Japan - Gentlemen Take Polaroids (1980)

Dan:

I remember Steve and his friend Abram talking about Japan, and I was able to sample the band's Tin Drum (1981) album. It was full of interesting sounds and some fascinating songs like "Ghosts" and "Still Life in Mobile Homes." It seemed to combine art-rock and glam with an Asian theme, brought to life in leader David Sylvian's austere vocals. So I checked out Japan's previous album, Gentlemen Take Polaroids. Although still attributed to Japan, it lacked the self-conscious Asian posture and focused more on exotic contemporary themes. 

Polaroids is an exceptional album from start to finish. It's very accessible musically and leans toward understatement rather than upbeat, bashing rock and roll. The title track begins with a pleasantly lilting melody that belies its dark narrative about love and polaroid photography. "Swing" and "My New Career" are the other highlights of the LP's side 1. Side 2 is marred only by the odd cover of a Motown hit, "Ain't That Peculiar," which doesn't mesh with the more sophisticated material penned by Sylvian. The other tracks on side 2 are about dance ("Methods of Dance"), loneliness and isolation ("Nightporter"), and fantasies of adventure to escape isolation ("Taking Islands in Africa"). 

Curiously, the dismal themes on display are uplifted by the music, which is actually quite beautiful. Sylvian's voice rides softly over the melodies, rhythms and subtle chord progressions. These devices would become regular features in Sylvian's later solo albums, especially Brilliant Trees, Secrets of the Beehive, and Gone to Earth. These all remain favorites of mine.

Steve:

Japan emerged from humble, derivative beginnings to arrive at a more sophisticated sound with Gentlemen Take Polaroids. This new direction had been hinted at with their prior album, Quiet Life, which itself was a step forward from the more predictable post-punk of their earlier work.  

I always thought it a little unusual that Dan got so much enjoyment out of Gentlemen; not because it lacked any quality, but because it seemed so close to the New Wave and Synth-pop sounds of the time. But dig a little deeper and it's clear upon close listening that Japan were in a different league than, say, Duran Duran, a band that probably idolized these guys. Duran Duran's debut album especially has several Japan-like moments. 

It was even more remarkable to me that although Dan listened to this album a lot, I hardly ever listened to it until many years later. I don't even recall the anecdote where Dan heard about Tin Drum through me and my friend. However, I do recall hearing Tin Drum several times at Spec's, the Miami record store where I worked as a teenager. My time at Spec's was crucial in nudging my musical tastes from Top 40 Music (with a few oddballs like Talking Heads mixed in) to College Rock (what is now called 80s Alternative and Punk/Hardcore). Japan were one of the many new bands I was exposed to through that store.

Steely Dan - Gaucho (1980)

Steve:

As Steely Dan's final hurrah before their self-imposed hiatus in 1980, Gaucho is often underrated. Although Aja was a hard act to follow, and various personal problems (Becker was battling drug addiction) made Gaucho a difficult album to complete, song for song it stacks up pretty well next to Aja. It may still be slightly inferior, but it's a dazzling record for its time nonetheless.

As with most Steely Dan records, the glossy arrangements often mask some very clever lyrical themes, making for a collection of songs that can be enjoyed as either chillin' background or incisive social commentary. The opener "Babylon Sisters" shows Becker and Fagen growing weary of the decadent LA/superstar lifestyle, acknowledging that they just might be getting too old for that kind of fun. "Hey Nineteen", a top-10 hit single in the US, also addresses aging, as the protagonist makes himself look foolish trying to impress younger girls who don't even recognize an Aretha Franklin song. Musically, it's got a groove so cool it couldn't help but be a hit, and when the bridge section of "The Cuervo Gold / the fine Colombian / Make tonight a wonderful thing" comes in, it's a moment of melodic beauty. 

When "Hey Nineteen" was a hit, roller skating rinks were popular hangouts for kids, and I remember roller skating to this song. Just before the "Cuervo Gold" section, Fagen quietly says "skate a little lower now", and I used to try to comply with this request, although I was never a very good skater.

The title track is a humorous portrait of another guy looking foolish and out-of-place, in this case a "gaucho" (roughly translated as "cowboy") making a scene in an unfamiliar area and needing his friends to cover for/apologize for his behavior. Some interpretations of this song refer to Becker's drug-impaired state, turning up for recording sessions and being laughed at by the session musicians for his erratic behavior. The closing "Third World Man" is an extremely moving song with sad musical stylings. The lyrics seem to describe a Vietnam veteran whose traumatic experiences have left him in a constant state of paranoia and alarm as he tries to live a normal life back home after the war. Becker and Fagen's sensitive portrayal of this character makes it clear how much they sympathize and lament his sorry state.

In conclusion, if you enjoy the other 70s Steely Dan albums, there's no reason you can't enjoy this one too. Becker and Fagen were still on the songwriting roll that brought us The Royal Scam and Aja, but only a touch of weariness and personal strife (making the subsequent hiatus understandable, once known) keep this one from being among their best work. Still, that added dimension of strife makes for interesting art in itself.

Dan:

I'm always intrigued by the various interpretations of Steely Dan songs. They're intentionally opaque, of course, which requires more creativity on the listener's part. I still have no definite concept of who Dr. Wu might be from their Katy Lied album, and my personal interpretation of "Gaucho" is different from Steve's. So be it. I'm sure the songwriters had particular actors in mind based on their own experiences; most songwriters do. It's part of the fun (or frustration if you're a literal thinker) to imagine who these odd people might be. Best not to work too hard at it, though; music is meant to be fun, or so I think.

