HAIR IN A G-STRING (UNFINISHED BUT SWEET)

Colin Tench was funny. Colin Tench was talented. Colin Tench was versatile. He left us suddenly and way too early and we miss him. If there was one artist deserving of applause and praise, it would be definitely this man. He played guitar like a whiz, on occasion lending his picks to some great prog project (Oceans 5, Karibow, Minstrel's Ghost, Corvus Stone, Coalition, Murky Red etc). Nice guy, generous and witty. Well, it's about damn time he looked after his own bacon and highlighted in bold neon lights (yes garish) his own little thingy. Hence the Colin Tench Project. And trust me, Colin projects! He could have called this effort 'Colin T and his Henchmen', as a very familiar crew of friends line up in front of the soup kitchen, somewhere in Volvo-infested Sweden, to join in all the adult foolishness. Colin is also a prankster, an almost Zappa-esque, at times self-deprecating, humour that verges on the perverse (Jussi Pussi, really?) and ribald ("Hair in a G-String" is the title of this opus). Censors working overtime in XTC! Imagine for just a second, a musician who has no limitations, loves music, any kind of music and expresses his sonic love by endlessly mauling his instrument (oops!) and actually enjoying himself in the process. Sounds dirty? It is!

"Attention, prog passengers, CTP flight 19 is now ready for boarding (no water- or surf- accepted) , please proceed to your gate , where your delightful art attendant Sonia Mota , who we flew in from Mozambique, will clear you through customs and insecurity. A world-wind tour of the globe is now taxiing for departure, fasten your G-strings and follow both in and out structions".

"The Opening" is a stunning piece that sets the tone with some quark, smoothness and charm, show casing tinkling (no, pianos, not bidets). Moody, woody, sooty and just perfect. This is what is played in airport lounge in Uppsala, while knocking back some aquavit and munching on dill-infested gravlax. The orchestration arrangement was also fuelled by Steve Gresswell of Coalition and Inner Road legend.

Next stop, Pasadena, California. Smooth and velvety rock balladry on "Can't Be Any Other Way", expertly vocalized by the tremendous Phil Naro (magic lungs and Kenny G look alike) , sounding like some "We are just an American Band" apostrophe. Pfff! Laser guitars add the necessary spit and sparkle, courtesy of the 'Call-in'. "The Hairy part" suggests an Andalusian voyage with a conquistador wearing a Vaseline-oiled moustache, flamenco-ing the lindas senoritas lewdly as well as chasing some bull, through the narrow (Naro) avenidas of Pamplona! Imagine a shaker with one part Yello (Oh Yeah!), two ounces of Carlos Santana tequila guitara, a large quantity of Sangria that was drained from said toro's severed ear, some Coca Colin and well, samba pa ti, baby!

Nepal is next, as Colin finds a smiling Sherpa willing to take him to K-2, even though his seeing eye dog would have preferred K-9, searching out for "The Mad Yeti", a sweet acoustic guitar in tow (no plugs yet on Everest, though every other piece of human rubbish can be found), cresting nicely as Colin pants (Oops, I mean underwear) out of a lack of oxygen.

Guy from Ipanema is actually a pale derma Brit who lives in Arctic Sweden, only to maintain skin tone, with or without coconut-flavoured aloe balm, but he does get a-round, for he is not square. Off to Brazil, for some oochie- koochie with the cariocas. This does not explain why "The Sad Brazilian" is sad. But it does explain why Colin is mad, after all Sonia does speak Portuguese! Petri Lindstrom does limbo down with his Rickenbacker bass and he is a Finn! Did Colin win the 2016 Rio gold medal in guitar slinging? Must have! Such modesty, wot! Another prog ballad comes in the form of "And so Today" and provides a fine soulful platform for Peter Jones (Tiger Moth Tales) to sing his heart out. Lovely indeed.

As the CTP airliner does an Immelmann loop , Colin rekindles his Jeff Beck notebook from his school days and does this "I am Going Down" thingy, torturing his guitar mercilessly, but not chagrined by his waggish grin in any way, as this piece is theatrically bizarre, insane and oddball. As Karibow's Oliver Rusing pummels the drums in perfect fashion, this lollipop comes to sound like Zappa meets the Flower Kings. