Bryan Ferry - In Your Mind (1977)

Dan:

As a fan of Roxy music, I felt obligated to investigate Bryan Ferry's solo albums. His first three albums - These Foolish Things (1973); Another Time, Another Place (1974); and Let's Stick Together (1976) - gave Ferry the chance to cover songs he must have heard growing up. I believe this because he's about my age and I heard those same songs growing up. While I appreciated his tribute to the past, the few original songs that he included in his solo albums were more interesting, as were those already played by Roxy Music.

In Your Mind flipped the script to become his first album of all original songs. Ferry also produced the album and enlisted contributions from dozens of well-known artists to bring his new compositions to life. Phil Manzanera, Mel Collins, Chris Spedding, John Wetton, Neil Hubbard, and Ann Odell's string section, among others, all appear in various combinations. Although this assemblage could not be considered a working band, many had spent time with Roxy Music or had otherwise collaborated with Ferry before. 

For me, the most outstanding track is "Love Me Madly Again." It has two sections. The first is a choppy, confrontational vocal demanding a lady who's been "cutting it on the streets" to "love me madly once again." There's a nice bridge that begins "Don't make it easy for me" before the pleading resumes, almost to the point of obsession. At about the three-minute mark, the song makes a melodic and chordal shift, which offers some release from the intensity of the first section. After a couple of more verses, the song continues for over two minutes as an instrumental played over the second part's chord progression. Strings and background vocals accompany the melody as the long coda completes side 1. It's an unusual arrangement but extremely effective. 

Ferry's next album, The Bride Stripped Bare (1978), reverted to the covers-plus-originals formula of his earlier solo albums. It included tasty originals such as "This Island Earth" and "When She Walks In the Room" and a Roxy cover ("Can't Let Go"). 

After a break from solo projects for about eight years, Ferry recorded two of his best albums as a solo artist: Boys and Girls (1985) and Bête Noire (1987). These albums echoed the vibes of Roxy Music's Flesh and Blood and Avalon albums - slickly urbane with great new songs. 

After a 5-year hiatus from solo albums, Ferry came out with Taxi (1992) and Mamouna (1994), neither of which I cared for. As Time Goes By (1999) reverted to nostalgia but lacked the zip of the first solo efforts. 

Since the turn of the century, Ferry returned to form with three solid albums: Frantic (2002), Olympia (2010), and Avonmore (2014). A concert given at the Royal Albert Hall in 2020 appears to be the cap on a long and prosperous career. He's been in my regular listening rotation for the last 40 years and counting.

Steve:

As this was Ferry's first solo album of all new, original material, there is a temptation to view it in the context of Roxy Music itself, and I will succumb to this temptation. While there is some sonic continuity between Roxy's prior studio album (Siren) and In Your Mind, it's also clear that Ferry is making an effort to carve a separate identity for his solo albums. While that difference could be partially due to the absence of Andrew Mackay and limited involvement of Phil Manzanera, I believe the shift is more a deliberate move on Ferry's part.

For the most part, the songs on In Your Mind are more straightforward in both subject matter and arrangement than they were on the more experimental and willfully eccentric Roxy Music albums that preceded it. Strange, harsh instrumental breaks and vocal effects are kept to a minimum in an attempt to let the songs stand on their own merits, even as the instrumentation and engineering/mixing of the band sounds similar to the Roxy albums.

That said, "Love Me Madly Again" (I agree with Dan that it is the most outstanding track here) sounds like it could have fit comfortably on Siren, with its novel two-part structure and its mix of agitated frustration and resigned pleading. I hear it as a mix between "Just Another High" and "Both Ends Burning".  At over seven minutes long, it's a riveting piece of music, definitely a career highlight.

Elsewhere, although the overall sound retains the modern, layered and loud production of Siren, some old-time 50s rock n' roll seems to creep into some songs. "One Kiss" has the cadences of a tearjerker ballad in 6/8, and "Party Doll" has the danceable propulsion of a classic 50s track. Somewhat surprising is "Rock of Ages" with its copious background vocals in what could almost pass for a gospel song, complete with lyrics yearning for spiritual connection.

In Your Mind is an album Roxy Music fans should enjoy, as should fans of Ferry's earlier and later solo career. It's historically important as a step away from the Roxy of old and into a new identity. In my opinion, it accomplishes this break with the past much more engagingly and effectively than Roxy's next album following the hiatus, Manifesto, which similarly attempted something new.

Steely Dan - Aja (1977)

Dan:

Aja was my first foray into the music of Steely Dan, although I had probably heard songs like "Do It Again" and "Rikki Don't Lose that Number" on the radio before I plunged into their vinyl. From the very first notes of "Black Cow," I was hooked. The snide lyrics, accompanied by a chorus of background singers and premier musicians jelled into a song about breaking up such as I had never heard (and we all know how many songs are written about breakups). I even knew what a black cow was, although in my family we called them rootshakes. 

Then came the title piece, featuring Wayne Shorter's note-perfect tenor sax solo and the sustained chords of the outro. Of course, I knew who Wayne Shorter was because as a college freshman in 1962 I was listening to him play with Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers. I've studied Shorter's solo on "Aja" carefully in order to understand how those precious notes fit together so perfectly, and on a rock album no less! It's one of the best deployments of a real jazz artist into a rock number without a hint of pretentiousness or selling out. "Aja" is nothing like a jazz composition, and it's certainly not ordinary rock. It might be Donald Fagen and Walter Becker's most extraordinary musical accomplishment. 

