Steven Wilson - The Raven That Refused to Sing (and Other Stories) (2013)

Steve:

Porcupine Tree went on hiatus following their 2009 album The Incident, on which it seemed that the band were beginning to stagnate. Bandleader Steven Wilson immediately embarked on a solo career, producing albums that were every bit as ambitious and progressive as his former band, if not more so. His second solo album, Grace for Drowning (2011), had been a favorite of mine for that year, featuring a number of personal, intense songs with elaborate arrangements that reflected the strong influence of King Crimson. Small wonder, considering Wilson had spent the prior couple of years collaborating with Robert Fripp on new restorations/remixes of the classic King Crimson catalog. At this time in his life (in his early forties, like I was), Wilson possessed the Midas touch as both sound engineer and musician and had become the modern go-to guy for classic progressive rock.

The excitement level was therefore high when The Raven That Refused to Sing was released. Here was an album that appeared to be Wilson's attempt to give classic prog fans exactly what they wanted: six tracks ranging from 5 to 12 minutes apiece, each deliberately turning the "Prog!!" dials to 11 in a way that fans had not seen from Wilson since the earliest days of Porcupine Tree. The overriding concept is a collection of unrelated stories about doomed and/or haunted individuals. 

To further guarantee the album's lofty pedigree, Wilson brought in Alan Parsons to engineer the album, used Robert Fripp's own Mellotron, and enlisted Dave Stewart (of Hatfield & the North and National Health) to write some string arrangements.  

The blaringly obvious "Prog!!" premise caused a bit of backlash, raising an interesting philosophical question among prog fans. If a master craftsman intentionally produces a piece of art that checks off all the boxes for an ideal prog album (complexity, vintage instruments, superb sonics, musical drama), is it an original piece of art, a knock-off copy, or a cynically pandering pastiche? Opinions seemed to vary.

Personally, I think complaints about the lack of originality are both petty and overthought. By any valid standard, The Raven That Refused to Sing is a stunning musical work. Nothing here sounds like a copy of older works, even if it is often easy to play "spot the influence". And copy or not, the music is deep, expertly recorded and performed, and approachable. It even offers an easy entry point; arguably the most exciting part of the album is at the beginning, in the instrumental introduction to the 12-minute "Luminol", with its awesome lead bass (shades of Yes), energetic tempo, and keyboards, guitar, and drums all going full-throttle. "Luminol"'s main vocal section operates in a quieter realm before returning to some of the introductory themes to close it out.  

Of the remaining tracks, my favorite is "The Watchmaker", which fans were quick to point out begins very much like early Genesis with its calm but ominous acoustic intro (similar to "The Musical Box"). This track also goes over the 10-minute mark, giving it plenty of time to build its tale of the doomed protagonist plagued with guilt about his deceased wife. Once the loud guitar solo comes in, Wilson plays in the same finger-tapping style that Genesis guitarist Steve Hackett was known for. The track ends in an unsettling flurry of rhythm, instruments and voices. The third 10+ minute track, "The Holy Drinker", has some very hot fusion-inspired instrumental bits, with synth work sounding a bit like Chick Corea's Return to Forever. 

Two of the three shorter tracks hover in ballad territory ("Drive Home", "The Raven That Refused to Sing"), offering a bit of grounding in between the longer epics. "The Pin Drop" offers more extreme dynamics, like the longer pieces, but is structured more concisely at just 5 minutes long, sounding more like a late-period Porcupine Tree song.  

In what seems like an attempt to pull together everything Wilson loves about classic progressive rock, The Raven succeeds primarily as superb craftwork, with real feeling and real "sweat" in the playing. It was performed by his actual touring band, not just Wilson overdubbing himself, which he probably could have done had he wanted to. He continues to be a central figure in modern progressive rock, with true passion for the genre as well as an impressive arsenal of skills as a producer, guitarist, songwriter, and bandleader.

Dan:

It's hard to argue against the merits of an album as solid as The Raven That Refused to Sing. It's also hard to ignore the repertory feel of the material; in fact, it should be entertaining for progressive rock cognoscenti (prognoscenti?) to play "spot that influence" or "name that quotation." Jazz has a similar controversy amongst critics who sneer at returns to tradition versus those who appreciate sincere homages. Clearly, musical genres have to look forward and backward at the same time. Otherwise, new music would lose its connection to the past and listeners would lose their bearings. Albums honoring previous styles can also compensate for previous limitations in recording technology, which obviously is a tribute to Steven Wilson's production skills.

I'll briefly share the influences I spotted quickly on The Raven. 

• The Chris Squire bass lead on "Luminol." An easy one.
• After the boisterous 4 minutes of "Luminol" I hear Crosby, Stills & Nash backed by King Crimson!
• "The Holy Drinker" takes a page from the Mahavishnu Orchestra and features an organist who sounds like either Keith Emerson or Rick Wakeman.

It's rare to find an album that serves as a tribute to an entire genre; most often tributes are to specific musicians or composers. In jazz, tributes to earlier styles often end up as disasters (like numerous feeble tributes to Dixieland), but tributes to luminaries such as Coltrane, Monk, Ellington, and Jelly Roll Morton can be exceptionally good. With The Raven, Wilson has not fallen into the trap of replicating prog's past. Rather, he's drawn from multiple prog resources to assemble a mosaic of original works that celebrate the maturity of the genre.

There is enough content on The Raven to dig into over many auditions, and I'm just getting started.

The Decemberists - The Hazards of Love (2009)

Steve:

After the early 1990s, it became fairly common to encounter an old-style progressive rock album from a fresh new band. But by the 2000s, for a variety of reasons I had stopped actively seeking out progressive rock acts and turned instead to "indie rock" for inspiration. I followed publications such as Spin magazine, which would occasionally point me to interesting bands. My first revelation was a band called The Fiery Furnaces, whose 2004 album Blueberry Boat was touted as a sprawling progressive opus. Sure enough, it was, and in an entirely new idiom for me, blending Zappa-like musical shifts with electronics and urgent, Dada-esque vocalizations that were a wake-up call that progressive rock continued to thrive beyond the predictable format of the more traditional bands who populated the prog festivals.

With renewed expectations, it came as a surprise when The Decemberists entered the scene. They were marketed as an "indie" band, but tended towards long folky epics, with accordions and tales of maritime revenge. "Indie" tag notwithstanding, they seemed like the reincarnation of the fairytale-spinning prog storytellers of yore. I took notice when The Tain EP (2004), Picaresque (2005), and The Crane Wife (2006) hit the shelves, the latter being their first on a major label - Capitol. But for the most part, these albums felt like a lot of bluster and bombast without enough to keep me interested in the long term. 

Enter The Hazards of Love, an album I approached with low expectations. To my surprise, it's an immediately captivating album that develops an operatic story both musically and lyrically at a perfect pace, with shades of light and dark in balanced proportion. Even before I understood what the story was about (recall from prior posts that I rarely pay attention to lyrics without a concerted effort), I followed the emotion of the story through its dramatic build ups, its reprisal/reuse of key musical themes, and its expert use of guest singers to bring characters to life. In 2009, I proudly claimed this to be my favorite album of the year, and each subsequent hearing reinforces that opinion. It's one of the best rock operas I've ever heard.  

So what is it about? Colin Meloy (guitar, vocals) is the leader of this outfit, and he composed all but one of the pieces (keyboardist Jenny Conlee's organ/synth intro). The story is in the mold of a classic Shakespearean tragedy along the lines of Romeo and Juliet - forbidden lovers who triumph over their fate by ultimately ending their lives together in the name of love. I recommend reading the fine synopsis on Wikipedia for further details.

For some examples of what puts this concept album in an elite class, consider first the clever recurring musical themes. There are formally four parts to the title track, spread throughout the program, each of which culminates in a similar manner but frames a different situation and arrives from a different musical idea. Likewise, "The Bower Scene" and "Margaret in Captivity" appear early in the first and second acts respectively, using the same ominously suspenseful music to prop up different scenes.

Next, the guest singers on this album really shine. The jealous and vengeful Forest Queen appears on two tracks ("The Wanting Comes in Waves/Repaid" and "The Queen's Rebuke") voiced by Shara Worden, who offers a thoroughly convincing performance that gives me goosebumps. Margaret, the protagonist, is given a vulnerable reading by guest singer Becky Stark. Colin Meloy voices most of the other characters, and he gets deep into each one to bring them to life.

