We’ve lost an important institution...

Prog is silly. Anyone in their right mind knows that. In fact even when prog of legendary status treats us to its majesty you can't help but grin. Think of 'Close to the Edge' for instance and Rick's stirring church organ solo - all well and dandy but it's a f**king church organ solo!! Or maybe 'Suppers Ready' re: 'I know a farmer and he looks after the farm' - er hello?! I mean, religious instruments and agricultural lyrical themes? - you can't help but chuckle. Of course average or mediocre po-faced prog is even funnier.

Trent Gardner is a bald fat bloke from America who recently took up playing the trombone. He is also the founder member of prog-metaller's Magellan and has made contributions to several other er projects. His most recent compositional effort culminated in the recent release of 'Leornado' under the guise of 'An original cast production' (He he!) which (gulp) is a full blown concept album based around the life of Leornado Da Vinci - I kid you not. And I can tell you (and will do later in more detail) one of Italy's finest treasures would be turning in his grave faster than a Austrian being rolled down the north side of the Eiger in a greased Michelin if he heard this crock of donkey dung. Mind you, if the man that painted ugly bint Mona Lisa had a sense of humour, he might be relieved he no longer (a) existed and therefore (b) had a bladder because I near on pissed by breaches after appreciating this er epic work.

If progressive rock had a formal synergy with the Comedy Industry Trent Gardner would be hailed as a f**king comic genius because over the last few years he has been responsible for some of the most hilarious contributions to prog rock imaginable.

His brain (or maybe bladder) child Magellan hit the prog market not long after the reformed Dream Theatre delivered the joyous and tightly crisp 'Images and Words'. Magellan's first album 'The Hour of Restoration' was (gulp) a concept album. Its centrepiece 'The Magna Carter' was about the aforesaid 13th Century document and the lyrical content has all the charm of a history textbook or maybe a Weight Watchers campaign sponsored by Best British Lard Inc. Hearing such historical facts delivered via Yes-like vocal silliness is funny enough but then there's the f**king music!!

Our Trent, bless his hairless head, loves all the bits of prog that gave the genre such a bad f**king rap in the first place - horrid ELP pomposity, horrid ELP synth brass / orchestral mimicry, more changes of time signature (and for no obvious value-adding reason) than the bird lying next to Peter Stringfellow and embraced by the sort of epic bravado that would make Rick Wakeman blush. Of course where Trent raises himself even further into the comedy milieu is his complete lack of compositional ability especially within the cohesion stakes. I mean you have to f**king hear this stuff to believe it! A mesmerising array of bits and pieces are glued together with all the cohesion and coherence of the first international Tourettes-syndrome championships.

Not satisfied with the excessiveness of 'Hour..' the next album 'Impending Accession' saw even more hysterical lyrical and musical tales of historical tomfoolery with an opening 5 minutes so funny it must be considered a classic moment in the 30 plus years of progressive rock (I actually crashed my car listening to this last year - true story!). If your bladder still holds you can read the CD notes and a po-faced description of 'Magellan' the brave explorer and how Trent positions 'Magellan' the band in a similar musical vein attempting to push back barriers and norms. Well, if he wants to be the first man famous for making prog fans wet themselves (not including those of dysfunction - which thinking about it might be most) than he'll win hands (or maybe that should be briefs) down.

Not satisfied with Magellan's sound - across between Play Station theme music, Magnum, Yes, Spinal Tap and Abba - Trent discovered the missing ingredient to making his perfect cake in their latest opus 'Test of Wills' … the trombone. Amusingly the quality of musicianship as with all of his work is high but in a way this simply makes the humorous nature of his music shine all the more.

So I guess you'd think the man commanded a rather dodgy place in prog society? No f**king way! Everyone loves the guy and he seems to crop up more in the caravan that is prog than Posh and Becks in Hello! Magazine. Mind you I guess that might not be a surprise when you read some of the f**king prog anoraks who jam the numerous talk groups.

Our Trent's love of history is strong. In fact no doubt as strong as his love for fried chicken and brass instruments. So it was no surprise when he decided to write his last opus about Leornado De Vinci. Scarier still was the cast he assembled to deliver the thing including Jamie Labrie and Steve Walsh. All I can think is that they were prevented from hearing the musical arrangements that lay beneath their vocal performances. The album is nothing short of priceless entertainment, being the most preposterous and amusing prog album to surface for some time. In fact it's so funny you would probably die of suffocation if listened to in its entirety. Describing the thing defies belief in the first place but think neo-classical digital cheese, ELP (on Prozac), metal, Yes, Spinal Tap (and lots of!) and 'My First Piano Tune' put through Sibelius on random mode and you might be somewhere close. Oh and of course weaving in about 35 different time signatures per song.

'Leornado' must stand as Trent's greatest triumph, delivered as it is with seriousness too funny to express. It's like a bad musical crossing of swords between Rick Wakeman, Eddie Izzard, David Icke and Paul Daniels, but without a hint of irony.

Trent Gardner is a prog rock treasure and demands to be cherished and celebrated, if only long enough for us to be delivered the next instalment in a musical journey only he could possibly comprehend.

Mr Gardner, we salute you, and are proud to award you the very first Platinum Scrotum Award.

You crazy, deranged t**ser.

Rodborth