I Talk To The Wind: Prog Blog and Reviews

Octavarium, Dream Theater, 2005

Octavarium marks a sort of double-effort by Dream Theater, aiming to create another distinctly Dream Theater album, with Dream Theater compositions, including obligatory ballads, metal songs and epic songs but also to do something new and artistic overall. So, I'm offering two opening analyses: one, the 'art', two, the 'songs' (they're not entirely indivisible, but they're not exactly too chummy either).

Personally, the first aim turns out rather better than the second, which goes in for the gimmicky 'nuggets' far more than truly novel ideas. I guess the best illustration is that if I'm meant to give them credit for having 8s and 5s, should I criticise them for having track limits that aren't 8.88s or 5.55s or not using cyclical track lengths, or say they should use something like ottava rima or a Sicilian octave for the rhyme scheme of the lyrics? Yes, it's arguably clever, and I have to admit one of the nuggets was actually, as I understand it, pretty good, but does it actually add anything to the album and the impact it has? I don't think so... the 5s, 8s and cycles are all referenced fairly often, and all sorts of influences are consciously and often openly aired, but again, that's just an artistic superfluity. So, that's one side on which the album attempts to make a lot of impact or show cleverness that really, just wasn't needed and doesn't add the overall piece.

So, the second: initial remark, the songwriting (or else pick-and-choosing: some reviewers have mentioned borrowings from bands I basically don't know, so for the sake of the review, I'll call it writing: just be aware I'm not 100% certain it always is) is pretty good. The four metal songs are effective and moderately individual, though they're not sing-in-the-shower memorable, and Sacrificed Sons, the Preppic (preparatory-epic), much as I don't really appreciate the lyrics, is a musical triumph, and the title track definitely has its moments, though honestly, I could happily cut it off the album's end. So, all-in-all, on the musical, and, for most of you, I guess, more important front, a success, though not an unqualified one.

Well, that's three times the usual space for an introduction, but what I'm going to say is something contradictory to expectations: if your listening approach is generally like mine, fussing over the effect of specific fills, whether a song should or shouldn't use a fade, whether a lyric is supported properly by the feel of the music and so forth, this album gets much better if you can just switch off, and let the music sink in rather than trying to seek the album's deeper conceptual fish, which are floating lifeless on the surface. At least, that's how it worked for me.

The first of eight (surprises there...) tracks, The Root Of All Evil starts promisingly with a firm, low piano note, a menacing hum and Rudess solidifying over Portnoy's startling, mechanical bursts. A thick riff coalesces very naturally from this, and from that, somewhat more awkwardly, the vocal bit. Labrie offers menacing and murky vocals for a snappy set of lyrics with a matching bass underpinning the whole thing. The slightly ambling chorus doesn't have the punch of the verses but on the other hand the superb squirming Petrucci solo and a tasteful piano part from the later Octavarium slipped in smoothly at the end make this an effective statement of intent, both for the metal and the artistic sides of the album. Not entirely certain we needed eight minutes to get it, though.

The Answer Lies Within is a somewhat typical Dream Theater power ballad in the vein of Another Day or The Spirit Carries On. While it doesn't have the inspiring guitar part of the former, it compensates with somewhat less painful lyrics and a fairly nice, if simple (for some reason, Rudess seems to turn the speed down on the 'emotional' piano parts), piano backing that is darkened neatly at the entrance of the violin. On the minus side, the harmonies just aren't something Dream Theater have convincingly engaged, and Labrie's basically good voice is hamstrung by the audible intake of breath before just about each word and an occasional ineffective echo choice. The violin's entrance and a nicely dark conclusion stand out, and all in all it's not a particularly important attraction, but a fairly pleasant break in between the album's general heaviness.

These Walls opens with a block of surprisingly effectively arranged noise which twists into one of DT's most convincing metal riffs. As Rudess enters at speed it's not really so much changed as revealed to be a more deep, dark, brooding song, and a drifting electro-acoustic or something of the ilk brings us to a great entrance from the still hard-breathing Labrie, as usual, slamming vibrato left, right and centre in a decent performance. Rudess takes the only real criticism for his pseudo-orchestral apparitions, which don't really give the Stravinskian punch I think they were meant to. But, even if the song could be a little more involving and stabbing, the melody is great, the bass part is really neat, the chorus is very memorable, and I don't dislike the lyrics. Petrucci's clever hooks offer it an almost unanticipated staying power (and he also takes credit for a calm, tasteful guitar solo with a good tone), and the rhythm section gives a spectacular, cohesive impression as well as the idea that these are really good individual players. I mean, as Dream Theater goes, this just about manages to unite all their best elements, and I can only criticise a couple of either basically insignificant or else very general elements (too many chorus repeats, maybe? Rushed ending? Not a lot of balance?, but these are all very general or nor really important).

I Walk Beside You opens with a fairly clever transition from a jumpy string-synth opening somewhat reminiscent of Queen's The Show Must Go On to a fairly horrendous pop track – now, I admit that elsewhere I've been lavishly praising of 'pop' songs on otherwise 'prog' masterpieces: I Know What I Like on Selling England By The Pound, Love To Love You on Nine Feet Underground, Tua Casa Commoda on Ys... the difference between this one and those ones is that the classic prog bands were generally able to keep their identity and individuality, and also to throw out great hooks and compositions even when working within pop constraints: Dream Theater, here, at least, do not. Labrie's vocal begins well with a sort of jittering Myung bassline, but, as the chorus begins, the song moves from anything memorable to a general mess. The lyrics are uplifting in the sort of way that Finding Nemo was uplifting (terrible movie). The big crescendo is just trying far too hard (straining your voice is not the only way to evoke emotion with it... sometimes it's not even one of the ways), albeit balanced with a brief and somewhat more tasteful piano-sounding flourish.  The issue with this isn't that it's pop, incongruous though it feels, but just that I get no impression of personality from it, just 4.27 which is, admittedly nice intro aside, emotionally blank and musically limp. Short, by the album's standards, and inviting the skip button.

Panic Attack continues the trend of the 'metal' songs on Octavarium being better than the pop/rock ones by a large margin, with a hell of a kicking riff interspersed with effective orchestra-lite melodies from Rudess. Energy, attack, a great vocal melody (later reprised in Octavarium with a bit of a twist). Labrie is again (I much prefer him this way) working on the darker side with a couple of neat wavering high notes, and the vocal melody is interweaved pretty cleverly with repeats of the riff. Petrucci and Portnoy are both in full force on this one, offering aggressive, mule-kick drumming and screechy guitar solos, with Rudess' selective decoration and this energy doesn't relent at all until the great end. I haven't a complaint... well, maybe the introduction of Petrucci's solo involves a couple of unneeded bars, but even with that tiny nitpick, it's a hell of a song. Best on the album.