As was the Dan's usual practice, top-shelf musicians were hired, sometimes only to play a few bars. I like to name-check the guest artists on their albums. Gaucho is graced by Tom Scott, Randy Brecker, Mark Knopfler, Joe Sample, Steve Khan, Hiram Bullock, Rick Derringer, Anthony Jackson, Rick Marotta, Ronnie Cuber, Michael McDonald, Rob Mounsey, Victor Feldman, Don Grolnick, Chuck Rainey, Bernard Purdie, among others that I haven't heard of. If those cats were actually on stage all at the same time, it would be a hell of a band!

As for the underlying theme of aging, it's something that everyone needs to deal with sooner or later. Even hip iconoclasts like Fagan (now 75) turn old and lose a lot of their mojo. Becker didn't make it that far, dying in 2017 at age 67. The songs in Gaucho that portray pathetic elders attempting to relive their past youth as cool dudes probably strike a bare nerve in many people. 

I heard once that the past was prologue to the future, which is an old but meaningful adage for me. In music, many jazz artists continue to perform and develop younger talent well past their 70s. As I get older myself, I try to use my experience to make a positive difference in the lives of other people, especially rising academics. I suppose blogging about prog is another way for me and Steve to "pay it forward" by sharing our experiences with our vast Internet audience. 

Manfred Mann's Earth Band - Angel Station (1979)

Steve:

Although Angel Station played a role in my early musical memories, my appreciation of this album and Manfred Mann's Earth Band has grown more recently. Like several albums from the time period covered on this blog, Angel Station was probably an album that Zeta-4 FM in Miami chose to play as their daily noontime album, with Dan at the ready with his Maxell C90 cassette. Many years later, I acquired my own vinyl copy of this album for $1 (those were the days, the 1990s), and I would play it every few years for nostalgia's sake. "Don't Kill it Carol", the opening track (also a single), was always a particular favorite. 

Several months ago, I found a Top of the Pops video clip of "Don't Kill it Carol" on YouTube, which I enjoyed immensely despite it being just a lip sync of the song. In the clip, the band's personality shone through, and the song's use of three different lead vocalists (Steve Waller for the verses, Chris Thompson for the chorus, and Mann himself for the bridge) got me interested in the band's versatility. I've now acquired all their vinyl albums from the early 70s through the early 80s, all waiting patiently for me in affordable racks in my local record stores - such are the thrills of being a music fan and vinyl consumer. 

In 1979 the Earth Band were a relatively high-profile band, having scored a major hit with a prog rock cover of Bruce Springsteen's "Blinded by the Light". Mann had long since established a reputation as a creative interpreter of other songwriters' material, particularly Springsteen and Dylan. Although Mann had been mining similar territory since he formed the band in 1972, his commercial breakthrough came with The Roaring Silence (1976), featuring a new lineup with Chris Thompson on lead vocals.  

For Angel Station, the band sounded appropriately high-tech and expertly produced, thanks in part to co-producer (with Mann) Anthony Moore, also a member of the experimental band Slapp Happy, which had collaborated with Canterbury prog giants Henry Cow! This is no experimental prog effort, however. From the opening track "Don't Kill it Carol" into the obligatory Dylan cover "You Angel You" (a huge improvement over the original version from Dylan's Planet Waves) to the perplexing Mann-sung closer "Resurrection", this is all state-of-the-art late 70s rock. If you take the pop sensibility of The Alan Parsons Project, apply it to arcane cover material and eclectic original songs, then inject the widescreen irony of Flash & the Pan, you may get something close to Angel Station. 

Manfred Mann himself has always kept his distance from the spotlight. In his various bands (including his Earth Band), he has never been the frontman or featured vocalist, and although he is a skilled composer, he has chosen to identify himself mainly as an interpreter of others' material. Choosing this anonymous route may have kept Mann and his bands from enjoying the legendary status of other equally prolific and talented artists of their time. But in the process, they may have extended their shelf life as artists, allowing music fans like me to discover an interesting, largely obscure body of work. Angel Station was the catalyst for my search. 

Dan:

Steve is probably correct about the origin of Angel Station as a noontime album, but I also acquired the vinyl copy pretty early. Mann was always a mysterious character to me. He had a hit single in 1968 with "The Mighty Quinn (Quinn the Eskimo)," a Bob Dylan song that everyone knew for its catchy chorus: "Come all without, come all within. You'll not see nothing like the mighty Quinn." The Mighty Quinn LP did not contain any original compositions, only covers. I also didn't know at the time that Mann was born in South Africa in 1940 as Manfred Lubowitz, but moved to the UK in 1961.

I continue to own only one Manfred Mann album, Angel Station, and it's one of the favorites in my whole collection. I have never dissected it to discover who plays what or analyzed the songs carefully (except perhaps for the dissection of "Resurrection" below). Still, it's an amazing record from beginning to end. 

The placement of "Resurrection," a Mann original, at the end serves as something of a postscript. It portrays Jesus' resurrection into a modern commercial world where He is greeted by promoters eager to monetize his reputation as savior of mankind. Hawking "Jesus hats, Jesus coats" is funny, and the capitalist asks Jesus if He brought any valuable memorabilia with him, such as a piece of the cross, a crown of thorns, or perhaps a disciple or two. Mann's clearly not mocking Jesus here; the target of his sarcastic wit is modern society where worth is measured only in monetary value. 

Devadip Carlos Santana - Oneness: Silver Dreams - Golden Reality (1979)

Dan:

Oneness: Silver Dreams - Golden Reality is easy to overlook, given its impressive predecessors - Caravanserai, Welcome, and Borboletta. To begin with, the album is attributed to Devadip Carlos Santana, not the Santana band. Carlos had only used this name once before, on Illuminations, a 1974 collaboration with Alice Coltrane. He would use it once more on Swing of Delight (1980), but he eventually lost faith in Sri Chinmoy, the guru who had given him (and his wife Deborah, who became Urmila) their spiritual names.