Maybe the best example of this album’s expert craft is the transition from “Isn’t it a Lovely Night?” to “The Wanting Comes in Waves/Repaid”. The former is a sweet, peaceful number led by a lovestruck accordion melody. The latter begins abruptly just as the former’s last note fades, with a variation on the same melody, but in a minor key played staccato on the harpsichord. One can almost see the jealous Queen bursting into the room and discovering the lovers. 

The Hazards of Love is the last album I ever listened to by the Decemberists. I decided, rightly or wrongly, that anything they did after it would be disappointing. I had also heard that their follow-up, The King is Dead (2011), was a "return to the roots", a sign of disaster in my narrow mind. (I tend to shy away from overly folksy or country music made in the name of "going back to the roots" due to biases on my part, so I accept responsibility for that.) But even if I do return to the band's work, I suspect that The Hazards of Love will prove to an example of "lightning in a bottle" - a miracle that only happens once, and I would be extremely surprised to learn that further works of equal quality were still in them. If you've heard them, please feel free to prove me wrong. 

Dan:

My first exposure to the genre of rock opera was with The Who's Tommy, released in 1969 and a huge, unexpected hit. Musical theater had also adopted rock scores with a psychedelic flavor, such as Hair, Jesus Christ Superstar, and others. It was hard to escape this subgenre even as it sprawled beyond its limitations. Prog rockers frequently revisited the theme of a long-form narrative, such as Genesis' The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway. Of course, as a Camel fan, I was used to themed albums about snow geese, marooned soldiers, human migration, and other inspirations of the team of Susan Hoover and Andrew Latimer.

I was also fairly well versed in classic opera, thanks to my mother who loved to listen to the live broadcasts from the Met on Saturday afternoons. She would explain the stories to me; she and I were both fond of Wagner. My parents also had several of the comic operettas by Gilbert and Sullivan (The Pirates of Penzance and The Mikado, among others), which I remember well. 

None of that prior experience prepared me for my first encounter with The Hazards of Love a few months ago. After reading a brief summary of the story online, I was not impressed and could not imagine how such a mundane fantasy could be worthy of a rock opera. But as I heard the music, I understood what the fuss was about. So I looked forward to the time that I would revisit The Hazards of Love for the blog.

The second full session of listening revealed so much more than my first exposure. It's a beautifully crafted suite that does not seem like an opera but rather an integrated collection of songs that form a magnificent whole. I love the recurring themes that work like motifs in classical music - Wagner would be proud. I also appreciate the variety of musical sounds that The Decemberists create collectively. I hear organ, accordion, banjo, steel guitar, and strings providing accents in all the right places in and around the basic guitar-based instrumentation. The recording is outstanding for a standard CD. Clearly, Colin Meloy is a great musician with a convincing singing voice, but he is also a master conceptualizer. Hazards of Love is a masterpiece. 

Unlike Steve, I was tempted to explore The King Is Dead (2011) as I'm not afraid of "roots" music such as alt country and bluegrass. I can confirm that there is an abundance of rootsiness on display in The King Is Dead. Lots of banjo, fiddle, mandolin, tambourine, acoustic 12-string guitar, etc. It's not bad, but its impact is not close to that of The Hazards of Love. I would compare the "new" Decemberists to The Jayhawks but lacking the sublime vocal harmonies between Gary Louris and Mark Olson. Meloy's vocals might benefit from moderation with backing harmonies, the way Steve Earle was able to use Emmylou Harris and Lucinda Williams. Meloy also ain't got 'nuff backwoods twang for full membership in the alt country crowd.

Magma - Ëmëhntëhtt-Ré (2009)

Steve:

Magma debuted in France in 1970 with a double concept album that featured lyrics in an invented language and music in a complex jazz-rock style. The concept was no mere lark, as Christian Vander (drummer, composer, and leader of the enterprise) continued to expand the story about human settlement on a fictional planet called Kobaïa; the invented language used is known as Kobaïan. Magma's music and lyrics are not as much understood as they are felt. The spirituality of late-era John Coltrane was supposedly a huge influence on Vander at the time, and one does not need to decode the meaning of the rhythmically sung syllables in order to understand the deeply spiritual meanings imparted in Magma's songs.  