"Deacon Blues," with its irresistible melody and sax parts played by another jazz luminary, Pete Christlieb, completes side 1. Christlieb and Shorter were not merely "session musicians;" they're more like top guns, especially Shorter (who died earlier this year after receiving every meaningful jazz award there is). "Deacon Blues" is a lot of people's favorite song (including my late brother and Steve's uncle). 

Before I ever turned the record over, I had the feeling that I had stumbled upon something special. Side 2 offers four briefer tunes, but each one is tight, punchy and full of great lines. "Home at Last" borrows from classical literature with Odysseus as its inspiration. "Peg" and "Josie" are portraits of admirable women. "I Got the News" is perhaps the only disappointing track, but it's got so much competition to vie with that I'll give it credit for making it onto the album.

A year after Aja's release, Becker and Fagen produced a real jazz album that paired Christlieb with tenorist Warne Marsh. The Steely Dan leaders included their composition "Rapunzel" on that album. They must have loved that project! 

Steve:

Few albums dominate my memories of the late 1970s like Aja. Once it entered our house, it played seemingly constantly, as did several other Steely Dan albums such as Katy Lied, Countdown to Ecstasy, and The Royal Scam. Despite my lifelong tendency to ignore lyrics (a tendency I've expressed regret for elsewhere in this blog), I knew the lyrics to all the songs, even if the slang terms and underlying meaning of the words was lost on me. The "remedies" on the counter by her keys in "Black Cow", one of which will "screen out the sorrow", were just cool sounding words to me back then.  

Aja was also, along with Dark Side of the Moon, a favorite album to test stereo equipment and speakers - something Dan and I did fairly often as we carried the record to Sound Advice, a stereo component store in Coral Gables. I don't recall how often he actually bought anything from that store, but I imagine he did it often enough to earn the trust of their staff. Once I brought in an LP of my own - a recently acquired Mobile Fidelity pressing of Queen's A Night at the Opera, which has some sonic marvels of its own.

If Aja is not my absolute favorite Steely Dan album (that honor would go to The Royal Scam), it's certainly not because of any flaws. I watched a documentary wherein Becker, Fagen and other participants (bassist Chuck Rainey and drummer Bernard "Purdie Shuffle" Purdie come to mind) talk about the making of Aja, and demonstrate the craft that went into the album by isolating certain tracks and talking about why this one three-bar phrase was attempted 82 times before the hired studio musician got it just right. It's well known as one of the most clinically-perfect albums out there, a distinction that actually turns off a lot of music fans. But what the record lacks in spontaneity and raw energy, it makes up for with its genuinely heartfelt songs (I still get a little misty-eyed during the suburban kid's dreams of becoming a tragic musical legend) and its stunning musicality.  

If Becker and Fagen were anal about getting THE perfect take, then it's to their credit that they only hired the best to do the job. A lot of labored-over albums are so treated because of egomania or a simple lack of good judgment; in the case of Aja, such decisions were based in knowledge about who would make it great and how to get the album to that level. [Dan Comment: Steely Dan might have learned the value of obsessing over recordings from none other than Elvis Presley, who was notorious for creating dozens of takes before the perfect one was realized.]

Supertramp - Even in the Quietest Moments (1977)

Dan:

I recall asking some of my Danish colleagues in 1982 if they liked Supertramp, and they wrinkled up their noses at me. Apparently, they did not regard the British band as serious progressive rock artists. By 1982, of course, Supertramp had struck it rich with Breakfast in America and perhaps alienated purists who believed that the best bands are those that labor in obscurity. Seems I've heard that vacuous argument in the jazz world many times before. I try not to begrudge any band's success because I know that all bands work hard and that none of them are overnight sensations.

Supertramp's songs were heard often on FM radio, which also aired a 1976 recorded live performance, released on CD in 2001 as Is Everybody Listening? I had taped part of the live performance off the radio broadcast. I also worked with a colleague in Florida who discovered "The Logical Song" from Breakfast and thought it was great because it challenged conventional learning. That's probably why I bought the album. Bill and I then worked to develop alternative teaching/learning methods and actually won a national innovation award for designing our college course. Bill's son Kevin was one of Steve's music buddies for a while back in the early 1980s. 

So, I had a lot of exposure to Supertramp, which prompted me to disregard the cynics who considered them mainly to be pop artists. Even in the Quietest Moments may be the best evidence of a highly skilled band writing and playing difficult music that sounds easy. The last two numbers, "From Now On" and "Fool's Overture" make the best case for prog respectability. 

"From Now On" is about burnout and escapism, as the song's protagonist fantasizes about a different, more exciting and adventurous life away from his boring job. It's a great song about real things, and it resonates with me, not because my job was ever boring but because I know so many people whose jobs are. I played this song to my class once so they might understand what job stress feels like (as opposed to a purely academic understanding). 