Never Enough is another of the album's metal numbers, and with the heaviest riff, I think, though the build of the chorus leads us only to some very plodding long syllables (I can only take so much of your un-GRAAATEful wAAAYS) are emphasised agonisingly. That particularly section aside, Labrie's twisted, slightly distorted almost opera-metal vocals are among the best I've heard from him, and even his bawling long syllables seem to slip in unreasonably well.  Portnoy's lyrics are pretty simple and direct, and dissecting them is naturally going to prove both unfair and unnecessary, but the chorus feels almost intently ambling by comparison with the verses. However, his drumming here is great: energy, attack, a mild element of surprise, fits neatly in with the bass parts, and not too dense for continued impact. Both Rudess and Petrucci seem to be contributing basically embellishments during the song's main chorus, they seem to twine together to create both the killer opening riff and the instrumental mid-section, but then, they're acting just right by the song, and, even if it's not musically visionary and the chorus isn't as great as it could be, it is really a very good song.

Sacrificed Sons finds itself in an awkward position. Automatically, it's the second-most-epic song on an album, which is never enviable, and it's put right against the title track, and it's clearly aiming to be something more than the metal tracks. So, in the album's context, I don't think it's really going to bring out its full potential – guess that's the issue with making 70 minute albums rather than 40 minute ones. However, from the synthesis of Arabic-sounding prayers, a wandering violin and a set of quotations about 9/11, understandably a sensitive and relevant topic, and I credit the band for trying to engage with it. On the other hand, I don't particularly feel they engaged with it effectively but maybe I'm just too detached to really feel the human, emotional pull they're angling for.

A chilling, simple piano-voice-drums trio, with Labrie's voice on top form is augmented by a fairly harmless orchestral addition played off against swirling, brooding solos from Rudess and Petrucci. The initial melodies aren't especially creative, but the song's main attraction lies in Petrucci's astounding soloing - and all directed towards the song and its lyrical theme – and the heady metallic mid-section, full of the sort of complex band-lines that made Metropolis pt. 1 such a classic. All, in all, were this the album's ending, I'd call it an almost unqualified success, as it is, the denouement before the album's intended piece de resistance doesn't really suit it, but still, a minor classic in the band's repertoire, and the best playing I've yet heard from the very talented Petrucci.

The centrepiece and twenty-four minute epic Octavarium is obviously the album's making-or-breaking, whether it'll be an occasional listen or a regular visitor to the headphones or CD-player. I personally can understand the accolades it receives on one level – Dream Theater are a talented bunch of musicians, and they're producing an enormous piece jammed full of information and references in a strictly progressive rock track. I guess it's just not an idea that appeals to me, and the silly five/eight/cycles thing appears to gain any interest accidentally as much as by design – OK, the notion of infinite reincarnation as a trap is interesting, but I'm not convinced with all the eight-octave-that's-a-cycle thing going on, and five-that's-like-the-black-notes-man. As for the reference soup in pt. III: well, I can't blame them for using them: who doesn't , but just slamming references down rather than using them to establish a point or something of the kind is essentially messy rather than insightful. Still, musically, it's not a bad thing, and addressing that:

So, the first four minutes or so are a twisted welding of Bijou and the introduction of Shine On You Crazy Diamond – Petrucci's more than up to the task, not so convinced that Rudess' keys have the emotional grip that Wright never relinquished. After this and admittedly a very pretty flute part, a content guitar (any resemblance to Cadence and Cascade is probably an imagination on my part), a good Labrie vocal and the occasional reinforcing piano note. Portnoy's arriving rattle adds a slight, building depth, though the transition of 'I thought what I could tell' unfortunately sees Labrie straining to create effect. I find myself at about nine minutes in by now, with a cool bass groove, less cool lyrics, some neat fills by Portnoy and three minutes later, I'm still in much the same mood... it's not so much that the song's not good, but just that it's making no continued impression on me. I phase out and find myself waking up occasionally to check where I am by the lyrics.

A very neat synth solo – according to the site I've got up, cribbed, but still, it's well-played – is my next point of actual contact with the music, and after sitting through it and wondering just what it's meant to add to the piece before settling down to plain enjoy it. Now, Full Circle, part III, is a dilemma for me. As mentioned, I think the lyrics are a horrendous mess, but Labrie is on top form and the riff they've pulled out is really strong, and the descent into a sort of collective madness at around 16.00 is great, with what sounds like a brief reference to Metropolis pt. 1, or, at least, the same sort of complex fast-paced, high-energy progressive metal. Head-spinning assaults from the bass and guitar and synthesiser counterpointed with a big range of keyboards, solid ten-second references. I find myself strangely able to completely ignore the lyrics of the next section and carry my full enjoyment of the song across Labrie's odd, but effective, vocal stylings and the full yowling post-ordial swirl of the band. Razor's Edge, though itself somewhat unremarkable, does a good job of working out the tension and energy spilling over from the previous two sections. Some more Brian May-ish guitar-work takes us on our instrumental ride out with a complementary, if brief, appearance by the orchestra.

Well, left in the aftermath with one chilling low piano note, what do I think of Octavarium? Good question... my description's been pretty brief given the length – and I've been trying to give impressions rather than a list you yourself can hear if you pick up the album. Still, it's an enjoyable progressive rock track, with some of Dream Theater's most focussed and impressive music yet, and yet it's a conceptual mess – pritt-sticking a hundred influences together with little other than a lot of instrumental talent to do it. From an intellectual, puzzle-solver and poet, standpoint, I think it's decidedly lightweight, from an emotional standpoint, it almost pulls off the huge finale thing it was going for. And from about the 11.00 or 12.00 mark it never really lost my attention. Unfortunately, this isn't really a case where something less than absolute success can be enough, the album's impact clearly depends on this suite to unify it from a smorgasboard (I wouldn't recommend the cheese) of harmless pop/rock and artistically-leaning metal numbers, and for me, this one isn't good enough to do that.

So, all in all, I think Dream Theater somewhat overreached themselves by a sheer effort to be artistic here, instead ending with a jumble of circumstantial or arranged fives and eights and a couple of whole-album links that really are a bit too light to justify the effort put into them. Additionally, the enormous centrepiece supposedly unifying this is good, but just not good enough or intellectually convincing enough to iron out so many kinks. However, this artistic misfire actually has little effect on the enjoyment of the album proper and, all in all, we're left with some very good songs, in fact, some of DT's best, especially Never Enough, These Walls and Sacrificed Sons, and I think the band's overall sound benefits a bit from Rudess being a little less and Myung a little more noticeable (worth using a good set of headphones for this one – really enjoyed the production). All in all, a pleasant, fairly memorable effort, and worth a few listens even if you're not the band's biggest fan, even if the whole effect doesn't really pull together and I Walk Beside You is a real monstrosity. Three deserved stars from me.