Vander composed so much music throughout the 1970s and early 1980s that much of it never found its way onto an album. Much of this music became known only through live performances and recordings. 1975's Hhai/Live is definitive, but once a new generation of listeners discovered Magma in the early 1990s (including yours truly), a slew of old live performances were released on CD on the band's label, Seventh Records.  

In the mid 1970s, Vander and Magma conceived two separate trilogies, each representing different facets of the ongoing Kobaïan saga. The first trilogy, Theusz Hamtaakh, saw the official release of two albums, Ẁurdah Ïtah and 

Mëkanïk Dëstruktïẁ Kömmandöh, although the first part of the trilogy, Theusz Hamtaakh, was only performed live. The second trilogy, Ëmëhntëhtt-Ré, only had one studio album, Köhntarkösz, released in the 1970s. In brief, the band had unlimited imagination but a limited budget, and after a flirtation with soul music in the early 1980s, Magma disbanded, seemingly for good.

In the late 1990s, Magma re-formed: still led by Christian Vander but featuring a new cast of young players and singers (along with Christian's wife Stella, who had been in the original band). By this time, they were among my favorite bands, and I traveled to San Francisco with my friend Rob for their appearance at the 1999 ProgFest. Their performance was so overwhelming, I was nearly moved to tears. The band perfectly re-created their complex magnum opuses like "Mëkanïk Dëstruktïẁ Kömmandöh" (all 40 minutes of it) and I considered myself extremely fortunate to have seen it, assuming it was a short-lived reunion.

However, Magma's story did not end there and still has not, as of this writing. Christian Vander pulled out some unreleased works and gave them a proper, full-bodied studio recording. The first of these was KA, which was intended to be the first part of the Ëmëhntëhtt-Ré trilogy. In 2009, the third part was released: Ëmëhntëhtt-Ré itself.

Ëmëhntëhtt-Ré is an ornate suite filled with scatting, operatic vocals, jazzy piano flourishes, busy drumming (Vander is amazing on the drums), and musical sections that rank among their most emotionally potent pieces. My favorite section by far is known as "Hhai", occupying roughly minutes 4 through 15 of the suite's second part. This has long been one of Magma's most beloved pieces and has been played as a standalone song on several live albums (for the record, my favorite version is from Bobino 1981). It features Christian Vander singing the lengthy, emotional introduction (Vander rarely took lead vocals, at least in the early days, but his vocal range is remarkable), followed by a spirited instrumental section and solos, and continuing with a full chorus of voices singing the emotional finale. My description doesn't do it justice, but this track is a cathartic experience. Hearing "Hhai" in the context in which it was originally intended is worth the price of the album by itself.

Magma is definitely an acquired taste and requires a bit of patience. Their repertoire largely consists of huge conceptual epics sung either in Kobaïan or in French, making them a bit inscrutable to many people. To give some perspective for the novice listener, the Mahavishnu Orchestra's Apocalypse (1974) is similar to Magma's vision, as both bands have always placed a high priority on beauty in their music, although the repetitive chorus of voices chanting words you can't understand might be unsettling at first.

I count Magma among my favorite bands ever and look forward to their next release.

Dan:

Since I'm a Magma novice, stuck here on earth, it is difficult to offer insight into this challenging album. It's challenging in a good way, of course, because I've learned that many of my best discoveries in music came via a longer path to understanding and appreciation. I do like what I hear, which generates images of sacred rites conducted in otherworldly places by alien beings. Because Ëmëhntëhtt-Ré is not comparable to anything I know, the common reviewer fallback of comparing it to other albums or groups doesn't work here. So I'll take another tack.

Magma literature frequently cites the influence of John Coltrane's later work on Christian Vander's notions of spirituality. (Vander's Offering project (Magma Présente Offering, 2003) demonstrates his dedication to Coltrane on a 4-CD box set which I've not heard.) I am somewhat of an expert on Coltrane, having read three biographies, heard virtually all of his 103 recorded albums, and currently keep 44 of his albums in my collection of LPs and digital files. I started my Coltrane collection in the early 1960s with the release of My Favorite Things. I surveyed his earlier Prestige albums and owned all of his Impulse! albums. His key sideman roles with Red Garland and Miles Davis were also required acquisitions. Before I turned 21, I saw Coltrane's quartet with McCoy Tyner, Elvin Jones and Jimmy Garrison perform two sets in July 1965 at a small club in Cleveland, Ohio where I grew up. 