"Fool's Overture" is more like classic prog, written over different sections and mirroring symphonic form. Co-written by Rick Davies and Roger Hodgson, the song is about the end of civilization and the fall of mankind. Heavy stuff. Later in his career, Hodgson played the song backed by a true symphony orchestra, as he imagined it when he wrote the song.

The remaining tracks range from sweet ("Downstream") to complex (the title track) to self-indulgent ("Babaji"). None appear to be written to score a top-10 hit, but all are worth hearing, both musically and lyrically. That makes Even in the Quietest Moments a strong contender to be Supertramp's best album. 

Steve:

I definitely heard a lot of Supertramp around the house as a kid. I also remember hearing them a lot on the radio. Although I don't recall hearing "Give a Little Bit" on the radio back then, apparently it hit #15 on the singles chart, a statistic that is consistent with Dan's assertion that nothing was designed to hit the top 10. From my perspective, this song gained much more popularity years after the fact, being used in movies and in for TV commercials for The Gap clothing store. It's a lovely, uplifting song that's so shiny and happy it can actually be annoying when you're in a bad mood. I kid of course... I give a little bit of levity to you.

My favorite Supertramp songs are usually the ones featuring pianist Rick Davies on vocals. Both the aforementioned "From Now On" and the pensive piano ballad "Downstream" are career highlights from a band at or near its peak. It was clear to me even back in the day that Dan was a big fan of "From Now On", as it played in the house an awful lot - and I loved every minute of it. I wasn't aware he'd designed a course with Bill inspired by "The Logical Song" though... how cool is that?

The Alan Parsons Project - I Robot (1977)

Steve:

Although I Robot was commercially successful and is widely considered as one Alan Parsons' best albums, I'm still surprised that it isn't more highly regarded than it is, considering its impressive pedigree. Alan Parsons was a studio engineer who worked at EMI Studios (Abbey Road) and honed his craft by playing a key role in the recording of the Beatles' Abbey Road and Let it Be, and even more famously, Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon (DSotM). The latter album inspired him to perfect his own brand of conceptual studio rock, with the help of co-songwriter Eric Woolfson (sitting to Parsons' right, below) and a rotating cast of singers and studio musicians, collectively known as The Alan Parsons Project. The band acquired their name by accident; it was still unnamed when they began recording, and the tapes were labeled only with that generic descriptor - but it stuck. With I Robot, The Alan Parsons Project created what I consider to be an ideal companion piece to DSotM; considering the popularity of that record, I feel the potential audience and universal appeal of I Robot have yet to be fully realized.

My first exposure to The Alan Parsons Project was via a compilation album, a demonstration record put out by Maxell - they had one called "Rock" and at least two called "Jazz". An odd product, to be sure. Maxell, of course, manufactured cassette tapes amidst the concern about "home recording is killing the record industry." Could this have been Maxell's effort to kill the industry from within by giving consumers records that were tailor-made to be copied onto cassette? Joking aside, the last track on the Rock sampler was "Genesis, Ch. 1, V. 32", which is the concluding track on I Robot. It's a powerful, ominous instrumental, and it made me all the more curious about I Robot when the album eventually entered Dan's collection.

Like DSotM, I Robot's musical selections flow in an organically paced sequence across each album side, often with one track segueing into the next. Both albums explore different facets of a unifying concept: madness and what drives people to it, in Pink Floyd's case; and the paradox of becoming a slave to technological advances that were designed to free us, in I Robot's case. Isaac Asimov's book of short stories titled I, Robot was the obvious inspiration behind the concept, although I have not read it myself, nor have I seen the 2004 movie of the same name. I say this to assure the reader that I may not have done as much research for this post as I could have, but at least I know what I don't know. 

Musical highlights on I Robot are many. "I Wouldn't Want to Be Like You" has a complex funk groove and a jazzy chord structure, and it still gets a good amount of radio airplay. It also has a great vocal by frequent collaborator Lenny Zakatek; "Games People Play" is another hit single he'd sing in a couple of years. The title track, which opens the album, is another classic, described by one reviewer as the sound of robots getting funky, which is an amusing image as well as an accurate one. "The Voice" is another favorite - its catchy bass line, dramatic instrumental mid-section, and placement at the start of side 2 make it analogous to "Money" from DSotM. Instrumental pieces otherwise dominate side 2, from the proto-trip-hop (really) of "Nucleus" to the full-on orchestral fright storm of "Total Eclipse" (also the original working title of a certain Pink Floyd album... coincidence?) to the aforementioned "Genesis, Ch. 1 V. 32". (Genesis Chapter 1 of the Bible, of course, has only 31 verses. Talk about a cliff hanger.)

Dan:

In 1977, I was wary about bands that weren't really bands. Real bands, in my mind, consisted of a bunch of musicians who performed and recorded together over some length of time, with substitutions as necessary. A recording engineer should just record bands, not usurp the musicians' art, or so I thought. But I Robot proved that my theory was naïve. Indeed, Parsons and Woolfson provided just what many "real" bands lacked - attention to the production of recorded music that equaled the attention paid to performance. I should have remembered that my favorite prog bands of the day all depended heavily on production as well as instrumental prowess - Pink Floyd, The Moody Blues, Steely Dan, Brian Eno, King Crimson, among others. Nonetheless, it was unusual to have the band named after the producer/engineer.