Oneness finds Devadip at his most spiritual, judging by the Buddhas on the album cover alone. Inside, the album sleeves contain similar artwork. This should not scare off fans of Santana's earlier albums. His guitar is featured on key tracks throughout, but guest musicians account for much of the album's distinction. For instance, Urmila offers the poignant narration on "I Am Free," accompanied by Clare Fischer on Fender Rhodes. The main vocalist, Greg Walker, appears on three of the tracks, and Saunders King delivers a stunning rendition of "Silver Dreams, Golden Smiles," again with Fischer's backing. Several tracks are less than two minutes long.

Despite the excellent playing on individual tracks, it's best to listen to this album in its entirety. In this respect, it follows a common prog pattern wherein the whole album takes precedence over its parts. For example, Urmila's 1:25 minute recitation on "I Am Free" would make no sense on its own. Neither would Walker's chant on the opening track, "The Chosen Hour." Indeed, the first six tracks all flow together, forming their own identity of "oneness."

There are plenty of rhythmic sections that we've come to expect from Santana albums, and while the guitar is positioned to serve the narrative, it also shines in the solo spotlight. For example, the opening passages of "Oneness" use Santana's' lower strings to play melodically in front of the modal chords sustained by organ and bass. Santana nuts can get their fill on this track alone and appreciate that it's also the longest track at 6:21 minutes. "Oneness" is followed by the funky "Life is Just a Passing Parade," which is obviously autobiographical for Santana. The closing "Song for Devadip" returns to soaring guitar territory as if to remind us that spirituality does not preempt solid rock and roll.

As the 1970s came to an end, Santana albums would continue on for another four decades. Blessings and Miracles (2021) is the latest of approximately 60 albums in the series, although it's hard to count them all amidst the reissues, compilations and live recordings. It's my hope that Santana's magical albums of the 1970s are not overlooked. 

Steve:

In the early 1990s, I picked up a vinyl copy of Oneness, fairly certain that at least bits of it would be familiar to me. I remembered the album cover from my childhood, but not all of the songs. The two memorable tracks were "Cry of the Wilderness" and "Song for Devadip", both instrumentals that are fueled by Devadip's guitar themes, and brought to completion through his unique gift for soloing around those themes.

I quickly found, however, that (as Dan said above) Oneness is clearly designed to be listened to as a whole, or at least as two unified vinyl sides. As with Borboletta, soulful vocal features sit side by side with both guitar-based instrumentals and scene-setting atmospheric tracks, often graced with wordless chanting.  

At this time, Devadip clearly felt comfortable splitting his artistic identity into two parallel parts - the more hit-oriented Latin rock of his band albums and the more exploratory jazz/rock of his solo work. Todd Rundgren had a similar split personality a few years prior, but the focus was reversed, where his solo work was the more pop-oriented and his band Utopia satisfied his more progressive urges. Eventually Todd merged both personas into the pop realm as progressive rock became less commercially relevant, and Devadip eventually did the same. 

Progressive rock fans would miss a lot if they chose to judge Carlos/Devadip as merely a classic pop/rock act, while ignoring the series of groundbreaking records he made in the 1970s.

Supertramp - Breakfast in America (1979)

Dan: 

Breakfast in America took America by storm in 1979. To get the inconsequential bits out of the way first, the cover was designed by Mike Doud, and the waitress is named Kate Murtagh. Manhattan (with twin towers intact) is reimagined as stacks of kitchen and dining artifacts, complete with silverware settings as the piers. The view is from an aircraft window. I've never seen an album cover more appropriate for reaching a mass US audience. It's not cynical, irreverent, or tasteless. It's just sincere, cheerful fun!

"Yes," you might say, "but an album cover such as this must surely be masking highly superficial music. You know, the kind of pop drivel found in America!" Sorry people, you'd be completely wrong. Breakfast in America delivers one of Supertramp's best albums - certainly their best seller - that could only be maligned by the most mean-spirited of critics. 

The album's title is an acknowledgement of the band's recording venue - The Village Recorder in Los Angeles. This accounts for much of the acclaim bestowed upon on the album by the audiophile press. It's a sonic gem. Detailed comments online about the microphone placement on the drum kit are a tribute to its audiophile reputation. Hundreds of other reviewers simply rave about the music and how it brings them back to their formative years - a soundtrack for fondly remembered times. 

I had my ears open to a lot of rock music in 1979 as I built my hi fi system gradually. My records had grown into a legitimate collection, as Steely Dan, Camel, Pink Floyd, Roxy Music, and Supertramp nestled together on the shelf. As stated in an earlier post, a colleague and I incorporated "The Logical Song" from Breakfast in America into a course we were teaching together. I was pleased to overlap my professional and personal interests as I hit an especially happy period in my career.

Beyond these purely personal reasons, Breakfast in America succeeds on the strengths of both the compositions and the performances, as perfected in the recording studio. The opener "Gone Hollywood," relates a tale of despair that eventually turns into fortune:

It was heartbreakin'

Now I ride in the big fine car

It was mind-achin'

I'm the talk of the Boulevard

So keep your chin up boy, forget the pain

I know you'll make it if you try again

There's no use in quitting

When the world is waiting for you

Other songs provide vignettes suggesting doubt and search. "Goodbye Stranger" deals with one-night relationships; "Take the Long Way Home" offers a temporary solution to the pain and strife of touring. And the closing "Child of Vision" (my favorite track) offers solace to those who are losing their way in the world:

There must be more to this life

It's time we did something right

Child of Vision, won't you listen

Find yourself a new ambition

By the end of the album, we come to realize that the happy face of the cover masks a deeply felt set of challenges not only affecting rock stars climbing to the top but also ordinary people. In a sense, we're all children of vision struggling to find peace and happiness amidst the dangerous distractions of the world.