Trane's late search for self-understanding led him well beyond his best-known works. From 1966 to his death on July 17, 1967, his recordings reflect an almost frenzied quest as he sought to "clean the mirror" to achieve greater self-awareness through his music. His quest was definitely spiritual, as his most famous work, A Love Supreme (1964), attests. But increasingly his music stretched boundaries with respect to themes, improvisations, bandmembers, duration, and cultural influences. Much of it is hard to sit through, especially live performances that included solos lasting close to an hour. His duets with drummers Elvin Jones and later Rashied Ali are intense exercises testing the endurance of both musicians and audiences. These later works were not fully absorbed by jazz musicians, who preferred to show off their Coltrane-isms in tenor solos like Trane's were in the earlier 1960s. 

Relatively few artists undertook what Christian Vander is credited with - translating the spiritual essence of Coltrane's obsessive quest into large works for chorus, drums and diverse instruments. Remarkably, Magma's translation captures what I feel about late Coltrane, but I never would have imagined it possible. While the music on Ëmëhntëhtt-Ré does not cover any Coltrane compositions, his spirit seems to be embedded in the proceedings. 

The Vander-Coltrane connection begins with the drums. The whole Magma ensemble are in conversation with the drums, just as Coltrane's ensembles converse with the polyrhythmic drumming of either Jones or Ali. The extended forms used by Magma also mirror Coltrane's increasingly lengthy performances, such as the sprawling versions "Afro-Blue" on the CD version of Live in Seattle (recorded on 9/30/1965) and Live in Japan (recorded 7/11/1966). Magma also expand the size and range of the ensemble to produce multiple layers of sound, much as Coltrane augmented his own ensembles, especially on Ascension (1966) but also Kulu Sé Mama (1966) and Om (1967).

Both Coltrane and Magma make music of great beauty because of their spiritual inspirations. Neither are "easy listening," but both are rewarding experiences when approached with open ears. 

Dungen - 4 (2008)

Steve:

Nowadays, when bands are touted as "psychedelic" that usually means one of two things. First, they could be starry eyed jammers who explore space with their cosmic, open-ended improvisations. Second, they could be 60s acolytes who seek to recreate the whimsical pop of the original psychedelic era. So when I heard of Dungen through a couple of acquaintances on the ProgArchives forum, I was interested because I like both of those kinds of bands but did not have high expectations. I found a used CD of Dungen's 4, which is their fourth or fifth album depending on whom you ask, and any expectations I had were immediately exceeded.

Dungen are a Swedish 4-piece band led by composer, vocalist and multi-instrumentalist Gustav Ejstes. His compositional focus is on piano and vocal harmonies, but he layers his songs with atmosphere, including ambient, jazzy drumming. Ejstes has been blessed with one of the finest guitarists in Sweden, Reine Fiske, who has played with several great Swedish bands I have encountered over the years (Landberk, Morte Macabre, and Träd, Gräs och Stenar, to name three). Fiske takes intricate psychedelic miniatures to the next level with his overdriven but atmospheric lead guitar. He takes the lead on two of the tracks, "Samtidigt 1" and "Samtidigt 2", both excerpts from a long instrumental jam that would make Devadip Santana nod with approval.

Dungen's music is hard to describe - concise song lengths (all in the 3-4 minute range) yet seeming much bigger than they are. Songwriting and instrumental choices sound modern but seem deeply rooted in the kind of 1960s attitude that gave birth to those early psychedelic classics, without sounding like any of them.

Of the vocal pieces, the highlights are many. The opening "Sätt att Se" ("Ways to See") sets a terrific mood with its echoing piano and booming drums, and a vocal melody that at first reminded me of Radiohead. The song drifts unhurriedly, not adhering to any verse/chorus format, yet it leaves a captivating aftertaste when it ends 4 minutes later. My favorite track, "Mina Damer och Fasaner" ("My Ladies and Pheasants") wonderfully ties together multiple musical themes - the main vocal part, the more insistent rhythmic chug of a bass-led theme, and a lead guitar melody to punctuate it.