Obviously, the listening world rewarded such projects with album sales and awards. An unlikely following developed among audiophiles who normally value limited interference in the chain between performance and playback. But the audiophile press raved about I Robot as a sonic masterpiece. So I checked it out.

Steve nails the positive aspects of I Robot, so there is no need to repeat them. I would, however, like to single out my personal favorite song - "Don't Let It Show." It's not a battle cry for introversion, but rather a tense plea for deception following what appears to be a breakup. Ambiguity and struggle are reflected in the singer's request to "keep it inside of you," even though it's the wrong thing to say. So it's selfless and selfish at the same time. Sad, yet interesting, and nicely sung by Dave Townsend.

Yes - Going for the One (1977)

Dan:

I don't remember when I picked up Going for the One by Yes. I was not yet captivated by the band and this new one came out some time after the release of a couple of less engaging albums (Tales of Topographic Oceans and Relayer). Going for the One would then be followed by two even more dubious releases: Tormato and Drama. It seemed to me that Yes had difficulty matching their early successes; early brilliance can be a curse for artists expected to match their best work every time out.

So, with low expectations I explored the new Yes album with the weird cover. The title track got me worried; it was a bashing, slashing noisy guitar piece that put vocalist Jon Anderson in the unfamiliar position of having to shout above the band to be heard. Jon was never a good shouter. The second track, thankfully, caught me by surprise with its more familiar narrative form and well-paced dynamics. "Turn of the Century" is a beautiful song about a sculptor whose lady dies. He then creates a stone sculpture of her so that she can always be with him. I don't know if the lyrics are inspired by any ancient legends or not, but it's a moving story conveyed magnificently by the music. At eight minutes in length, "Turn of the Century" feels like a more lyrical, and less opaque, return to Yes's songwriting on their earlier albums. 

Side 2 begins with the fast tempo "Parallels." Chris Squires' lyrics are fine, but the pipe organ and guitar dominate the introduction and smother the vocals. Fortunately, "Parallels" is followed by a much shorter and more appealing song, "Wonderous Stories," which may have been a rare attempt at producing a hit single. It's reminiscent of one of the Life Seeker sections in "Starship Trooper," which tells about "talks by the water, the proud sons and daughter, who knew the knowledge of the land and spoke to me in sweet accustomed ways." In "Wonderous Stories," a new life seeker begs to hear stories from some unnamed mystic. It's a Yes masterpiece that clocks in at less than four minutes. 

The finale is another masterpiece, but much longer at 17:38 minutes. "Awaken" includes three main sections. Part 1 is a mostly vocal introduction featuring Jon Anderson's angelic voice beseeching the sun to stand still "reaching out to touch our own being / past all mortal as we / here we can be." From there, part 2 builds a dense ensemble supporting repetitious chants from Anderson: "awaken gentle mass touch" that shifts into a more rhythmic melody pondering the workings of man. The third and last section returns peacefully to the opening stanza about wishing the sun to stand still. My favorite line is the variation on the first stanza that closes the piece:

Like the time I ran away

And turned around and you were standing close to me

This lovely sentiment is repeated twice over a delicate accompaniment that ends with a soft bass note. If only all beautiful songs could end this way. 

With Rick Wakeman on organ and piano, this version of Yes could extend their instrumental reach allowing them to be more grandiose (in a good way) but also more cluttered. My tune preferences obviously favor the grandiose as long as the lyrics and contrasts are not obliterated. Hitting the jackpot on three of five numbers is a pretty good score, even for one of the most famous prog bands. 

Steve:

While I do not share Dan's opinion that Yes had fallen into a slump prior to Going for the One, this album definitely stands out among its neighbors. For one thing, the cover art is the first in a while not to feature a Roger Dean creation, and the production overall indicates a desire to shuffle the formula somewhat. This shuffling would definitely backfire on the following year's Tormato (despite some nice moments), but for the most part the Yes franchise emerges from Going for the One just as strong as they'd ever been. 

I remember hearing "Wonderous Stories" a LOT around the house as a kid. I could tell it was a big favorite of Dan's, and it's easy to see why. It's concise and tuneful, and yet it builds in emotion and density like a good prog epic. By the end, you want to get your lighter out and wave your hands back and forth. Definitely a career highlight.

I always liked "Parallels" (though I never heard Dan play it - this was after I got my own copy) for its cool bass line and its energetic chorus melody. But I especially treasure "Awaken", a track I still view with a bit of reverence - as if I would spoil its magic if I tried too hard to understand it. I just know it floors me every time I hear it, even if I don't listen to it often. There's a long quiet solo break in the middle of the track that transfixes you for a couple of minutes before the track starts up again with more spiritual verve than before. It's quite a rush.

Happy the Man - Happy the Man (1977)

Dan:

My first exposure to the music of Happy the Man came from Steve, who had acquired their 1989 compilation album, titled Retrospective. Not prone to hyperbole, my son rarely raved about the music he loaned to me like - "Wow Dad, you're gonna love this one!!!" So I began my HTM experience with no prior expectations for a band I had never heard of compiled from three albums I had never heard. I thought the band name was weird, but why not give the CD a listen, if only to respect Steve's kind gesture.