Rating: Three Stars, 10/15... if you want an introduction to the band, I'd say Images And Words (a sketchy 11/15) would be a better choice than this, and Awake a better album than either of them.
Favourite Track: Panic Attack

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For the record, this is the fifth Dream Theater album I've heard, and the fourth I've listened to enough times to get a good impression (about four or five 'complete' listens, and a fair few repeats of the various songs depending on inclination and challenge). However, given I'm reviewing this one based on the excellent Spotify, I find myself without the negative time between the tracks, so be aware that I'm missing about two minutes of the album's incidental music. Additionally, this review has hit, at the moment of completion, 2917 words... long reviews, I'm afraid, result from my style – it wasn't just that I really hated Scenes From A Memory Metropolis.

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I found Dream Theater's back-catalogue was up on Spotify, so got distracted. Alack.

Free Hand, Gentle Giant

The man who first proclaimed that the progressive rock musicians shall wear capes and play solos and not, under any circumstances, write catchy songs obviously forgot to tell Gentle Giant. Their very credible 1975 release Free Hand is a full text of how-to-play-well-without-being-accused-of-masturbation, how-to-write-songs-that-are-both-involving-and-catchy and, more importantly, how-to-put-out-a-great-album. Admittedly, the excitement of this one is somewhat consolidated on the superb side one, and pleasant as the medievally flavoured work of side 2 is, it somehow stops at intelligent, pleasant movement rather than making the murky transition to a full-fledged classic.

The opener is pretty much symbolic of the album as a whole, catchy as hell, opening with the infectiously obtuse shifting of handclaps from speaker to speaker and a bouncy piano part. Gary Greene and Ray Shulman leap to create a polyphonic pop song, taking in its stride the lively saxophone-heavy verses, a chorus introduced by a cool keyboard hook and a bizarre instrumental interlude, moving from a well-thought out shiny synthesiser over a calm groove to a theatrical bit of bending moog mastery with a much sharper jazzy backdrop from Ray Shulman and John Weathers. A happily rocking guitar repeat of the piano riff leads us back into the song proper, and before you know it, the chugging bass rhythm and handclaps have taken us out again. Worth mentioning, Minnear (keys) and Ray Shulman (bass) give great performances on this one.

Now, how I’m meant to review On Reflection is beyond me, but I’ll try... here Gentle Giant’s amazing capacity for arrangement comes to the fore, with complex vocal parts interweaved with classical density and medieval flavour, interspersed with the band’s incredible range of instruments. Derek Shulman’s bouncy and impersonal energy on lyrics such as ‘In my way did I use you/Do you think that I really abused you/On reflection now, it doe-esn’t ma-atter’ is matched perfectly by Kerry Minnear’s lush yet fragile and affected ‘I’ll remember the good things how can I forget/ all the years that we shared in our way’, and the complimentary gradually introduced xylophone, glockenspiel and piano tracking the various multi-layered vocal parts supplement the feel of individual voices crucial to the song’s lyrical theme, as the exquisite low-tempo keyboard-and-bass support for Minnear’s great vocal, and with the introduction of subtle violins and cello, this reflective moment leads up to the energetic burst out of the ‘all around/all around/ all around...’ block harmony before the great rock instrumental conclusion, with bass, guitar and organ trading parts just about every time and yet finding the space to add in. An impression you get from the instrumental parts of this one, which maybe wasn’t there in the Giant’s early albums, is simply what great musicians they are. Ray Shulman’s bass in particular, is probably among my favourite albums for the instrument ever, and this instrumental burst is a prime example of how to play great interesting starts while serving the song absolutely. OK, maybe the fade isn’t a perfectly satisfying ending from a musical point of view, but the idea of happily going off from this failed relationship to do one’s own thing is suitably conveyed by the defiant melodies springing up over this, and I can’t think of a better way to give that impression. A top notch Giant piece, and certainly among my favourites.

 If at the time of reading, as at the time of writing, this song is a title track here, open another tab/scroll up and click the play button and I can say with a fair bit of confidence that you shouldn’t be disappointed. A typically punctuated Minnear piano and a kicking Gary Greene riff, backed up by its bizarre pauses, an incredibly fun and odd bit of bass from the virtuosic Ray Shulman, as well as some choice drum fills from John Weathers, who, if overshadowed by the other band members is a rock of consistent creativity throughout this record. If you can work out exactly what’s going on in the instrumental sections, the first laden with clever piano dissonants and the second a minimal guitar-driven thing with some mystical percussion and a weird marine-sounding keyboard, bulked up by Greene’s jabs, you’re a braver man than I. The melody is just fantastic, and the little details present everywhere. The quintessential eclectic song? Well, either way, great pop music elaborated beyond recognition and with Gentle Giant’s charm and great complexity.

Time To Kill continues quite strongly, opening with a sort of inverted outro, taking thrumming static and suddenly throwing in twenty or thirty seconds of a building riff crammed full of their wonderfully obtuse musical knowledge and then pulling together to give the impression that they’re aiming at a sort of running-out-conclusion already as if on the end of On Reflection... but they don’t. The shift is straight on into a slightly remorseful rock song with some of the bulky vocals and a suitably great lead from Derek Shulman, alternating between immensely musical band set-ups and a sort of prowling lead bass thing hunting the voice. The wonderful vocal harmonies are almost the precursor to some of the stuff on the later pop albums that I’ve heard, if much, much better... again, a fade on the end isn’t really satisfying, but otherwise a very clever and catchy song... Gentle Giant are fantastic at the combination of the two.

The somewhat tragic and reminiscing His Last Voyage is the album’s first sign of flagging just a little... the bulk of it is a sweet medieval-sounding vocal section, and much as Gary Greene’s gorgeous acoustic guitar and the band joining together, it goes on a relatively long time for a section where making out the words is a challenge and also one where it doesn’t really mesh with the intelligently created introduction and interludes set up to add some flavour for it. Now, in spite of this pleasant but slightly inelegant bit, at the three minute mark, it transforms, a sharp coordination between the piano and bass and a set of remarkable airy fills by Weathers are overlaid with an equally ethereal vocal to give a sort of surrealistic web of ghostlike atmosphere over which Gary Greene finally gets the blues-driven, but creative, solo he seems to have been itching for all album, and a return to the tranquil part brings a real conclusion to a mixed, but at times wonderful, piece.