The track list also boasts a beautiful piano-led instrumental in "Målerås Finest", which sounds like a cozy night by the fireplace. It underlines the dominant mood of Dungen's 4: it's not trying to blow you into space, and it's not trying to tickle your funny bone with whimsical madness. Instead, it's a unique musical platform for the fanciful musical ideas in Ejstes' head that don't seem to adhere to any particular tradition, and for the fantastic players who help him realize that vision.

Dan:

When I was in my 20s, psychedelic music was brand new and exciting. 1968 was the year in which the guitar style displayed on Dungen's 4 solidified into a discernible genre. Frankly, I never thought I'd see the day when the guitar techniques of 1968 would be considered "retro" and played by a Swedish band 40 years later. 

People who dig this style should go back to the origins: Ted Nugent and the Amboy Dukes playing "Journey to the Center of Your Mind;" James Gurley's screeching introduction to "Ball and Chain," Janis Joplin's tour de force on Big Brother and the Holding Company's Cheap Thrills; Norman Greenbaum's fuzz box riff on "Spirit in the Sky;" Jorma Kaukonen's opening chord on Jefferson Airplane's "The Ballad of You & Me & Pooneil" from After Bathing at Baxter's; and some guy named Jimi. 

The highly distorted, overdriven way of playing once shocked the music world. Dungen carry on the tradition more politely but sincerely and faithfully. It's a bit odd but also enjoyable for me to experience psychedelia in this way. Too bad I don't understand Swedish, but that's on me. 

Ghost (Japan) - Hypnotic Underworld (2004)

Steve:

Japanese psych band Ghost (not the Swedish goth/metal band) took a 5-year break between Tune In, Turn On, Free Tibet (reviewed elsewhere in this blog) and the follow-up, Hypnotic Underworld. Over the break, Ghost's sound changed to become more like a full rock band than the chamber-folk of their prior material, thanks in part to the addition of a dedicated rhythm section. 

Despite this change, Ghost were still very committed to exploring the cosmos, as heard in their opening 4-part title track, which spends the first half of its 20+ minutes in a rhythm-less space exploration led by upright bass, soprano saxophone, and washes of cymbals (... is this some lost ECM record?). The piece gradually gains a firmer structure and adds urgency and tension, finally culminating in the fourth part, a mere 20 seconds of furious drumming over a single chord. Odd suite, this.

After this strange start, Hypnotic Underworld sticks to tracks of moderate length and adheres relatively close to psychedelic prog convention. The big surprise for me was "Hazy Paradise", a cover of an obscure (but awesome) B-side by a group I had recently become obsessed with, the Dutch band Earth & Fire. For some reason, Ghost's version omits the song's bridge, which is my favorite part. A wonderful cover otherwise, however.  

The remainder of the track list continues to respect the band's legacy for psychedelic acoustic folk of the Incredible String Band variety, while mixing in full-band rock energy, as on "Piper". Ghost also offer extended (but structured) instrumental pieces such as "Ganagmanag", 10 minutes of exploration that wouldn't sound out of place on a classic Gong album. Elsewhere, as on "Feed", the band's psych-folk past is suspended for a full prog rock attack. 

Hypnotic Underworld is the most full-bodied and varied Ghost release, and the one most likely to appeal to a classic prog fan. Sadly, the band would make only one more studio album before calling it quits - 2007's In Stormy Nights, which mines territory similar to Hypnotic Underworld.

Dan:

I'm getting to be an expert on Ghost after listening to only two of their albums. The extremes of Tune In, Turn On, Free Tibet are moderated on Hypnotic Underworld and consequently it's a more engaging experience. The opening "ECM-like" suite is a familiar style to me since I like the ECM label and own many of its earliest releases on vinyl. All of the other tracks, however, are great too - from the meditation of "Kiseichukan Nite" to the straight ahead "Piper," to the jazzy multi-part "Ganagmanag," to the soulful "Feed," and to the balladry and climax of "Dominoes." It's remarkable to me that such different styles can be executed convincingly by the same group on the same album.

One of the strongest features of Ghost in this incarnation is the vast array of instruments played. The two most multi-talented members of the band appear to be Taishi Takizawa and Kazuo Ogino, who between them command piano, Korg synthesizer, organ, lute, recorder, Celtic harp, Theremin, flute, saxophone, tin whistle, bouzouki, among unnamed others. 

