TOMORROW'S PANTOMIME

I don't know much about Decameron's history but they do have the distinction of releasing one of my favorite album covers of all time with 'Tomorrow's Pantomime'. Not sure exactly sure what is so appealing about a sad mime wearing an absurdly large space helmet, but every time I see this cover it gives me a smile.

And while I get the impression this was a fairly unexceptional pub-rock band they are nonetheless very good musicians, and the fellows distinguished themselves with some particularly good poetic songwriting at a time when too many in mainstream rock circles were coasting behind vapid verse and a claim that only the instrumental music "mattered". Right, and inflection matters when one speaks but not the words that are actually spoken. The album opens strong with "The Deal", a straight-ahead rocker that stands apart thanks to clear, strong vocals and well-played rhythm guitar right from the onset. Midway through an electric violin is introduced and will reoccur throughout the album to provide a melancholy lilt to the frequently sobering lyrics. The violinist here reminds me quite a bit of Greg Bloch (String Cheese, PFM) on the 'It's a Beautiful Day... Today" album during David LaFlamme's temporary exile from that band.

The band reveals their road warrior roots with the obligatory young-lad-with-dream-turns- jaded-rock-star on "Fallen Over", delivered to a simple, toe-tapping beat and almost certainly designed for the concert stage but certainly not high art in most senses of the word.

One of a handful of relationship songs on the album, "Ask me Tomorrow" offers a solemn and somewhat cynical view of the world and the future from a young man to his lover, again with poignant violin delivery:

"you ask if I will love you till forever - come over to the window and tell me what you see; I see bowed heads and solemn faces, lies and hiding places... That's your forever, crawling on its hands and knees."

The album's range (so to speak) also extends to what sounds an awful lot like pre-disco and the appropriately-titled "Dancing" complete with fat bass, twangy guitar riffs and a driving beat framed with a chorus of male backing singers. Not quite the Bee Gees, but this one wouldn't be all that out-of-place on a cutout bin 70s disco collection.

The title track houses the best lyrical line on the album with the clever observation "Maid Marian is a lousy part when you'd rather be Ophelia". There's a lengthy tradition of pantomime in southern England that somewhat bridges theater, old-fashioned music halls and even modern pop/rock (check out the history of glam sometime). I won't pretend to understand all that historical implications here, but I'm sure Brits of that stripe will appreciate many sentiments in this narration of a mildly voyeuristic relationship.

Seems like most every album has something that is either overtly or at least suspected filler. "Single-Handed" fits that description here. It's a decent enough tune but given the strong lyrics, tasty guitar and emotive violin elsewhere on the album it just fails to stand out much. Reminds me a bit of several other seventies b-listers including Home, Bad Company, latter Wishbone Ash and Help Yourself.

Less common, but certainly not unheard of are world-weary prodigal son songs including Kansas' "Carry on Wayward Son", certainly the most famous of these but definitely not the only one. "Crazy Seed" seems to be a similar reflective tale of a hard-living world traveler reflecting back. Musically the band is quite tight here, with violin and piano both strong and dominant while the percussion takes a back seat and the chorus of almost angelic backing vocals provide a lush depth that transcends most of the rest of the album.

Someone in the band was either going through an ugly divorce at the time of this recording, or knew someone who was, or lived through one as a youth. The experience yielded "Shadows of the Stairs", the somber lament of a relationship gone sour and the resultant strife of child visitation arrangements, property division and bitter accusations. Musically I like the varied tempos and emotive instrumentation, but lyrically this is a song about pain and a part of life that's just never funny or ever even fun.

The grandest effort on the album is also one of the most confusing, or at least slightly cryptic. "So This is God's Country" is a ranging composition that's part folk tale, part flag- waving patriotic anthem and maybe just a bit of drunken dirge. What's confusing is the song starts off as some sort of English self-loathing exercise set to a catchy guitar riff and rocking percussion, but eventually morphs midway into an American (U.S.) jingoistic ramble about being a world power and conquering evil in two world wars and setting up shop as a stalwart capitalistic guardian to the world ("peace with honor, screams the dollar"). I can't tell if this is meant to be sincere or sarcastic, but given the time frame it seems likely the band meant no disrespect (this song sung today might come off quite differently I'm sad to say).

Decameron put out two or three additional studio albums before disappearing before the decade even ran out, largely without a trace. I wouldn't raise the band up as a lost treasure, but they were certainly better players than many other long-forgotten b-listers of the seventies, and their lyrics definitely show the group was willing to put some pride and effort into what they released even if the result is slightly uneven. A solid three stars though (out of five) and recommended to folk rock and progressive crossover fans, as well those enamored with modern English folk.

peace