Talybont (a Welsh town, by the way; nice place, I’ve been walking there, and the music fits it nicely) is more of a hearts-on-sleeves medieval piece, with twin recorders and a harpsichord; there is a clear main theme throughout, which is frequently echoed, and the superb production of the album really allows some of the song’s subtleties to stand out as highlights here, whether in the form of a solid clavichord or clavinet contrast to the playful main theme, or in John Weathers’ matching drum work, placing much more emphasis on a mood than a beat. Wonderful work by Minnear and Gary Greene in particular here... overall, a very satisfying piece of music, achieving character without going to the lengths of the rest of the album to do so.

The ending Mobile is, erm, wearing. Yes, it’s clever compositionally, I can remember the main theme, and the dense polyphony is still there, and there are a huge number of neat catches, but, by this point in the album, it maybe feels a little odd after the two cute medieval numbers to return to the style of the first half, albeit with a somewhat more prominent lead vocal and a set of discernable and unimpressive lyrics. OK, so the band have a boundless childlike energy and musical knowledge that allows them to slam in vocoders, violins, wah-wah guitar work, suspicious piano work and a creative intensity to shame their contemporaries and their successors, but I can’t really say that, either because it’s simply not as memorable as half one, or because my musical brain is getting tired and I’m preparing to switch off before Interview (ah, the banes of two-in-one-CDs)... anyway, as a stand-alone song, it’s good, but as the ending to such a fantastic album, it doesn’t really hold up, and I can’t say the random wait-then-drum roll ending is ahead of the fades that characterise the rest of this one.

So, all in all, rush out to your nearest purveyor of quality music, which probably remains either Amazon.co.uk or Amazon.com unless you’re less of an almost-but-not-quite-rural unfortunate than I am, and acquire or order this album. Or listen to the sample; that might be a good idea first. Alas, the fifth star eludes this one on the grounds that a few of the endings aren’t exactly decisive, when the band’s ability to write a song ending is really not in question, and Mobile and His Last Voyage fail to stand out in the way the other five songs do. Ah, Gentle Giant, forever stuck on four L, despite it all. Worth mentioning, this is one hell of a bass album, and you get an impression of virtuosity as well as the creativity, individuality and emotion that has, up ‘til now, been a constant feature of Gentle Giant’s repertoire.

Rating: Four Stars, 12/15
Favourite Track: tough choice; maybe Time To Kill or On Reflection

To nick half an opening line off a fellow reviewer, ?[Metropolis pt. II: Scenes From A Memory] is not only Dream Theater's most overrated release, nor is it prog metal's most overrated release?, it?s awful.

First off, the ?concept? part of ?concept album?: a good concept album surely needs the following: a good concept, and preferably a well-written one, a strong relationship between the lyrics and the music, appropriate vocals and more importantly, to me, a depth to actually keep the listener coming back to the concept... it?s the difference between Foucault?s Pendulum and the light-hearted The Redemption of Althalus, both are good books, but one is much deeper and consequently more rewarding... in the context that you hope, surely, to listen to an album more than once, the former approach is more valuable.

Now, does Metropolis Pt. II, Scenes From A Memory, which has more depth in its title than the entire damn 70-minute monstrosity, fulfil any of those requirements? Me, personally, I, myself and further I, don?t believe it does. The plot is a gaping hole, in which things happen in spasms, things are very occasionally revealed in between the main character?s angsty soliloquys, conclusions are drawn and a concluding twist is ruthlessly inserted. Unfortunately, these things need connections and arrangement ? is there really any emotional content in someone believing ?The spirit carries on? because they?ve been hypnotized into thinking about their (obviously real) previous incarnations? Or is there any point in the ?Sleeper? and the ?Miracle? ?metaphors? for two of the cast characters? Themes and ideas are introduced, but there is just no depth to these (?Without faith, without hope/there can be no peace of mind??...  the why for this precise, repeated line isn?t there, as far as I can see... it just appears to be an underlying assumption of the speaker). If you genuinely like the plot of this one, I?d recommend action sci-fi film The Core. It?s probably on much the same level.

Now, well-written, obviously not: ?She wanted love forever/but he had another plan/He fell into an evil way/She had to let him down/She said ?I can?t love a wayward man?, and (Exhibit B, your honour), ?Now that I?ve become aware/And exposed this tragedy/A sadness grows inside of me/It all seems so unfair? are representative cuts, and the overall impression isn?t helped by the predictable alternation of the two parallel stories (well, one of them isn?t even happening, it?s just a commentary with an event at the end) ?past event happens? and ?Nicholas comments in an angsty/happy way on the past events, with no sympathetic motivation?.

So, we have remarked that it is a wafer-thin plot, following the travails of wafer-thin characters, direly written, and with a sort of pretence of dual depth (past and present), which , when examined, is unconnected, and, regardless, nothing of interest happens in plot B until the very end. Dire stuff. Now, why does this matter so much? Well, one, it?s a concept album and it?s pushing the concept... it annoys me for the same reason that The Wall?s stress on the Hitler rally does... it doesn?t make sense, and what is presented as if it were a strength is built on the sand of pretence. It doesn?t help either that Labrie is obnoxious to the extreme in his presentation here... his voice is clearly meant to convey an average, normal person most of the time, but, on the other hand, it?s plain irritating.... the occasional efforts at a smoother or more aggressive vocal style, rare though they are, are a welcome relief. He also adds an ?a? sound to every word in some sections, which is a pet peeve of mine. So, basically, he?s over-presenting a hollow, irritating plot in a hollow, irritating way.

OK, I think you?ve probably worked out I don?t like the concept by now, so that?s out of the way... now the album part. Here Dream Theater seem to be hell-bent on alternating the pacey metal riff with the tingling acoustic ballad... unfortunately, they?re not particularly good at either of those. The number of good, memorable riffs in these seventy minutes is in the 0s (well, there?s one salvaged off I&W, but I?m hardly going to count that), and moreover Petrucci is just a lousily generic and tedious acoustic guitarist... if your introduction to progressive rock included the acoustic features of Howe, Hackett and Fripp, you?ll probably hold very, very little affection for the harmless ding-DING-ding (simple acoustics, not always a bad thing, but it?s the difference between a writer with a knack for good melodies and one without... Dream Theater don?t benefit from this difference being so highlighted) we get from such an admittedly capable electric soloist... again, Petrucci?s guitar work, when on an electric, when in a lead role, when soloing, is phenomenal. Unfortunately, at any other given time, he can be unimaginably dull... for instance, for the majority of Scenes From A Memory.