Steve:

In the summer of 1979, when I turned 10 years old, Breakfast in America was arguably one of the dominant forces in popular culture, at least from my youthful perspective. To help occupy my time, my parents enrolled me in a YMCA day camp that summer, during which we did only three things I can recall: a) played ping pong, b) played "Nok-Hockey", and most importantly, c) played music on the jukebox. For the latter, three songs come to mind as the defining songs of that summer, all of which I enjoyed fully: Andy Gibb's "Shadow Dancing", Styx's "Renegade", and Supertramp's "The Logical Song". The Supertramp song had the added benefit of providing me with a lot of new big words I could try out. But I was already quite familiar with "The Logical Song" because Dan played it at home a lot. Little did I know he was building an entire college-level course inspired by it.

In fact, the entire Breakfast in America album was full of tracks that wove relentlessly into my thoughts and experiences during this time, and thanks to my ongoing interest in Supertramp (not just this album), they have never been far from my consciousness. Even a deep cut B-side such as "Just Another Nervous Wreck" has a way of entering my head with no provocation and staying there for an entire day or more. 

Recently, my wife was nearly driven to madness by Clear Channel's playlist, on which she would hear within any given two-hour period at least two of the same four songs from Breakfast in America ("Logical Song", "Goodbye Stranger", "Take the Long Way Home", and "Breakfast in America"). Thankfully, I avoid Clear Channel and choose my own music, but Supertramp is nevertheless always nearby - and always welcome.

All of this is a lighthearted way of poking fun at Breakfast in America for being so darn omnipresent and enjoyable throughout my life. Each generation has its defining albums, and this just may be one of those albums for my youth, maybe in the same way A Hard Day's Night was for a generation before me. 

Now that I'm taking the time to write about it, it occurs to me that I probably had taken Breakfast in America for granted, but now that I put quill to parchment, I recognize how important this album has been in my life, even if I wasn't aware of it at the time.

Camel - I Can See Your House From Here (1979)

Steve:

Having entered a new phase of their history with 1978's Breathless album, but also facing ongoing transience and uncertainty, Camel made their 1979 album I Can See Your House From Here with a very different lineup. Founding keyboardist Peter Bardens (a key composer for the band along with guitarist Andy Latimer) left the fold, as did bassist/vocalist Richard Sinclair. In their place, Camel added keyboardist Jan Schelhaas (recently of Caravan) and bassist Colin Bass (recently a member of Steve Hillage's touring band). Providing a new dimension to the band was the temporary addition of a second keyboardist - Kit Watkins, from Happy the Man. Woodwind maestro Mel Collins, drummer Andy Ward, and of course guitarist Andy Latimer (the only constant throughout the band's history) remained. 

Production duties were handled by Rupert Hine, who had already accumulated an impressive list of credits among both commercial and progressive artists, and who would continue at the helm of some very highly regarded albums in the 1980s. With that kind of support, Camel was in a good position to make a quality album with commercial potential. 

The commercial potential was only partially realized, but I Can See Your House From Here remains a superbly accomplished and enjoyable album, combining the best of Camel's instrumental and songwriting capabilities. The two-keyboard lineup immediately makes its presence felt in the electrifying opener "Wait", a fast rocker with frequent tempo shifts and a great keyboard duet where Schelhaas and Watkins trade off 8-bar phrases with their dazzling techniques. As with Breathless, I Can See Your House caught some fans off guard with the inclusion of a couple of mainstream pop songs. The second track "Your Love is Stranger Than Mine" (sung by Bass) is the most obvious example, following in the footsteps of the prior album's "You Make Me Smile".  "Neon Magic", another pop-friendly tune later in the album, was released as a single together with "Your Love is Stranger Than Mine", although it failed to chart.

Although I enjoy the pop tunes Camel offers on this platter, I'd rather write about the startling highlights. "Who We Are" and "Hymn to Her" are both vocal-based love songs with powerful pop hooks in their choruses, but both songs progress in unusual ways. "Who We Are" begins with a lengthy, brisk guitar-based theme before segueing into a completely different theme for the verses and chorus, only returning to the opening theme's melody for a slow and somber restatement prior to the final chorus. "Hymn to Her" also begins with a strong guitar-based instrumental that is reinforced with several repetitions of the verse, including a variation in a new key that's used as an unexpected bridge. The kicker is that the chorus doesn't come in until much later, at which point it repeats until the end of the song, making for a lovely conclusion that releases all of the emotion built up earlier in the song.

The closing 10-minute instrumental "Ice" deserves its own paragraph, as one of the best examples in the Camel discography of Latimer's expressive lead guitar style.  It's a slow song with a minor but majestic chord progression, over which a simple melody is established and developed on acoustic guitar, piano, Moog synthesizer, and finally electric guitar. Latimer wisely takes his time to build the emotion in the various solos, so that the track holds the listener's attention the whole way through. "Ice" is a cathartic musical experience. Whether you feel like you're floating through the sky or feel like crying your eyes out, you will probably not escape this track unaffected.

I Can See Your House From Here appeared in our home soon after the discovery of Breathless, and those two albums remain two of my favorite Camel albums, possibly because of their entry into my life as a pre-teen. Following prog's initial heyday, Camel survived by adopting the song-based style of bands such as the Alan Parsons Project and Supertramp. Although they didn't enjoy as much success as those bands, Camel's albums are as good as either of them.

Dan:

I couldn't write a better entry than Steve's, which captures my own thoughts about I Can See Your House From Here. I listen to "Ice" often and always find it exhilarating. It's the best evidence to support my claim that Andy Latimer is a top-5 rock guitarist, sadly underappreciated by most so-called rock experts. The inclusion of a mostly instrumental track featuring a long, soaring solo from Latimer was to become a staple of live shows and later albums. "The Hour Candle" from Harbor of Tears (1996), "Lawrence" from Rajaz (1999), and "For Today" from Nod and a Wink (2002) are all in the same vein as "Ice."