On first spin, Retrospective seemed like "a sudden manifestation or perception of the essential nature or meaning of something," which is Merriam-Webster's definition of an epiphany. I had never heard anything like Happy the Man before, but it was the most intriguing and pleasurable 80 minutes I had heard in a long while, made all the more wonderful because I was not expecting it. It's hard to describe the band's approach to their original compositions (I think they only recorded original material), or what was composed and what was improvised. It all flows so naturally and sounds completely realized in performance, at least on the compilation album.

After spending time with Retrospective, I sought out the three albums. The first self-titled album is our selection for the blog, but the other two, Crafty Hands (1978) and Third, Better Late... (1983) could have been easily included. They're all built on the same concept and include the same bandmembers.

For the most part, Happy the Man consists of instrumental tracks; the self-titled first album also has at least one vocal track, the mysterious "Upon the Rainbow (Befrost)". My interest has always been with the instrumental tracks. Some are choppy, like "Knee Bitten Nymphs in Limbo," but most are soaring and melodic. Each one has a similar signature, regardless of who takes the lead or who wrote the piece.

Happy the Man rewarded their dedicated followers by releasing Beginnings, a warehouse recording from their early days in Harrisonburg, VA; a live album in 1994; Death's Crown (1999); and The Muse Awakens (2004). Only Muse succeeds in equaling the magic of the first three albums, despite the presence of two new members. 

Of the original five members, only Kit Watkins recorded to a significant extent as a solo artist and as keyboardist during a stint with Camel. 

Regarding availability, I found only The Muse Awakens on Spotify premium. Qobuz offers five albums, but only Crafty Hands is from the first three. So there are a few ways to stream or download a portion of their small discography. The first three albums were also pressed on vinyl, so they may be obtainable in used record stores or online. 

Any serious, or even frivolous, prog head should know about Happy the Man. 

Steve:

Happy the Man certainly are special. When I was first discovering prog bands outside the usual suspects (Floyd, Yes, Genesis, Crimson, etc.), Happy the Man were always mentioned in reverent tones, with many people crowning them as the finest prog band the United States had yet produced. High praise - and on my first listen I was slightly surprised at how melodious and uncomplicated the music was. No crazy pyrotechnics here, just beautiful music. It was a bit of a shift for me as a guy who had spent years following bands performing supersonic feats of technical fireworks and elongated sci-fi epics. But on second or third listen, it became crystal clear that this stuff was just as compositionally dense; it just didn't beat you over the head with it all the time.

Granted, I had been somewhat prepared for this because Kit Watkins, one of the keyboard players, had appeared on Camel's I Can See Your House From Here (1979) and had even contributed one of that album's best tracks. His composition "Eye of the Storm" had been an unused Happy the Man track (later to appear on their belated third album in a different performance), and it was a very good proxy for what Happy the Man does best on this, their debut album from 1977.

Although Happy the Man were distributed through a major label (Arista), their recorded career occurred a few years after progressive rock's commercial peak. Thus, they unfortunately fell into a vacuum of indifference that relegated them to near obscurity. I still think it strange that even though I was well aware of the likes of Alan Parsons Project (also on Arista) and Camel in the late 70s, the name of Happy the Man never came up once. We can right those wrongs today by giving them the due they deserve.

Renaissance - Novella (1977)

 

Dan:

I recall finding Novella in a cutout bin sometime during the 1980s. It was the American pressing with a different cover (I prefer the UK cover shown here). Cutouts of never-played but judged-to-be disposable releases by the record companies made up a fair amount of my collection. Between Spec's and the Happy Note in Miami, cutouts were plentiful in the 70s and 80s.

I liked the album a lot but at some point decided to part with it. Forty years later I was perusing Steve's CD collection and ran across several spines reading "Renaissance." I wondered: could those be by the same artists that made Novella? You betcha! So I decided to give them a listen. 

By the end of a few bars I was reminded that this was one of the best bands of the 1970s. I remembered most of their songs and loved the grandiose arrangements using symphony orchestras to play their live performances at Carnegie Hall and the Royal Albert Hall. Since Novella was not in Steve's CD collection, I downloaded the deluxe edition which also includes the full Royal Albert Hall concert. Now I was swimming in Renaissance music and enjoying it immensely. 

The band featured the miraculous voice of Annie Haslam, strong compositions from within the band, and a solid stage presence in premier venues. Their compositions were normally extended pieces that drew from classical sources, such as Scheherazade, and told stories of fanciful days of yore.

However, Renaissance fell out of favour with the prog audience while other groups soldiered on with lesser material. New genres were appearing (disco, new wave, punk), so a beautiful soprano voice and symphonic arrangements might have seemed a trifle quaint as the 1980s loomed. 

Key tracks on Novella include "Can You Hear Me?", "Midas Man," and "Touching Once." "Can You Hear Me?" is a typical Renaissance song that begins with a small overture, setting up a vocal section which moves from soft and gentle to stratospheric. It stretches to 13:39 minutes in length. The shortest song is 4:16, but most songs are in the 5-to-7-minute range. Each of these has been featured in Renaissance's concert performances. 

