The Moody Blues - On the Threshold of a Dream (1969)

Dan:

We both have stories to tell about The Moody Blues' On the Threshold of a Dream. As I wrote in my "Father's Story" post, I first heard this album in graduate school while I was riding the campus bus. I quickly bought the album and its sequel, To Our Children's Children's Children, which was released in in the same year. The two preceding albums (Days of Future Passed and In Search of the Lost Chord) raised grand expectations for later albums. The "purple patch" of seven classic prog albums would continue through Seventh Sojourn (1972). New albums would then resume in 1978 with Octave, but much of the past excitement was gone with the later releases. 

The blueprint established by Days of Future Passed was perfected on Threshold, which begins with a whirring mechanical sound that leads to an argument between an innocent voice and a cynical robotic voice. The disagreement is resolved by a third voice advising the ingénue to "keep on thinking free," followed by a quick launch into "Lovely to See You," a simple song brimming with optimism. The remainder of side 1 includes four songs that don't advance the narrative as much as they reinforce the positive vibes of thinking free.

None of side 1 prepares us for side 2, which is one of the Moodies' finest moments on record. "Never Comes the Day" seems to question the premises on side 1. "Never comes the day for my love and me" and "If only you knew what's inside of me now, you wouldn't want to know me somehow" are lyrics that cast doubt on the power of love, even though they're partially resolved. "We alone will be alright in the end" restores hope as long we "give just a little bit more, take a little bit less from each other tonight." The next song, "Lazy Day," digresses into mundane daily routines - a set up for what happens next. 

With no particular provocation, listeners are then seduced into a dream-like state and transported to Camelot where the magician Merlin is about to cast his spell on them. So sit comfortably and prepare for the seven wonders of the world to be laid at your feet. "The Dream" follows as a short, recited poem emblematic of Moody Blues philosophy, ending with "live hand in hand and together we'll stand on the threshold of a dream." A symphony of mellotrons then takes us on "The Voyage," and sets us down gently. The mechanical whirr returns and fades away as the album comes to a close. 

Steve:

As mentioned in my "Son's Story" post, one of my earliest memories in life was listening to "The Voyage" while using a couple of spoons to conduct the Mellotron orchestra. I'm thankful that Dan trusted me enough with his stereo to let me play his records as a young child (age 4-5). Thanks Dad!  Without you I would not be here today, publishing my crucial thoughts about this 50-year-old album with a diminishing fandom on this world-wide platform; I could just as easily be blogging about less important things like retirement savings strategies or college basketball.

On the Threshold of a Dream is a further refinement of the continuous-play, conceptual approach the band began with Days of Future Passed. The orchestral parts, accomplished on their own with In Search of the Lost Chord, now provide even smoother and deeper sonic landscapes. The dramatic opening spoken word panorama of "In the Beginning" is their most frightening piece to date, utilizing a three-dimensional sonic space that seems to occur inside your skull. The entire "Are You Sitting Comfortably" > "The Dream" > "Have You Heard Pt 1" > "The Voyage" > "Have You Heard Pt 2" sequence expands this idea to a pan-musical dimension, moving easily between proto-new age ambience, voice-of-God poetry readings, mellow folk rock, and chaotic classical music. The end of this suite (and of the album) returns to the ring-modulated hum that started it all, continuing ad infinitum in a locked groove at the end of side 2.

The Moody Blues - To Our Children's Children's Children (1969)

Steve:

For this album, the Moody Blues' musical arranging ambitions had reached such a high point that they consciously dialed it down for their next album (the more straightforward rock of A Question of Balance, 1970). The band's sound on this and the previous record (On the Threshold of a Dream) featured so many sounds alien to standard rock language that the band found it increasingly difficult to reproduce it on stage. The belated release of Caught Live +5 documents live material from around this time, and as a sympathetic fan who loves the band dearly, I have to be honest and say it's a pretty weak document. But in the studio, this stuff was magic, and To Our Children's Children's Children is arguably their most fully realized effort.

My own history with this album goes back as far as I can remember. Some of my earliest memories involve listening to this album on that clunky old stereo console Dan had in the early 1970s (see his "Father's Story" post). It still amazes me that as a toddler, I was choosing to spend a good chunk of my days fussing over records like this one. I did have a friend next door, Edward, but one of my few surviving memories of him involves his sister chasing me out of their yard with a broom. Being upset and feeling wronged, I called the police on her.  Thankfully the police never came because my mom caught me on the phone with the police and hung up the phone. Bear in mind I was 5 years old and didn't know what I was doing. I'm sure Vicky meant no harm. 