My copy of the album is a British vinyl pressing that sounds much better than the CD, although there have been more recent digital remasters by Esoteric that I haven't heard. The vinyl beautifully captures all the nuances of Latimer's signature tone. If you're curious enough to stream or download the album, Spotify and Amazon Music have compressed lossy versions available. Qobuz has a 2011 lossless CD-quality download of the album for $7.19. Alternatively, you can download the single track "Ice" from Qobuz for $0.89. Not a bad price to pay for one of the most sublime guitar tracks in prog history.

Pink Floyd - The Wall (1979)

Steve:

Pink Floyd's The Wall was quite an oddity when it came out. I was already a fan of the band's work, so I listened with interest. As a 10-year-old, I had trouble following the story being told in the album, so thankfully Dan gave me a rough summary. As this dense art rock album was making the rounds among excited Floyd fans, another strange thing was taking place: the hit single "Another Brick in the Wall Part 2" was constantly on the radio, and the "we don't need no education" lyric became the equivalent of a "meme" for that era. It made for a strange juxtaposition - a serious, heavy concept album buttressed by a popular and danceable hit single. If nothing else, that song ensured that virtually everyone knew about The Wall in one way or another.

When the movie of The Wall came out in 1982, Dan took me to see it, and it was my first R-rated movie. Given the cinematic treatment, the album's themes of insanity, violence and misanthropy were presented in a shockingly nightmarish way to my young eyes and ears, and I do remember being frightened by certain scenes in the film. This did nothing to dull my adoration for the album (and the film), as it only added to the gravity and intensity of the story told in the songs.  

Although most Pink Floyd fans rate The Wall highly in the Floyd's discography, the virtues of its narrative structure and heavy subject matter are still a matter of debate. For example, although few can find fault with the excellent first side of the album, which flows exceptionally well and has no weak spots, by the time sides three and four roll around some people find the album a little tedious - especially the melodramatically orchestrated "Trial" that Pink, the protagonist, subjects himself to. It's one of the parts of the movie that scared me, thanks to Gerald Scarfe's grotesque animations.  

But in the final analysis, a classic album is still a classic album. The Wall is deeply entrenched in rock history as well as popular culture, and any flaws it has are all part of the package, take them or leave them. Besides, the relatively slow and less accessible portions on the second half of the album are appropriate, given that at this point in the narrative, Pink has "gone off the deep end". And even in the depths of his demented murk, the Floyd offer two of their most-loved songs, "Comfortably Numb" and "Run Like Hell". Of course, you also have to swallow the horrifying fascist nightmare of "In the Flesh" and "Waiting for the Worms". Not an easy listen, but that's the nature of the beast. If given the chance, I wouldn't change a thing.

Dan: 

Having now been busted for taking impressionable underage children to see The Wall movie, I feel somewhat guilty to put Steve through it. It wasn't just Steve but his friend Tim as well. Poor kids - warped for life! But I jest. I thought the experience would be good for three (including me) Pink Floyd fans to see, but I admit that the film goes a bit too far and could have been less graphic. Mea culpa. 

Diehard Pink Floyd fans should be accustomed to Roger Waters' need to vent his every emotion. I gather he was not fond of school or World War II, and he had issues with parents and bandmates. The Wall's extreme dramatization of such issues is a bit grandiose, but I'm willing to tolerate any serious artist's need for expression. That is, as long as David Gilmour gets to play chorus after chorus of "Comfortably Numb." 

Other bits I like: the nostalgic bow to Vera Lynn, a British singer known for her patriotic songs during World War II; the shocking opener "In the Flesh?" (not the fascist nightmare song without the question mark); and the finale "Outside the Wall," which acknowledges the pain inflicted on all the bleeding hearts and loved ones who support "mad buggers" like Pink.

All alone or in twos

The ones who really love you

Walk up and down outside the wall

Some hand in hand

And some gather together in bands

The bleeding hearts and the artists make their stand

And when they've given you their all

Some stagger and fall

After all it's not easy

Banging your heart against some mad bugger's wall

Dire Straits - Dire Straits (1978)

Dan:

There was, perhaps, no more welcome debut in 1978 than the self-titled Dire Straits. Combining clever songs with driving rhythms and clean guitar lines, this new band made a huge impact on a wide audience. An otherwise normal colleague of mine in Florida got hooked on the hit "Sultans of Swing," and who could blame him? It remains my favorite Dire Straits song, although Brothers in Arms is my favorite Dire Straits album. 

The original band included the Knopfler Brothers (Mark and David) on guitars with John Illsley on bass and Pick Withers on the skins. Mark was the undisputed leader of Dire Straits; he wrote all the songs, played lead guitar, and sang all the songs. 

There is no special discovery story for this album. It seemed to impose itself on everyone I knew via the FM radio airplay of "Sultans." I liked the song in part because it was about a fictitious jazz group and the personal stories of its members playing to inattentive small audiences while barely being able to afford their instruments. Except perhaps Harry: 

And Harry doesn't mind, if he doesn't, make the scene 

He's got a daytime job, he's doing alright. 

Certainly not an unrealistic scenario, but who else in the rock world would think of composing such a song? Mark seemingly references brother David in the lyric: 

You check out guitar George.

He knows all the chords.

Mind, it's strictly rhythm he doesn't want to make it cry or sing. 

If I were David Knopfler, I would gladly play rhythm and let my more talented bro's axe handle the crying and singing. 

As it swept over us, Dire Straits' other songs became known as well. Many of these seem understated, lacking wild solos, bashing beats, and raucous vocals. But they're all well-crafted and attractive on the terms the Knopflers offered to listeners. My favorites are all on side 2, following "Sultans": "In the Gallery," Wild West End," and "Lions." 