Past the heyday of the 70s, Renaissance lives on via numerous releases of tour material. I have not personally investigated these, reasoning that more concerts would not reveal more insights than did the Carnegie and Royal Albert concerts. They also appear not to be widely distributed and some are on dubious labels. 

If you're drawn to symphonic rock as a subgenre of prog, you should definitely check out Renaissance's other 1970s recordings: Prologue, Ashes Are Burning, Turn of the Cards, Scheherazade and Other Stories, A Song for All Seasons, and Azure D'Or. All of these feature Annie Haslam's vocals, whereas two earlier albums do not. 

Steve:

I remember being captivated by "Can You Hear Me?" coming out of Dan's stereo. I wasn't even sure if I liked it at the time, but it was so different from what I'd heard before, and delivered with such operatic conviction, that I was impressed at the very least. Even so, Renaissance was not one of my staples as I was getting into progressive rock more intensely. Rather, Novella was an LP I picked up in my twenties, if only as a memento of my youth. Since then, I've acquired the rest of the Renaissance discography on used vinyl (not the Jane Relf-era stuff, although I do have one Illusion album). Occasionally, I listen to some of their albums in succession. I have to be in the right mood, but boy, do they hit the spot when I am.

While Annie Haslam is the most outstanding member (with her powerful and expressive vocals, how could she not be?), composers Michael Dunford and Jon Camp (not to mention lyricist Betty Thatcher) accomplish the trick of creating huge productions with fairly modest and acoustic means. Although orchestral arrangements are frequently used, the band also uses piano/acoustic guitar arrangements, although the bass is definitely electric and helps drives the melody much like Chris Squire does for Yes (same Rickenbacker bass sound, if I'm not mistaken).  

While the heart of their discography is Prologue through Azure D'Or (i.e. the 1970s), I also have the few albums they made in the 1980s, which are assumed to be worthless by a lot of fans, many of whom have not bothered to listen. I will personally vouch for Camera Camera and Time Line, which might have scared off fans with the album covers alone. While these albums do rely on more modest song structures and keep up with the times by using synthesizers, they still display plenty of artistry. Peter Gabriel, Yes, and Genesis went in the same direction, so why not Renaissance? All I'm saying is give them a chance, and you may be pleasantly surprised.

Phil Manzanera/801 - Listen Now (1977)

Dan:

Phil Manzanera was the guitarist in Roxy Music. During a temporary disbanding of Roxy, Manzanera formed 801 alongside Brian Eno, Bill MacCormick, Francis Monkman, Simon Philips, and Lloyd Watson. 801's first album was a live performance recorded in 1976. Listen Now followed in 1977 and was the only studio album made by the group, which went on to record at least three more live albums. 

Manzanera also recorded solo albums away from the 801 ensemble. I first became aware of these through a compilation album titled Guitarissimo, which was recommended by a friend who knew I liked Roxy Music. That led me to Diamond Head and Listen Now, which had the best tunes on Guitarissimo. 

Listen Now has become a "go to" album for two main reasons. First, the vocals by Simon Ainley are a revelation. Outside of his work with 801 and a collective known as Random Hold, he appears to have few recording credits. That's surprising given the strength of his singing on Listen Now. It's a very human voice that is not stretched for more dramatic impact. This allows the lyrics to be easily heard and understood. I know nothing more about him.

My second reason is the songs themselves. "Listen Now" is a mid-tempo track that leads off the album and it features lyrics with obvious political importance. It's basically a warning about fascism, a suitable topic for a British band but increasingly relevant to all societies. It can also be seen as relevant to any political situation in which power is wrested away from people who have "taught ourselves to trust our heads" but in an oppressive society "it's getting nowhere."

Is it any wonder you've got no power

When you pay a thief to keep it for you?

Is it a surprise that your wine is sour

When you let a liar choose the brew he pours you?

Talk on the wire about force and choice

It's uncomfortable to raise your voice

Everybody whispering behind their hand

Selling their despair to any stronger man

Don't have to listen now

Having experienced some career-changing organizational politics, I resonate with the lyrics of "Listen Now," which reflect the fear of tyranny while warning to be wary and watchful.

"That Falling Feeling," which ends the album, also entertains thoughts that rarely are heard in any form of popular music, except prog. It's about impending personal doom when you realize that your past has caught up with you. 

Yesterday you knew what to say

To keep them sweet

But just one fall and it's all you can do

To keep your feet

Yes we know you can't help telling lies

That's too bad, you should have used your eyes

To stop that falling feeling

Moving in

And here's that falling feeling

Moving in

You can feel it

You can feel it moving in

The album closes with the last two lines repeated over and over, then stops abruptly.

I don't relate personally to a falling feeling, but it makes me think of liars and scoundrels who rose by exploiting others and who now have to face the music as part of a reckoning that could be legal, spiritual, or physical. It's a great song about social justice.

The short instrumental, "Island," provides lovely respite from the more anguishing songs. I love the way that Manzanera harnesses his amazing technique to serve up guitar lines with deep emotional impact over Eno's soothing synths.

Steve:

I am relatively new to Listen Now - I picked up my first copy just several years ago. It was an old student radio promo copy at a bookstore near Penn State University. Coincidentally, this past winter I picked up another Manzanera album, K-Scope, at the same bookstore; it is the follow-up to Listen Now and well worth investigating. My very first Manzanera album (801 Live) was acquired near my own college when I was a student. Something about discarded Phil Manzanera albums and college towns go together like bread and butter, I suppose.  