Harm or no, I derived great strength from the opening explosive tempest of "Higher and Higher", a track that still sounds like a raging inferno today. Its extreme speed and volume, coupled with its big-bang lyrical imagery ("Blasting, billowing, bursting forth with the power of ten billion butterfly sneezes"), provides one heck of an opening number. The remainder of side 1 continues to offer contrasts in speed and volume: slow quiet numbers ("Eyes of a Child", "I Never Thought I'd Live to be a Hundred") and loud fast numbers ("Eyes of a Child Part 2", "Beyond").  Side 2 focuses on more midtempo, complex numbers ("Eternity Road", "Candle of Life"), and the whole package feels very complete and well-rounded.

While I would never dare to choose a favorite among the Moodies' "Big Seven" albums released between 1967-1972, To Our Children's Children's Children has a density, complexity, and "bigness" that clearly makes it stand out in their discography. 

Dan:

For me, To Our Children's Children's Children is inspiring. I'm not a troubled soul but if I were, this album would provide great comfort. The key tracks that inform this assessment are 7-13, essentially the last song on side 1 and all of side 2. Track 7, "Out and In," is a call for self-understanding - the journey inward. It even contains a response to skeptics who might want to dismiss this calling as New Age piffle: "If you think it's a joke, that's all right do what you want to do. I've said my peace and I'll leave it all up to you." Note the spelling of peace instead of piece.

Side 2 opens with "Gypsy," a song that has received various interpretations, according to Internet chatters. Religious and astronomical interpretations aside, it's about anyone or anything that has left home to find a new place to be. Regardless of its meaning, "Gypsy" is a strong offering based solely on its musical merits. The last four songs form a kind of suite, all focused on themes of eternity, life, and hope. It's good fare that we had come to expect from The Moodies, but it's also free of experimental gimmicks. It feels like the band had arrived at their own self-understanding and crafted a near-perfect album using their collective strengths, including those of their producer, Tony Clarke. 

The Moody Blues - In Search of the Lost Chord (1968)

Dan:

Having been spellbound by Days of Future Passed, I eagerly awaited each new Moody Blues album. In Search of the Lost Chord came out in 1968 and I thought it was even better than the previous album. It was a glamorous gatefold single LP with lots of cool artwork and band pictures. It had a couple of catchy tunes that received a lot of air play ("Ride My See-Saw" and "Voices in the Sky"), and it dabbled harmlessly in psychedelic topics on "Legend of a Mind" while also advising that "thinking is the best way to travel." Basically, In Search of the Lost Chord is Moody Blues optimism tinged by Buddhist symbols (a mandala is included with the album and "Om" is the closing chant-like song). Just what the world was ready for in 1968.

The opening "Departure" is a strange but fascinating way to begin any rock album. A low chord sounds and a voice speaks nonsense in a progressively loud manner culminating in a shout that leads into the bombastic "Ride My See-Saw," which almost seems like a joke. But the lyrics reveal this to be the beginning of an escape from the problems of the material world:

My world is spinning around,

Everything is lost that I found.

People run, come ride with me,

Let's find another place that's free.

From there we're led to a meeting with "Dr. Livingstone, I Presume" and the "House of Four Doors," both evidence that the search is underway. Side 2 finds the search moving in a positive direction, away from despair and Timothy Leary's pills. With "Visions of Paradise" on the horizon, "The Actor" assumes responsibility for finding the lost chord which is, as we've already guessed, "Om".

While expressing the need for search, the album stops short of elaborating on the reasons for flight. There were plenty of reasons to escape in the 1960s, but the Moodies avoided the kinds of vitriolic social critique that, say, Jefferson Airplane engaged. 

Some may find the Moody Blues and their optimism too Pollyanna-like: 

Visions of paradise, cloudless skies I see

Rainbows on the hill, blue onyx on the sea

Come see. 

But the underlying message is one of a better future within our grasp. I can't argue against the value of an optimistic outlook or the importance of self-understanding. 