Mogwai - Happy Songs for Happy People (2003)

Steve:

I first discovered Mogwai when I decided to take a chance on buying a used CD of Happy Songs for Happy People in 2009.  I had recently learned that this indie band was getting a lot of mention in progressive rock circles, so I was curious. The first two songs on the CD, "Hunted by a Freak" and "Moses? I Amn't" immediately sold me, not only on Mogwai, but on a new type of music I had not previously explored in detail.

Mogwai are a Scottish band founded in the mid 1990s by guitarist Stuart Braithwaite and bassist Dominic Aitcheson, who eventually filled out a stable lineup including Barry Burns and John Cummings on guitars, keyboards, and occasional vocals, and Martin Bulloch on drums. Happy Songs for Happy People was their fourth full-length album. I've made a point of mentioning every member, since Mogwai's most outstanding characteristic in my view is how well the five members compose and perform their material in a way that places equal importance on each part. Each member blends into a rich, sinuous whole that borders on orchestral, and the compositions are surprisingly economical and brief for a band that thrives on atmosphere. After fully digesting the band's discography, I've come to see Happy Songs as the point at which the band first perfected the sound that future albums would build upon.

The band is fond of silly song titles, even though most of their tunes are purely instrumental. "Hunted by a Freak" is arguably the band's signature song. I've listened to numerous live shows, and this song appears in every one. It's a stunning piece of work, led by a gentle guitar figure, ethereal electronically altered vocals from Burns, quiet but effective cello, and subtle but powerful bass work from Aitcheson. The track that clinched it for me, though, was "Moses? I Amn't", as its lack of drums, prominent cello, and somber organ immediately brought Brian Eno to mind. I remember having an "A-ha!" moment during this track - this was a band I could really sink my teeth into.

Most of the album continues to offer new combinations of the band's considerable sonic palette, usually (but not always) swelling into a mass of sound that is so expertly mixed and performed that it's hard to believe it's just a bunch of Scottish blokes playing guitars. Exceptions to this approach include the relatively minimal "I Know You Are But What Am I?", which is a relatively static number built around a piano part - but even then, the small sonic details around the edges make this track atmospheric.

Apart from the first two tracks, "Ratts of the Capital" at 8 minutes long is the closest track in spirit to the winding epics of their early material. "Ratts" is extremely well paced, starting quietly and building slowly. When it finally reaches its apex, it introduces a newly insistent heavy guitar theme not hinted at in the opening minutes. This opens the song up to a new anthemic level, given additional weight by Aitcheson's heavy bass chords. When the track drops back down for its pensive conclusion, it's cathartic.

Mogwai released ten studio albums between 1997 and 2021, plus an excellent live album, a few soundtracks, EPs and remix albums. All their material features amazing sonics, thoughtful band interplay, and some memorable instrumental melodies. I have not been disappointed with any of their releases yet, but Happy Songs for Happy People will always hold a special place in my heart for not only introducing me to the band but also strengthening my interest in atmospheric instrumental rock.

Dan:

I appreciate bands with a good sense of humor, and Mogwai's seems especially wry. Naming themselves after a Chinese gremlin and choosing clever song and album titles wins me over. But the humor does not carry over into their music like, say, Frank Zappa's. Rather, the compositions and performances strike me as serious, which translates into music that is both enjoyable and deeply absorbing it you care to listen closely. 

Mogwai are a pleasure to listen to. They're gentle and resourceful in their multi-instrumental approach. The strings and voices and other organic sounds are not hard to identify even with the electronic sheen on most tracks. The crescendos are not scary and help to disqualify the music for membership in the dubious ambient or background music categories. A careful listen will yield plenty of rewards. 

Ghost (Japan) - Tune In, Turn On, Free Tibet (1999)

Steve:

Japanese psych/folk band Ghost captured my interest in the early 2010s. I had been a fan of another psychedelic Japanese band by the name of Boris, that specialized in drone and experimental psych/metal. I learned that guitarist Michio Kurihara, who frequently played with Boris on their live tours, was also a member of a band called Ghost. I was immediately drawn to Ghost's purity of vision and 60s spiritual orientation. Often, they were fully acoustic, coming across like a reincarnated Incredible String Band, and at other times went for more trippy electric vibes, reminding me of Gong.

