2 through the album and just breaking down (not something I did very often) because of the beautiful intensity of the album.  Crazy.  At the time, I was horrified by RATTLE AND HUM.  Now, I think The Joshua Tree as a whole is really good, not brilliant.  Side two, maybe, is brilliant.  Side one has a brilliant moment–bullet the blue sky.  And, RATTLE AND HUM seems better than it did to me then.

In high school, I also remember listening to some A-ha, B-Movie, b-52s, Erasure, Depeche Mode, and Communards.  I don’t think I would’ve chosen to listen to these groups, but they would’ve been pretty hard to escape then.  I would’ve always preferred something prog–unless we were dancing.  Had an all night party at my house once my senior year when my mom was out of town.  Late, late into the evening, a group of us were trying to analyze a 1977 Genesis concert we’d taped off of PBS!  I’ll never forget that night.  Lots of analyzing Pink Floyd, too.