Now, onto the rest... Rudess sort of fits the band, and has to his credit a gimmicky ragtime solo and a generally unoffensive vibe... admittedly his piano parts as a rule don?t seem to add a lot to pieces, and occasionally the synth sounds simply don?t come off. Portnoy, in addition to being technically sharp and complex, is a bore (though not as much so as on Images And Words), and I hear on good authority the brotherhood of the Sacred Ear to this day have a bounty on John Myung?s basslines, so if you can actually hear them on this one, you could be in for the big bucks. There are, musically speaking, two pieces I sort of like on here, and I can remember literally only fragments of them, it?s not a well-written album, in my view, and while the more technical-masturbation-themed songs are definitely a bit more interesting for me, I fail to remember more than seconds of any individual piece, and it says a lot that those seconds are generally the gimmicky ragtime solo or the sitar sampling. So, in short, not a compelling metal album (in my opinion... now, I?m not a metalhead, but there are metal albums I like [by Opeth, especially Blackwater Park, Iron Maiden and Arcturus, to name a few]... this just isn?t one of them... and I can?t say it has the more appealing qualities of those artists I mentioned earlier), not a good progressive rock (indeed, progressive more in derivation than in innovation... a melting pot of styles, rather like making a paella in a mould-encrusted pan) album, not particularly a good album in any sense.

OK, so, I haven?t even discussed the individual tracks, and I?ve explained why I think this is a lousy concept album. I?ve also written 1123 words already, so it?s probably time to bite the bullet and spin the damn album again... I might be brief on individual tracks, because spending this much time writing about Scenes From A Memory when it could be spent giving enjoyable albums such as Awake, Molignak, Darwin! or Skin a small boost in PA?s collective consciousness is probably unneeded.

OK, so we have the spoken hypnotherapist intro, complete with ticking... then an exceptionally vapid acoustic-and-voice number with some warbling synth in the background. Thankfully pretty brief. Paragraph merge, because I can. OK, we have a quote from the admittedly neat Metropolis pt 1, which, while just about unrelated (in the same way as the two Cygnus books blatantly are), is probably the best ten seconds of the album. Some nice soloing from Petrucci is probably the key feature of the instrumental Overture 1928... the occasional foreshadowing of later music by collecting themes is clearly an effort , but at the same time, I don?t like that later music either, so it?s hardly a plus for me. Now, onto the first real vocal number, which, in addition to the thick layers of mind-numbing suffering brought on by Labrie?s voice,  has (presumably Portnoy) providing atrocious backing vocals. The drum part is precise, but trapped by its own precision, so often being rigidly unpredictable in the same fashion that the ?unpredictable? bit of it fails to impress, Rudess?s short piano bits are neat, his synth parts don?t seem to have a lot to them... Myung, when audible, is neat.

The following Through My Words is too safe a piano-and-voice number to really criticise, and if you can ignore the lyrics, that and the opening of Fatal Tragedy are actually quite nice. The latter moves on with some AOR (that?s right, you heard that) choruses and the standard riffing interspersed with some fantastic solos and the occasional organ tone. I?m sort of torn about whether I like the prog-metal thing at around four minutes... very energetic (and I like the shredding, and I think Petrucci, when soloing, has a fantastic tone, though it seems to go out the window on the riffs), actually sort of cool, but it feels so blatant, and really holds no relation to the rest of the song other than having the same track number. OK, out of hypnotherapist talk, we get a riff. Wow. That was really unexpected.

Beyond This Life is the first real engagement with the ?Past? story. Unfortunately, it?s terrible. OK, the riff is slightly better than most of those on the album, and when Labrie?s vocals are under that weird effect thing, and I can pretend he?s singing about hobbits and wizards or something, I can pretend I like this one. There?s some surprisingly atmospheric Rudessage here. I like that. Unfortunately, the lyrics are so badly written, they make the opening virtually unlistenable and Labrie is trying so hard to specifically irritate me. OK, he does the occasional neat operato-aggressive thing, which is good, but otherwise, he?s mechanically and systematically irking my vocal hates. Some of the bland systematic...... .

OK, Myung comes to the surface halfway through, albeit with a completely harmless part. A random bit of daft production fiddling (Dream Theater are just too calculated to do a Hendrixian interlude, sorry guys) leads into what is actually a really neat bit of bluesy guitar before another superb Petrucci solo. A dire brass synth takes us on... well, let?s just say Rudess?s solo showcase here is nailbitingly tasteless with the sounds. Portnoy doesn?t really add anything to my enjoyment, but he?s alright here. It?s a pity that Myung?s remarkable exit to the daylight from the world of very-low-in-the-mix isn?t remarkably good. Bits of this could be really good if I could hear them without hearing the other bits of this soon after.

Some heavy handed Dark Side Of The Moon references (guitars, howly female vocals), complete with an almost hymnal set of keys, followed by a little piano part and the lousy ballad that is Through Her Eyes. Portnoy barely contributes to this bit, obviously, because it?s a soft song. Petrucci strums, yawn. Labrie amazingly manages to mess up even this vocal style on occasion... and his incessant vibrato (is that the word?) is a pain. Rudess is a bland piano note every once in a while, and Myung, still on his exercise hour from the prison of the regular production provides the only thing about this song that?s actually enjoyable (well, the occasional electric burst isn?t terrible, but that?s mooted by the acoustics). So bad I feel like going to youtube and listening to a high school band?s cover of Video Killed The Radio Star to clean my ears.

Home is a rare thing: Dream Theater dabbling in diversity and also a good song on this album. A vaguely sitar-flavoured thing , with an embryonic riff beneath it, and the occasional precise roll from Portnoy, and suddenly, BIAO-BAO, this absolutely fantastic riff with spiralling guitar work coming off it comes in... Rudess has pulled his tones together, I can barely hear Myung, but I assume he?s doing something nice, there?s a sharp metal riff... and now, Labrie, L there goes that run, lads... OK, the lyrics are actually not too terrible, more reminiscent of Pt. 1, but his vocals, at least to start with, are unpleasant. OK, then he pulls together and we get shockhorrorscandal a catchy melody... what?s going on? Has the spirit of 10cc taken over my stereo player for a few seconds? Did I just like that? Yes... well, whatever witchcraft is going on, Labrie again layers his voice with effects over a menacing, Indian-flavoured riff, and The Miracle?s vocal section is slightly less generally irritating... now, if we get past the generic sexual-noises, which would clearly have some sort of affect on me if I didn?t hate the concept so much, the sampled-sitar/electric interplay is nice, and even if the solo bursts of the last three minutes are the definition of forgettable, the points where the band pull together make up for it. Anyway, whatever Dream Theater were aiming for with the rest of the album, they somehow managed to just about hit it here.