Dire Straits' approach to writing and playing original songs was to last for the next four years, after which they began to stretch the length of some songs. Love Over Gold and Brothers in Arms are masterpieces that reflect a more sophisticated approach to composing while not losing their signature sound. That said, there's something fresh and exciting about the first album that has never been bested. 

Finally, I remain ambivalent about the live albums, Alchemy (1984), which were (somewhat oddly) released separately as Part 1 and Part 2. Either the music did not translate well into stage performances, or I just liked the studio material better. Whatever, I didn't spend much time with Alchemy.

Steve:

Dire Straits' popularity at a time when punk and new wave were getting most of the press attention is an interesting phenomenon. I see Mark Knopfler and crew as a continuation of the gestalt that begat Bruce Springsteen in the US - that is, a 70s update of the lyrically deep world of Bob Dylan-inspired rock, at a time when Bob himself was interesting and unpredictable enough to capture the imagination of the popular masses - after nearly a decade of hibernation. Dylan had "come back" with some well received LPs and a fairly raucous rock tour (the "Rolling Thunder" tour) that resembled a traveling circus as much as a rock show.

Of course, both Springsteen and Dire Straits had plenty of tricks of their own to add to the Dylan inspiration. In Mark Knopfler, Dire Straits had a first-class lead guitarist clearly inspired by J.J. Cale (as was Eric Clapton at this time), who was also able to spin a disarmingly relatable lyric, sung in a humble, conversational tone of voice that resonated with audiences. "Sultans of Swing" is the best example of this approach, and it's fortunate that this was the song that they chose to represent themselves. As a nearly six-minute single, it went to the top 5 in multiple countries (as if echoing the similar success of "Like a Rolling Stone" a decade earlier). 

Even so, my favorite track on the album just may be the opener, "Down to the Waterline." With its quiet opening suggesting a peaceful night, the song then rips into a brisk but inviting groove with sly and playful lyrics regarding an evening liaison by the water with a lady friend. There's a slight element of danger present ("Policeman shines a light on my shoulder") but the overriding mood is just some randy fun, and it's easy to grin and tap your toes.

As with Dan, my favorite Dire Straits albums came later (either Making Movies or Love Over Gold for me, depending on the day), but the debut Dire Straits deserves a lot of credit and attention for being a unique album for its time. Even among its ostensible peer group - Elvis Costello and Graham Parker come to mind - Dire Straits had a cool austerity, not to mention its virtuoso instrumentalist, that stood out from the pack. 

Robin Trower - Caravan to Midnight (1978)

Dan:

The late 1970s were a fertile period for LP shoppers. Many rock artists were in a groove to release one new album each year. New record stores popped up frequently in Miami, eager to push the burgeoning catalogs of popular artists. I remember visiting a new store (forgot the name - was it Music Makers?), which didn't last too long, but I found Caravan to Midnight by Robin Trower as I browsed. I knew who/what Robin Trower was - a guitarist and a group! I remember hearing a lot of his music from the early 1970s - classic albums such as Twice Removed from Yesterday (1972) and Bridge of Sighs (1974), but I realized that I didn't actually own any Robin Trower records. So I bought Caravan to Midnight on the spot to fill that embarrassing hole in my collection. 

I was pleasantly surprised to find the original band pretty much intact. Bill Lordan from Sly & The Family Stone had replaced the first drummer, Reg Isadore, beginning with For Earth Below (1975), but vocalist/bassist James Dewar remained. However, Louisiana native Rustee Allen (aka Rusty Stone, also a former member of Sly & The Family Stone) was the bassist on Caravan. 

I'm still puzzled why Robin Trower (the group) was rarely mentioned when critics wrote about power trios of the day like The Jimi Hendrix Experience, Rush, and Cream. Maybe the lack of gimmicks explains the lack of recognition. For three players without synthesizers, background vocalists, or dubbed in horn sections, Robin Trower sure filled a lot of the available ear space. Trower's guitar lines are loaded with authority, whether he's soloing or just riffing, and the rhythm players and vocals are as good as they get. 

Speaking of vocals, I've read reviews that place Dewar in the top echelon of blues-rock singers, and I wouldn't argue against that claim. His phrasing always seems to hit the spot and gives lyrics, no matter how mundane, a depth that most blues-rock vocalists don't match. However, comparing Dewar to blues artists like Buddy Guy, Muddy Waters, John Lee Hooker, and B.B. King might be a bit of a stretch, not to mention the dozens of R&B/soul singers over the past 70 years. Yes, Dewar sings better than Stevie Ray Vaughan, but not as good as Otis Redding or Sam Cooke.

A key track on Caravan to Midnight is the title piece, a 5-minute instrumental featuring Trower's sustained chords on a mid-tempo burn. It reminds me a little of David Gilmour's song "Raise My Rent" off of his 1978 solo album. For fans of straight-ahead rock, the first track, "My Love (Burning Love)" offers a satisfying taste of Trower comping behind Dewar's raw vocals. Caravan to Midnight also includes two atypical songs: "Lost in Love" and "Birthday Boy." These are both sweet and sincere, and they break up the program nicely.

My favorite tracks are "I'm Out to Get You," "Fool," "King of the Dance" - a nod to disco - and the closing "Sail On." Perhaps it's due to repeated listening over a period of 45 years, but these songs all sound perfect to me. They cover the range of styles in the group's comfort zone while moving away from earlier formulas such as the epic "Bridge of Signs/In This Place" sequence from Bridge of Signs and the hard rock of "Hannah" and "Rock Me Baby" from Twice Removed from Yesterday. Don't get me wrong, I dig the earlier albums a lot, but it's the new versatility of the band that makes Caravan to Midnight special. 

Trower continues to record. His most recent album I know of is No More Worlds to Conquer, released in 2022, and the chops are still there. As a fellow "senior citizen," just six months older than Trower, I can understand why his creative powers could be sustained past age 75. A 60-year recording career serves as a deep well of experience that can be drawn from when needed. 