If the Gong analogy holds, Masaki Batoh (acoustic guitar, vocals) is the Daevid Allen of Ghost - leading the band on a psychic trajectory that is fully his own creation, and which the band implicitly trust as they lend their instrumental talents in service of his vision. The band reportedly led a nomadic existence, busking in Tokyo train stations and living together in ancient ruins (their 1994 album Temple Stone, a favorite, was recorded in an ancient temple and sounds like it).

Ghost's 1999 album Tune In, Turn On, Free Tibet was released as a companion piece to another album released that same year, Snuffbox Immanence. It was also their final album before a 5-year hiatus, and it serves as a culmination of the first phase of Ghost's existence. It begins with a brief spoken word track, "We Insist", by a voice so distorted I cannot understand it, but I assume it concerns the Tibetan freedom movement, which had gained momentum in the western world and naturally was a hot issue in the east as well.

The next six tracks are all short acoustic-based folk songs enhanced with atmospheric production, wooden flutes, Kurihara's psychedelic electric guitars, and hand percussion. Tracks like these had populated Ghost's earlier albums, but rarely had they been so spare and personal. On previous albums such tracks often had the feel of communal celebrations or prayers; on Tune In, they sport the same melancholic beauty one might find on a Nick Drake album. The band acknowledges one of its influences by covering "Images of April", written by the 1960s folk/prog outfit Pearls Before Swine.

The title track, lasting half of the album at 33 minutes, abandons lyricism in favor of exploratory improvisation. Beginning acoustically with free-flowing guitar strums, vibes, cello, and quietly echoed electric guitar, its serenity is easy to get sucked into. It continues in this manner for at least 20 minutes (turning more rhythmic for a while), before turning weirder and darker. The psychedelic focus of the final 13 minutes or so resembles the extreme experiments of early Tangerine Dream or Cluster. It's a nightmarish turn that gets downright creepy by the end. Electronic effects and guitar feedback clash in a dark drone that is about as far into the avant-garde as Ghost ever got. Muffled tribal drums eventually enter, along with the distorted voice heard in the first track.

Overall, Tune In, Turn On, Free Tibet is a very affecting album that juxtaposes the serene beauty of the majority of the album with the unsettling finale. 

As a postscript, the reason I listed this band as Ghost (Japan) is because there is a more recently formed Swedish theatrical metal band of the same name that has become popular. Although I have not listened to the Swedish band, I am nonetheless slightly annoyed with them because whenever I mention the Japanese band, I have to qualify it as "not the Swedish band, the Japanese band" who were there first. Not their fault, I guess. Now that the Japanese Ghost is officially broken up, I wish the Swedish Ghost good luck.

Dan:

I relate to the 1960s vibe on Tune In, Turn On, Free Tibet, having experienced the music of the late 60s firsthand. The phrase "tune in and turn on" originated at that time among folk musicians who were usually the first to protest human rights violations and express anti-war sentiments. Amidst the Vietnam war, Richard Nixon's presidency, and the Civil Rights movement in the US, there were plenty of issues to protest. Japan, of course, had much to grieve after World War II, and Vietnam was a lot closer to Asian people's lives. Coupled with the rise of Communist China, and its controversial Tibetan policies, it's understandable why American protest music was influential in Japanese prog circa 1999.

The first seven songs on Tune In, do a nice job of translating 60s folk-rock and psychedelia into an Asian context. If anything, the translation is a little too literal and privileges the calmer, nonviolent aspect of protest. (Nothing close to The Electric Flag's "Another Country" is attempted by Ghost). Incidentally, the title "We Insist" is taken from jazz drummer Max Roach's album of the same name with the subtitle Freedom Now Suite, released in 1961.

Ghost's mild protest changes about one-third of the way into the long title track. A chugging beat presages a distorted vocal sung over an increasingly intense background of noise, which is suddenly interrupted by some free play amongst bells, drums and violin that morph into a charming melody. There's a bit of back-and-forth between freedom and discipline for the next few minutes, as shifting aural images are painted. The track then turns into the nightmarish avant-garde section that Steve writes about. Nothing here will frighten the horses, but it might provoke questions from family members worrying about your mental health. Fortunately, there's enough variety of sounds during the closing section to give the listener more to do than just survive the nightmare.