Steve: 

I regret that I have never paid particular attention to the lyrics of the Moody Blues (or most bands, for that matter), as I've always had trouble focusing on lyrics in general - even if I can understand the words being sung. I'm often distracted by the words as sounds as opposed to what ideas they are trying to convey, unless they are either very obvious (e.g. Pink Floyd's The Wall) or are the undeniable focus of the work (e.g. Bob Dylan's Blood on the Tracks). I am, however, very sensitive to instrumental texture and chord changes, as well as the intricacies of song structure in general, and the Moody Blues always offered much to enjoy on those fronts.  

The Moody Blues' orchestral ambition as revealed on Days of Future Passed was no passing fancy. Their success on that project gave them license to become a self-contained orchestra themselves by taking on additional instrumentation and pushing the limits of multi-track recording available to them in 1968. They added sitar, tabla, tympani, cello, saxophone, and harpsichord to their already diverse list of instruments. I'm especially fond of the sitar/tabla stuff - I can gladly listen to sitar music for hours on end (I just bought another Ravi Shankar album the other day, in fact), so I am particularly happy that the album ends with "Om", a song that takes me to my happy place every time.  

One more aspect I love about this album, and about the prime-era Moodies in general, is how the band encouraged each member to share in the singing and songwriting, making their albums a revue of sorts showcasing the different personalities in the band. Typical of the pattern of their albums of this period, this one begins with a Graeme Edge poem ("Departure"), segues into a melodic rock song with hit potential ("Ride My See Saw"), follows it up with a more offbeat quirky song by Ray Thomas ("Dr. Livingstone I Presume"), and continues the unpredictable variety by alternating the different voices, song styles, and personalities throughout the album. I love when a band can boast that kind of versatility -- not many bands in rock history have been able to.

The Moody Blues - Days of Future Passed (1967)

Dan:

I will always remember the day I first heard "The Night: Nights in White Satin" from Days of Future Passed. I was driving home from Presque Isle in Erie PA and it was playing on the car radio. I thought to myself "What is this?" By the time I reached the recitation "Breathe deep the gathering gloom..." I was spellbound. Then that famous gong sounded, and I couldn't wait any longer for the deejay to say who it was. The Moody Blues? Never heard of them.

That was my introduction to what became known as prog. Only prog could turn a mundane telling of life's daily activities into a wondrous, dream-like fantasy, complete with symphony orchestra and poetry.

Although not immediately successful, Days of Future Passed laid the groundwork for subsequent albums, notably In Search of the Lost Chord; On the Threshold of a Dream; To Our Children's Children's Children; A Question of Balance, and Every Good Boy Deserves Favour. Each album in the sequence features a climactic piece with spoken words and a decidedly optimistic posture. For the Moodies, spiritual enlightenment, social justice, and human potential were common themes, as they were for many prog bands of the period. 

Looking back, those themes may seem naive and idealistic, but they were more than just a sign of the times. They were popular expressions of morality, delivered to millions of listeners in a highly accessible form. I would personally defend this branch of prog for its unabashed commitment to seeing the possibilities for a better world. 

Cold-hearted orb that rules the night
Removes the colours from our sight
Red is grey and yellow, white
But we decide which is right
And which is an illusion
- Graeme Edge

Steve:

In my personal prog discovery timeline, this was not among my first Moody Blues albums, and as such it doesn't hold significance for me as a personal touchstone. However, each time I listen to it, I'm amazed at how fully formed the band had become as creative songwriters and arrangers, so soon after they were a failed R&B band not far from breaking up.  Apparently, the band were asked by Decca to participate in a rock/classical adaptation of some classical piece, and the band and conductor Peter Knight conspired to ditch that idea and record the Moodies' original material instead. Somehow, they got away with it, and Decca released it anyway (let that be a lesson, kids!).  

I can only hope Decca heard what the rest of the world would soon hear, that this was a fantastic album. The orchestral variations by Knight (including a clever "overture" in "The Day Begins") work as intros and interludes, with the Moody Blues' songs remaining the focus. Since Mike Pinder had recently discovered the flute/string sounds of the Mellotron, the band's own songs were conducive to the orchestra/rock band idea. The "day in the life of an ordinary guy" concept offered a great tool for thematic unity, capitalizing on the newly confirmed (via the Beatles) idea that an album-length work can be a viable commercial endeavor for a rock band. Also, it greatly helped that the band had "Nights in White Satin/Late Lament" to close the work, wisely making it the climax of the album, and fully integrating the orchestra with the band for a stunning finale.