I've grown quite fond of Listen Now in the short time it's been with me. It sports GREAT talent handling the instrumental work and the smooth, professional production style of late-70s prog artists like Camel and The Alan Parsons Project, but with more grit to the sound. Lyrics are also more carefully devised to deliver messages. Dan summarized this latter point very well with his examples above, but I'd like to call out a couple of other tracks that caught my attention.

Although I'm not sure of its message per se, the lyrics of "Flight 19" offer a chaotic, wordy account of some domestic dispute/mishap, where it's difficult to know which character's point of view is represented in any given line. I've re-read it three times and I'm still trying to figure out what happened. I like that kind of ambiguity, especially since it's appropriate given the confusion happening in these characters' lives. There's some dark humor too - after Suzie crashes her car into a wall, the chorus begins, "Lonely one / A wall is not a home".

More relatable sentiments can be found on "Postcard Love", a simple but resonant snapshot of a guy looking at a postcard he received from an old friend, the first received in quite a while. But the friend in question is revealed to be a woman he was in love with but who did not feel the same way for him - and so he remained in "The Friend Zone". The lyric plays with the notion of postcards ending with "With Love" as a salutation, but we all know that's only a figure of speech in cases like these. The cheapness and triviality of postcards is also explored here.

Lastly, I'd like to elaborate on Dan's reference that lead vocalist Simon Ainley was involved with a group called Random Hold. I have Random Hold's first album, Etceteraville (produced by Peter Hammill), and it bears mentioning that Bill MacCormick, Phil Manzanera's bassist and primary songwriting partner on Listen Now, also plays in Random Hold. Mysteriously, the only vocal credit listed is simply for "Random Hold". Although Ainley is not credited as a performer, his name appears in the songwriting credits, leading me to believe he IS the mysterious unnamed singer. What little information exists online seems to confirm this. Although this is not intended to be a Random Hold review, their debut album (released 1980) sounds like a descendant of Listen Now - but a more stripped down, Eno-esque post-punk version, if you can picture that. 

David Bowie - Low (1977)

Steve:

Prior to 1985, my knowledge of David Bowie was limited mostly to his huge hits on Let's Dance (1983) and Tonight (1984), plus I remember seeing the music video for "D.J.", a song from his Lodger album. Come the CD age, Dan purchased ChangesOneBowie, a popular 70s compilation that featured Bowie's greatest hits through 1976. I became very familiar with and fond of these songs, but I was not immediately moved to venture into the original albums. A year or so later, Dan appeared with a CD copy of Low, and it made a big impression on me.

I was familiar with Brian Eno at the time, again thanks to Dan (see our review of Another Green World), and I was quite surprised to see how deeply Bowie was entrenched in the same kind of abstract/ambient musicmaking on Low. I learned that Bowie actively collaborated with Eno during this time, and the second half of the album is a dead giveaway of that influence as it consists of atmospheric instrumentals aimed at creating visual images in one's mind and abstract emotions in one's soul. All four pieces are wonderful, but "Warszawa" takes the prize. It's hard to believe that this piece was conceived by a pop star, and a pop star half out of his mind on cocaine, at that. 

The first half of Low contains standard rock instrumentation, but in each short track the pop/rock song format is fractured in some way. Both "Speed of Life" and "A New Career in a New Town" are soundtrack-like instrumentals. "Breaking Glass" and "What in the World" include disorienting sonics and uncomfortable rhythmic shifts. "Sound and Vision", the single, rides a single mellow groove for its duration and doesn't make room for a chorus. Both "Always Crashing in the Same Car" and "Be My Wife" come closest to satisfying pop song norms, but the mood in both cases is depressive and/or paranoid, reflective of Bowie's state of mind at the time.

Bowie had a wide-ranging and distinguished career with an impressive discography. There are plenty of his albums I either have never heard or have only heard a handful of times (everything since the mid-80s, in fact), but the presence of an album like Low in his discography guarantees Bowie an esteemed place in my heart. This is an album I have internalized and lived with for decades, owned several copies of, and consider an all-time favorite. Even the other two "Berlin-Trilogy" albums (Heroes and Lodger) don't even come close.  

Dan:

I didn't own any Bowie albums back in the 70s, but the compilation album was handy for the hits he made, especially my favorite, "Space Oddity." Then one night in Copenhagen, I found myself at a colleague's flat listening to music after visiting a jazz club. John played two albums for me: a collaboration between Gerry Mulligan and Astor Piazzola, and Low by David Bowie. John made a point of playing "Warszawa," which grabbed me just as my host must have known it would. It was exciting to hear the deep somber drones that conveyed such a sense of austerity. Since I was in Europe to work with people from Denmark, Austria, Germany and the UK, I felt closer to the horror of World War II and its aftermath. Music such as "Warszawa" and the rest of Low's side 2 could only have been made by Europeans with experience of the war and postwar periods. Their profound impact remains with me to this day.