Steve:

I agree with Dan's assessment that Robin Trower has received less substantive regard than befits an artist of his stature. I say "substantive" because although he is a well-regarded artist, the achievements for which he is given credit are mostly reduced to something like, "he took the baton from Jimi Hendrix circa Electric Ladyland, took it to the bank, and has been milking that ever since". While this may be true of his early albums (i.e., before any "milking" accusations would even be appropriate), Trower is rarely given credit for the stylistic growth arc I can see on his 70s albums. Far from "making the same album over and over again", Trower established his thesis on the first album (Twice Removed from Yesterday), perfected the style on his second (Bridge of Sighs), repeated himself on his third (the still fine For Earth Below), tinkered with the formula by adding soul and funk on his fourth (Long Misty Days), made a failed attempt at a new style on his fifth (the tentative In City Dreams), and corrected that album's mistakes for a shiny new look for his sixth (Caravan to Midnight). 

Caravan uses Trower's unique guitar style and sound as an identifying stamp on the songs, but the songs themselves are not based around or otherwise dependent on that sound. Songs such as "Fool", "It's for You", or "My Love (Burning Love)" could proudly stand as highlights on the albums of any number of artists; the songs are well written, thoughtfully arranged, and convey real emotion. Singer James Dewar, who co-wrote all but one of the tracks with Trower, deserves a lot of the credit for making these songs as strong and convincing as they are.

Dan clearly enjoyed this album a lot when I was a kid, as I recall it playing in the house frequently, particularly side 2, which kicks off with my favorite tune, "Fool". With their new self-assured style, diversity rules the day, as the middle of side 2 features two very unusual songs for Trower: "Birthday Boy" and "King of the Dance". The first of these is a ballad with a very striking production style: Dewar's vocals have an eerie ring-modulated effect, giving them a sad and alienated feel as he weeps through the high notes in the cathartic chorus. The latter ("King of the Dance") is its polar opposite, a triumphant romp with a danceable beat, as Dewar roars happily and Trower has fun with his wah-wah pedal.

Trower would mostly return to basics on his subsequent albums, but the gains he made on Caravan to Midnight would continue to give his work the same depth and diversity that make this one of his best achievements.

Jeff Wayne - Jeff Wayne's Musical Version of The War of the Worlds (1978)

Steve:

I'm not sure how or why this interesting double album ended up in our house when I was a child, but it made a big impression on me. I believe Dan may have borrowed it from a friend or colleague and made a tape of it. I was not previously familiar with the H.G. Wells' novel on which it was based, but the sci-fi trope of Martians invading Earth was a well-worn premise, so it was not hard to get into or understand.  

My initial draw to the album was the singing of Justin Hayward of The Moody Blues, my favorite band at the time. Hayward appears both on the album's single "Forever Autumn" and as the singing voice of Oglivie the scientist in the album's overture, "The Eve of the War". War of the Worlds also features other celebrity voices, none of whom I knew at the time but who are familiar now: actor Richard Burton as the narrator journalist; David Essex of "Rock On" fame, as the artilleryman; Phil Lynott of Thin Lizzy as Parson Nathaniel; and Chris Thompson of Manfred Mann's Earth Band as the voice of humanity.  

Jeff Wayne, the producer and composer of this project, was a behind-the-scenes figure in British music, known mainly for composing for TV shows, commercial jingles, and producing albums by artists such as David Essex. The War of the Worlds was the first album expressly put out under his own name, and it was only a modest hit in the US (hitting #94) but a massive hit in the UK (hitting #4) and nearly inciting Martianmania in Australia where it hit #1 and went 10x platinum.

Although the album is largely driven by Burton's narrative and mood-setting instrumentals, Wayne employs several memorable motifs that recur throughout the album in a variety of contexts, giving the whole project a sense of unity. The vocal cameos by the celebrity singers are used for songs played in an energetic synth-rock/disco mode that sounds dated at times, but they have more than enough heart to compensate. Phil Lynott in particular nearly goes bananas in "The Spirit of Man" as the insane Parson Nathaniel, a fiery preacher who is convinced that God has abandoned humanity and sent the Martians to punish humans for their sinful ways. I only wish Thin Lizzy had released a song with this intensity (Lynott usually plays it cool as a low-key badass on Thin Lizzy albums).  

My dominant memory of this album, and one that haunts me to this day, comes from the penultimate track, "Dead London". At this time in the story, the Martians have turned Earth into a desolate wasteland. As our narrator walks through the empty streets of London, he realizes that the Martians are dying, having succumbed to the bacteria in the Earth's atmosphere to which humans have long been immune. In between the creepy narration and creepier horror-film-worthy music, the Martians let out sickly, electronically modified screams of ULLAAAAAAAA. This "Martian Voice" had occurred periodically throughout the album, sounding triumphant and even comical previously, but in this suspenseful context of anguish and pain, the voice is absolutely terrifying. I recall being so scared by this part of the album that I had trouble sleeping at night. It still makes my skin crawl thinking about it, and I rarely if ever listen to that track anymore. So beware, kids!

As a more lighthearted postscript, it was interesting to discover that a friend I had met online about 15 years ago is the cousin of one of the songwriters of "Forever Autumn", a top 5 single in the UK (sans narration), which was actually a cover of a previously released single by Vigrass & Osborne from 1972. According to Wikipedia, the song's melody was originally written by Jeff Wayne, Paul Vigrass (the cousin of my friend) and Gary Osborne in 1969 for a Lego commercial. The single was a top-20 hit in Japan. I am not making this up. Justin Hayward's version on War of the Worlds has since been included in Moody Blues anthologies and even performed live on stage by that group.