The Dance Of Eternity opens with some nervous collective shuffling, all laboriously united by little re-echoed solo bits, and double-kick-drumming covers the whole thing. On the other hand, aside from this opening demented soundtrack thing, there is just about enough of the gimmick to keep this one alive, whether in silly synth things, crazed intensity, little dah-dum-dah-dum  bits, something that reminds me of a particularly theme, but I?m not sure which (James Bond, I?m thinking..., maybe I?m wrong), and a random ragtime piano, which is admittedly a gimmick, but a relatively good one... still, I liked this one at first, but I?m finding less and less to like about it. Then, there?s a tiny, tiny nice bit with piano and band on before the band goes on into crazy dramatics with only the guitar and piano providing any pleasant reprieve from the dumbfounding, soul-crushing irksomeness of Labrie?s vocals on One Last Time.

OK, my ears have switched off by this point... but I?ll try to listen to the following The Spirit Carries On (doncha love concept non sequiturs J) despite Labrie?s presence... there?s a lot of reference of things from The Wall, here, I think... the piano is reminiscent, and Labrie takes on an almost Watersy edge... and there?s the classic Eclipse (Dark Side, admittedly) organ chord... OK, so a laboured Petrucci solo, which I don?t particularly enjoy, and Portnoy in full flow and yet failing to make any impression on me... OK, gospel choir... yeah, right, no reference to a certain band?s crowning moment there? Labrie is trying. Yes, very trying (sorry folks, had to be done). OK. Bland rock with half a million Floyd references... I suppose that?s progressive in itself... Floyd were never bland :p

Finally Free... well about bloody time... could?ve done with that seventy minutes ago. Hypnotherapist again, direly bland synths, an unimpressive Petrucci part, sound effects which are indicating the change in the plot... dun dun dun... OK. There?s not a lot I like about this tacky cartoon stuff... so I?ll say there?s a smooth piano in there, and then Labrie comes in again revealing the GRAND CLIMAX of this grand sham. Victoria?s bit is actually quite nice at times... seems odd that Dream Theater would bring in a female choir just to reference Pink Floyd but shy away from getting a female vocalist to take the female lead on this one, still... ?Then came a shot out of the night? is possibly the most undramatically delivered line I?ve heard in a while, which is odd given how much drama Dream Theater can throw in when the lines don?t merit it... OK, murder sound effects, wow... what next? Grandiose conclusion with particularly lousy vocals. OK... turning back to the comic dramatics... some noodling blandness (me, personally, I like content, having a story doesn?t preclude having that), followed by some more hypnotherapy and a squib which is evidently significant to the story?s grand twist. I dislike it intensely. Very intensely. So, to illustrate the style of lumping this together as a concept album, I?ll mark the thing by ?Scenes? and give you an average grade. Novelty shift in style. Of course, it will have no relevance on the final grade/star thing I give it.

Scene One: 1/15, Scene Two: 3/15, Scene Three: 6/15, Scene Four: 4/15, Scene 5: 1/15, Scene 6: 12/15, Scene 7: 6/15, Scene 8: 1/15, Scene 9: 3/15. Averaged out, we have 4.111etc./15, which would be a one rather than a two.

So, on the final grade: I cannot possibly give a three to an album from which I really enjoy only one song, and which is conceptually so terrible. Whether one track in a seventy minute album and the occasional glimpse of pleasantness qualify an album for the glorious second star is questionable. It?s getting the one from me, which is, admittedly, on the harsher side of justice, but I can see myself very happily not connecting this one to the CD dock again, and once Home is safely ripped to the computer, this will be ?put out to stud? (i.e. collect dust as a glorified coaster).

Rating: One Star, I think 4/15 is actually the mark I?d have given it anyway. 3 if I couldn?t skip tracks. Favourite Track: Definitely, definitely Home.

So, what have we learned from this review (well, I say we, I mean I):

Don?t buy Scenes From A Memory Metropolis. Unless you really feel like you need to have Home. Or are a Dream Theater fan and think Mike Portnoy is the best drummer ever, at which point you already own the album, most likely. Anyway, not a wise introduction choice, in my opinion, at least, compared to the decent Images And Words and Awake, which is great stuff... if you really like other Dream Theater or you feel like a good, nervous, horrified laugh, go forth, DT fans, and multiply.

A concept is not necessarily a good concept.

Writing about albums you don?t like can be fun.

You can write three thousand words about anything.

Credit goes to topofsm... his review was the one my opening line sampled.

OK... there's a line in there where I trailed off, but I can't remember what exactly I was complaining about, and changing it would ruin the 'exactly 3000 words of review excluding title and footnotes' thing I've got going on.

Peter Hammill’s solo career takes a new twist with every album, and I’ve yet to hear anything of a standard which isn’t at least good. However, for the more general progressive rock fans, the gold is his 73-4 output, three absolute masterpieces. In Camera is certainly the most diverse of these, with everything from idiosyncratic ballads to the hellish progressive rock masterpieces of Gog and (No More) The Submariner to a piece of daring musique concrete, all complemented with some of the finest lyrics out there. While a general description doesn’t do it justice, the big developments from the previous album come in the density of synthesizer and guitar overdubs, representing, for the first time, an entire album of really full and fleshed out solo compositions from Hammill, and his ever-present sense of melody is out in force.

The range of material and its new depth and complexity, however, isn’t the only thing to admire. Every piece here is effortlessly experimental, and simply doesn’t really relate to anything else, and they come together to produce an album that, if a little disorienting, is nonetheless surprisingly cohesive mainly because of this attitude. Lastly, and it needs to be mentioned, Hammill’s voice is  really at its peak in this sort of general time frame, and here every vocal (well, except Magog, but that’s completely something else) is both dazzingly beautiful and intelligently thought out, particularly (No More) The Submariner comes off as one of his best. So, essentially essential: maybe the album to try if you want a real Peter Hammill solo album that isn’t singer-songwriter based or, largely, in the style of Van Der Graaf Generator (though, to be fair, Guy Evans has the performance of his career on this one). And, in addition to all the experimental, intellectual and diversity-based respect this one gets from me, it’s also simply a great album without one fragile song.

The curious and affectionate Ferret And Featherbird emerges from a slowly converging mesh of acoustic and twelve-string guitars and a tenderly wandering piano, while the tender electric thrums off some inquisitive calls. The hauntingly beautiful two-part vocal, with its expansive and yet very immediate lines, tells the story of two lovers becoming parted and then reconciled by the distance between them, to the picaresque backdrop or idea of these two playful, affectionate creatures  discovering about themselves through their tentative interactions with the other. A very sweet-natured and disarming piece, as charming as it is accomplished.