I acquired Low and Heroes at about the same time. There were tracks on Heroes that were similar to Low's dark instrumentals, but I agree with Steve that Low is the real thing and the other albums in the trilogy are less powerful. (Confession: I have never heard Lodger). I also appreciate the role of Brian Eno as an arranger/composer and "presence" over albums in progressive rock. I like to imagine Eno as a wise and worldly magician who can cast spells over musicians, recording engineers, and record executives. It's amazing how he managed to influence so many of my favorite rock albums, often without playing a single note. 

Finally, an observation about the serendipity of discovering prog. Were it not for that night in Copenhagen, and the good taste of my host John, I might have never heard Low. Based on that hearing, I purchased the copy of Low that Steve first heard in the early 80s. From those experiences, I've learned to be attentive to opportunities because they may only come once!

National Health - National Health (1977)

Steve:

If you've read our previous posts about the Canterbury bands (Soft Machine, Caravan, Hatfield & the North), you'll know that my discovery of these bands came together very quickly, mostly during my junior year of college (roughly 1989) when many of their recordings first became available on CD. By end of year, my friend Rob and I were virtual experts on the subject of Canterbury prog, and yet... there was one key band in the scene which we had not yet heard: National Health.

During a trip to the CD store in our senior year, we were thrilled to see that not only was National Health now finally available again, but also as a deluxe 2-CD set containing all three of their albums (National Health Complete). The self-titled album at hand is the first of the three albums included. 

Once I brought it home, we found the liner notes inside to be both enlightening and seriously entertaining. Dave Stewart, primary composer and keyboardist, wrote in vivid detail about the difficulties the band had in getting gigs, getting a record deal, and finding a suitable drummer. Undeniably, the experiences behind the stories were frustrating and painful, but with the passage of time it became easier for him to laugh at how unlucky the band was. "Comedy = Tragedy + Time", as Mark Twain (or Steve Allen, take your pick) once put it.

Stewart had put an address at the end of the booklet essay, inviting letters from fans with the promise, "we answer all letters". Rob and I quickly collaborated on a fan letter and sent it on to merry olde England. Stewart's reply came a month or two later as a handwritten letter with the finest penmanship I had ever seen and the same dry wit of his liner notes, along with a few stickers and other fun stuff. He even gave us contact information for Richard Sinclair, though I never found the nerve (or the reason) to make use of it. It was a nice gesture though, underlining how personable these musicians were, and how pleased they were to finally be introduced to a new generation of fans that arguably appreciated them more than the general public circa 1977. Between punk and disco, 1977 was a bad time to be a prog band.

With those long anecdotes out of the way, on to the music! Rob and I were sure we knew Canterbury inside and out, but National Health was like entering a college-level course after acing high school. No easygoing pop-friendly breathers on National Health - every track is a dense, highly developed work, extending past ten minutes in length with no time wasted on spontaneous jamming. Surprisingly, this "difficult" music is easy to listen to; melodies and harmonies are there in spades and are neither dissonant nor harsh. But here are so many of them that you might lose track if you're not paying attention. But even as background music, National Health can be enjoyable to hear.

"Tenemos Roads", the opening track, perfectly sums up the band in just under 15 minutes. Stewart establishes a triumphant keyboard melody at the outset, returning to it at the climax of the piece. In between, several exciting musical themes are introduced and developed, with occasional lyrics sung by Amanda Parsons. The piece is so impressive that it's easy to forget that three more equally intricate pieces share space with it on the same platter. But you could be forgiven for feeling full after "Tenemos Roads" and not needing more.

In addition to Stewart, who was a member of Hatfield and the North, the band consisted of... well, the remainder of Hatfield and the North minus Richard Sinclair. Also figuring heavily in the band's history is keyboardist/composer Alan Gowen, who had to leave the band prior to their first album and died of leukemia in 1981. Gowan left behind a trove of quietly complex pieces, one of which ("Brujo") is included on National Health. Although it was not Stewart's intention to become "Hatfield Mk. 2", that's how it ended up. But National Health is more compositionally complex than Hatfield, and vocal pieces are rarer. 

Bass duties on National Health were handled by Neil Murray, a name I recognized from.... hmm, was it that 1987 Whitesnake album? The one I air-guitared to in high school with "Here I Go Again" on it? Yes, the very same. Fun bit of trivia there.

Dan:

Naturally, Steve was the one to share the Complete CD set with me. It seems like a long time ago (1991?) around the time Steve graduated and before we moved to Atlanta in 1995. I remember encountering the self-titled LP at Yesterday and Today records in Miami, priced at about $2, but I already had tape recorded the compilation. I should have bought the LP just for the funny cover art. 

What I liked most about the discovery of National Health was the song "Tenemos Roads," which Steve refers to above. It's a special track, made awesome by Amanda Parsons' vocals. I have not studied any of the other tracks in depth; they're just something to please my ears whenever I want. I also like the choice of the band's name, National Health being the name of Britain's national health service. 

It's cool to learn about Steve's correspondence with Dave Stewart. I have had only one such experience with an artist, which involved a number of old fashioned "letters" (not just emails or messages) sent by postal mail. That was with vibes artist Gary Burton. Not relevant to prog, but it's something that should be more common. Fan mail is always welcome by artists who might often wonder what listeners think about their music. Why not tell them nice things about your interest in their music?

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