A remake of Wayne's opus was released in 2012 as Jeff Wayne's Musical Version of War of the Worlds - The New Generation, with Liam Neeson playing the part of the narrator journalist. I have not heard it yet, but perhaps I will boldly go there someday in the future.  

Dan: 

Steve and I had a lot of fun listening to this album and still joke about it today. It's fascinating to read his impressions that were stamped into him as a boy. For the "record," I borrowed the album from my university's library. As far back as the early 1960s, it was common in my experience to borrow vinyl records from libraries. I might have been the only one to check out Jeff Wayne's album because I remember few signs of wear on the vinyl surface. I probably made the tape before I returned the album to the library. Now Steve and I each have a digital version. There are times when I long for the original LP if only for the extensive illustrations and accompanying libretto. The illustration above is one of 12 included with the gatefold LP.

As a child myself, I saw the technicolor motion picture titled War of the Worlds (the 1953 version with Gene Barry, not Steven Spielberg's remake in 2005 with Tom Cruise). Wells' book was published in 1898 (all they had were books and theater in those days). The movie was indeed scary to a young boy like me, so in that respect Steve and I had similar pre-adolescent experiences. 

As for the music, I can barely listen to it without snickering. The songs lean towards corny, but there are wonderful sonic effects. If the dying Martians still scare Steve, the music on "The Red Weed" can give me chills (as long as I have not snickered too much). It's a bit of a journey to listen to all four sides in one sitting, but I have always admired the effort and skill involved in producing this novel piece of late 1970s pop art. Thanks to Steve for researching the facts surrounding the album.

Gino Vannelli - Brother to Brother (1978)

Steve:

Gino Vannelli is a Canadian soul singer who had a few hits in the late 70s and early 80s. I believe Brother to Brother was one of the many albums Dan taped off the radio back in the late 70s when Zeta-4 played complete albums every day at noon. It represents Vannelli at his creative and commercial peak; the album climbed to #13 on the US Billboard charts, and its flagship single "I Just Wanna Stop" went all the way to #4. In spite of its commercial leanings, Brother to Brother does share a trait common to other late 70s albums covered in this blog: the composing, production, and sonic detail and depth are all top notch, allowing listeners to bathe themselves in its ocean of sound, its wealth of great pop hooks, or both.

Indeed, were it not for the catchy and memorable pop songs, I may not have remembered this album as vividly as I did when I decided on a whim to purchase my own copy of Brother to Brother some 15 years ago. This decision was driven by nostalgia more than anything else, but once I put it on, I instantly remembered all these fine songs despite not having heard them in decades. I found myself returning to the album often, and as I did, the finer points of the amazing music underneath made themselves known. This is not an album that screams "Prog!" but as with Steely Dan or Toto, the musicians behind it are so supremely skilled that they can make incredibly complex music sound easy, natural, and catchy.

"Appaloosa" begins the album on a thrilling and dramatic note, punctuating a funky rock groove with tension-raising rhythmic accents, jazzy chord changes, and a climactic falsetto hook in the chorus. I remember a few years ago I was playing this song when I had some friends over, and one friend (a musician, btw) asked if it was Frank Zappa. Not quite, but he wasn't too far off the track. Although not released as a single, "Appaloosa" has earned inclusion on every "Best Of" Vannelli album I've seen thus far.

Vannelli keeps the album interesting throughout by alternating louder/faster songs and slower/romantic songs. Of the former, "Love and Emotion", "The Evil Eye", and the album's centerpiece, the 7-minute "Brother to Brother" all have prominent guitar, busy drums, and rapid chord changes, all while staying within the pop song format. "Brother to Brother" departs slightly from this formula by using multiple sections and more dramatic layers as befits a song occupying 7 minutes (although I would not call this song a "prog epic").  

The slower, more soulful songs are uniformly beautiful and memorable, and reinforce a consistent mood while all sounding distinct from each other. The big hit, "I Just Wanna Stop", is quintessential late 70s "yacht rock" (a term I use endearingly) that uses Vannelli's vocal abilities to their fullest to give added gravity to the longing, pleading lyrics. "The River Must Flow", "Feel Like Flying", "People I Belong To" and "Wheels of Life" are all equally impressive in different ways.

Although Vannelli made some fine albums prior to and after Brother to Brother, this album hits the sweet spot and gets the most plays from me by far. It's an ideal pop album in a way - the hooks reel you in, but the music keeps you interested for years to come.

Dan:

The first time I ever heard Gino Vannelli was in a house in Miami's Little Havana. I had bumped into German, one of my students, in a record store and we got talking about hi fi. He is the reason why I became an (gasp) audiophile, a dubious status that can only be self-imposed after years of listening and spending. German played a track from Vannelli's Powerful People (1974) to show off how good the recording was. His hi fi was awesome and so was the music. Thanks German!

I'm not sure when Brother to Brother entered my collection. I know I had the LP, but Steve may be right about the cassette recording too. Regardless, I dug every song on the album and played it enough so that my young son would never forget it. He's right about the album's enduring appeal.

Within the past year, I added the LP back into my collection. As a seasoned audiophile by this time, I paid attention to the recording details, especially the engineer, as well as the musicians and backing vocalists. For a mere 5 bucks, I managed to find an early pressing of a Bernie Grundman production featuring a fantastic studio ensemble. Brothers Ross and Joe Vannelli were joined by jazz luminaries Victor Feldman, Ernie Watts, Manolo Badrena, and a trio of soul-singing ladies, among others. 

As Steve notes, the songs on Brother to Brother tend to be busy and complex. In most cases I would be suspicious of "overproduction," my favorite term for mindless, cluttered, over-the-top arrangements. But with Grundman and Gino's caring touches, Brother to Brother, on vinyl at least, passes any audiophile test. And not that many audiophile faves are found amongst Vannelli's genre of all-out rock. But this one is different and holds an honored place in both Steve's and my collections.