(No More) The Submariner is completely different. No more charm, not even an effort to bring the listener on side, just a man singing his soul out, tearing mockingly into his childhood dreams and his current existence, backed by tearing, menacing synth lines, which swirl headily around with every change of mood, and incisive bass and piano parts rumbling beneath this near-primordial synthesised void. The stern confidence in the composition and the performance is reflected by Hammill’s vocal control, he is immediately comfortable with both the superbly produced watery effect on his voice and his natural vocals, and filling these up with idyllic choral overdubs. No less solid is his control of the mood, he can put uncertainty into as little as a single word (‘fireglow’) even with that menacing effect on his voice, and the darker range of moods, fear, resentment, mockery and self-pity, are interspersed with moments of hope, of regret and introspection, and the slowly ascending choral section is strikingly well-arranged, with its shimmering mist of voices reflecting the internal voices of youth driving onto the largely concealed personality of adulthood. Rightly regarded as one of Hammill’s finest hours, and a seminal progressive rock track, both for what it was pioneering and its overwhelming quality.

The thundering rocker, Tapeworm, rollicks magnificently with the elephantine Guy Evans throwing in overspilling fills to the thumping piano riff and some whirling, at­-the-man guitar and bass. An acapella-styled break in the middle features some of the distinctly musical humour Hammill was capable of in the midst of all that wordiness, and also how sophisticated his compositions were becoming.  I mean, this break, the fills, the number of different guitar ideas and the cohesion of the whole piece... it’s a four and a half minute piece that feels like a ten minute one (only at the time of writing have I taken a look at the running lengths – I swear I thought this piece was 7 or 8 minutes long) – really, really rich content, and despite the slightly self-parodic (though certainly meaningful) lyrics, the lines Hammill comes up with here are absolutely astounding and the rhyme scheme is equally madly inspired, ‘Feed me honey and watch me rise, to the bait lying on your knife/If you let me I can hypnotise your life!’ Took me a while to really appreciate just how good this one is, but now, I think it’s a classic.

Again, later reworked by the K Group for a superb group number, is a somewhat ‘simple’ ballad, based around a simple, mournful acoustic or electro-acoustic, empowered with a subtle reverb, and supplemented by a mournful bass part and a crisp, almost Elisabethan (in feel) piano part, albeit with some very unconventional and understated composition in the mid-section. Hammill’s vocal again shines, rich, creative, fluent and positively gorgeous, and his lyrics are equally touching and, while they never lose touch with their basic emotional idea, this is lost love song which creates clichés rather than using them, and without a wasted word, ‘I see your picture, as though it were a mirror, but there’s no part of you outside the frame’. And, what’s more, it features a menacing electronic conclusion, with the sort of feel of wiping out memories – maybe tearing them out. Pretty unique, non?

Faint-heart and the Sermon is an interesting one. I have to admit, at first listen, I didn’t like it all too much, I didn’t understand what it was trying to achieve, and it seemed almost out of place (more like an archetypal prog-rock song) on an album of such obviously individual pieces. However, now I get what he’s doing, it’s just as amazing as the rest of album’s songs. First off, that synthesised cello, or bass pretending to be cello is pretty astoundingly neat, and the rest of the largely synthesised instrumentation is very well thought out and interesting. Second, the vocal tracking-the-instruments, the overwhelming, overspilling lines and shimmering mellotron crests are again in the psychology-reflects-music style which Van Der Graaf Generator would later become even more sophisticated in pulling off, the feeling of being trapped in a wave of religious euphoria and yet not quite agreeing with or understanding it, of replying in one’s own voice to this universal voice. And besides, everyone loves the mellotron. Well, except Harry, but everyone loves the mellotron. Yes, I’ve completely changed my view on this one, and though it’s probably still my least favourite number on the album, it’s very memorable, the vocal lines and vocals are great, the instrumentation is very interesting and it’s still something I really look forwards to whenever the album goes in for a listen.

Now, here’s something you don’t see a lot of in prog. A guitar quartet (bass, acoustic, twelve-string, electric). The Comet, The Course, The Tail supplements this rather unusual set of instrumentation with a suitably intelligent and interesting philosophical metaphor. Again, there are some masterful vocal self-harmonies, which do nothing to obscure the basic strength of the individual vocals – exploring both Hammill’s gorgeous clean vocals and his more eclectic stylings. The melodies are extremely memorable, and the thick bass part, admittedly somewhat styled on Modern from his previous album, is particularly satisfying. A very hard one to pin down, with the tails of the various parts weaving together and floating apart effortlessly, and, though not on the original vinyl, I guess, its somewhat self-propelled, but nonetheless dejected conclusion offers a rather interesting starting point for the visceral Gog.

Gog is not just dark, it is terrifying. The breathing, suffocating menace of the harmonium, Guy Evans’ tribal, savage, untraceable drumming, thundering cymbals, primal rhythms and unstable crescendos, Hammill’s spiteful, arrogant and hateful vocal, filled with disdain, mockery and violence spitting out the most hideously, overwhelmingly single-minded set of words – the scripture-like statements and spitting phrases, ‘my soul is cast in crystal but unrevealed beneath the knife, all wells are dry, all bread is masked in fungus, and now disease is rife – WILL YOU NOT RUN FROM THESE and LOVE ME FOR ONE MORE LIFE’ in a stream of increasingly irregular and vicious vocal phrases. The instrumental break gives no relief, plunging the listener even further into this place of fire and all-surrounding harmonium and the humming chaos of the bass.

And out of the end of this corridor of flame, this first ring of agony, is only desolation, emptiness and suffering. Magog is almost empty, excepting the demented chants and the scurrying fear of various percussion lines and a tortured cello, leading off one after the other into a distant nothingness, occasionally mingling and coalescing and then fading back into the background of scattered ash. No uplifting melody, not even a sign of hope, nothing except the bleak collection of fear, and concealed behind that, more fear. Truly unique.

The last two ‘numbers’, comprising about half the album, obviously hit very hard emotionally¸ and maybe in a way some people won’t enjoy/appreciate. Despite this almost physical impact, the intellectual impression of those two pieces isn’t lessened, the very idea of a God who simply doesn’t care, the ever-so-precise descent into increasingly fluid and deliberately unrestrained vocal lines is something to behold, and, simply put, it doesn’t sound like anything else out there. The lyric, here, is resistant to dissection and yet each individual phrase adds something, and builds on the impression of singularity, disdain and universality – a god that doesn’t provide security, a god that doesn’t care about your attitude to him, a god without anything except a bemused disdain for humankind. The connections between the various verses and lines are so many as to make them inseparable, and the dense fog of imagery never hinders the sense of movement, of tense, clustering fear. One of the most accomplished lyrics of all time – I wish I could write like this.

And the bonus material, if anything, is even better. Three live (BBC session) takes of (No More) The Submariner, The Emperor In His War Room and The Faint Heart And The Sermon, all produced very strongly and bringing out the real strengths of those songs, as well as showing that, even without the studio jiggery-pokery, Hammill could still pull off or effectively word around some of those out-there effects covering his ever-amazing voice.

Yes, there’s no way I can give this one less than a five star rating, it resonates, it goes through to the soul, and it’s fervently daring at a time when the creative verve of a lot of the main progressive rock acts was beginning to dry up. Not only a five star album, but a perfect 15/15 for me (my reasoning was: can I think of half a dozen albums I clearly prefer to this one? Nope. Can I pick out a weak track? Nope. Does the album work well as a whole? Yes. Is it something unique? Yes. That’s a sneak peek into the criteria.)

Rating: 15/15, absolute masterpiece, possibly best by artist and an obvious 5 stars.

Favourite Track: Gog, by a hair

Genesis, s/t, 1983

The self-titled revival of Genesis in the 80s features something a bit surprising – Phil Collins as an assertive vocalist (well, 81’s In The Air Tonight sort of had that, but here, it’s on a whole new level). He’s aggressive, biting, rounded and capable of a range of surprisingly vicious vocals. Complementing this is a lot of great writing, some kicking drum machine programming (I mean, Home By The Sea, Mama... it’s great stuff if you’re happy to drop the must-be-a-drummer-behind-the-kit attitude), Tony Banks taking a more tasteful, understated part on the synths, as well as more than adequate guitar and bass support from Mike Rutherford. Yes, you must admit, it’s not a 70s Genesis record, but it’s not meant to be – it’s a damn good art rock/art pop album, and much more daring than it’s given credit for.

Just take the opening Mama, a moody drum machine repeating the same manic line as some bleak, despondent keys from Banks bring out the atmosphere, then suddenly, the new Collins comes in with a desperate, pleading, and furious vocal and Mike (Rutherford seems too formal for the jaunting guitar coming along with this one) kicks in. Maddened, sickly laughs, the thunderous entrance of the gated drums, the slowly developed (well, one-sided) dialogue, are all done perfectly and Collins manages to bring out negativity in a sympathetic way with the force. Can you really call anything this dark, serious and visceral ‘pop’? I wouldn’t say so.

That’s All features a catchy, clear piano part comparable to Time Table or Harold The Barrel, followed by a slightly funky bass and guitar and a killer vocal from Collins, with the characteristic edge on his voice, now, as well as some very rounded and memorable clean phrases. He seems to be back on the kit for lots of this one, pulling out some neat sounds in more or less unanticipated places, and the general vibe is just on. I really like this one, but hey.

Home By The Sea (first part of a sneaky ten minute suite) opens with the low, sharp guitar thrum before the drums kick in and a mechanical ‘home by the sea’ opens the song, before Banks pulls out on a vibraphone-like keyboard sound some melodies as clear and pretty as anything off A Trick Of The Tail. It’s well-structured, with the memorable vocal hooks coming up several times, includes some very curious drum sounds and a story which wouldn’t have been out of place on England or Nursery Cryme, again bringing out the moral ambiguity which has been a characteristic and long-standing feature of Genesis lyrics, and, all-in-all, is a hugely successful merging of the progressive rock which Genesis were coming out of and the melodic pop they were going into.

Second Home By The Sea is more of an instrumental jam piece, reminiscent in some ways of the instrumental numbers off Wind And Wuthering, albeit a bit more structured, and with some fiendishly catchy guitar work and the general feel of story-telling, never losing my interest, and with one of my favourite ever bits of Banks playing (when he brings up the vocal melody again with that scrailing sound in the background), as well as a clean and suave guitar solo. Again, fantastic stuff.

Illegal Alien needs to be listened to with the right spirit. The social message of it is somewhat overshadowed by the generally hilarious ‘gringo’ vocals and what-political-correctness? attitude. Consequently, first time I heard it, I was filled with rage and hate, after that, I calmed down, listened to the music, and really¸ it’s alright. Trite pop chorus, which I’m sure you’ll all balk at, a curious-sounding string-synth, a fairly cool talky interlude thing under a descending brass-synth and a bit of cool Collins drumming as well as a sort of steel-drum-like (my intuition says that’s a keyboard’s effort at a tymp, maybe, or alternatively my keyboard’s just crazy?) sound floating around in the mix somewhere, as well as the neat backing-less take of the chorus. Those are perhaps the best bits, and, I have to say, though it’s not my favourite song ever, now I’ve given it a bit of time to listen properly, it’s a well-constructed pop song and I like it a bit if I’m in the right mood.

Taking It All Too Hard is maybe the least distinctive thing on here, though it’s not at all bad. A nice Collins vocal, a clean, effective drum part and some bleak, minimal keys, but it feels simply resentful and sad, and comes off as a bit light in comparison with the psychological trip of Mama or the I-AM-TRULY-PISSED fire of In The Air Tonight. The little sha-la-la thing at the end of the vocal lines is very nice. It’s not a bad song at all, it’s just not stunning.

Just A Job To Do is another surprise, upbeat, thumping and brimming with energy, taking on the perspective of a hitman, . A killer riff from Mike fires the piece with general energy, and a combination of Collins yelling BANG BANG BANG (sounds really cheesy in theory, comes across alright, but my cheese sense is sketchy these days) with an accompanying thud-thud-thud on the drums works just right. The brass synth effect is maybe more a gimmick than a really necessary thing, but it does make the song distinctive, and it’s very impressively played, and neatly follows the grooving bass build-up before the last verse. Except for the slightly bland guitar solo, a classic.

The awkward sexual advances of Silver Rainbow, are somewhat matched by the not-quite-yet rhythm section (Mike is on especially good form, here), with the entertaining synth part, and another solid Collins vocal. It’s generally a good song, though it goes on a bit longer than it needs to, but (and I get too excited about these) it ends with a bass solo, so I’m happy.

It’s Gonna Get Better is a calmer number, with a more quiet and yet neat Collins vocal (along the lines of the stuff on Peter Gabriel II or Face Value – their voices are quite similar when they’re singing more softly), as well as a whirling atmosphere contributed by Banks, some carefully disguised melodies, a nice opportunity for Mike’s bass-work to shine, and a calm conclusion to the album.

I have to admit, this is my first real venture into post-Hackett Genesis, and I like it. The first four numbers are fantastic, with a lot of the trademarks of 70s Genesis (morally ambiguous lyrics, both edgy and accessible music, great melodies) while being in an entirely new style, and the succeeding lot all have noticeable up points and are generally decent, listenable tunes, Collins sounds superb on this one, the drum programming is used in an interesting way, and it’s possibly better structured and better produced than any of their classics. Maybe not something for the purists, but nonetheless, a great album. Four stars from me.
Oh, and thanks to the excellent Spotify for indulging my curiosity when I wasn’t quite ready to part with cash for an album – this the first review I’ve written solely from it. A hard copy should be coming up on my next amazon-binge.

Rating: Four Stars

Favourite Song: probably Home By The Sea just clinching it over Mama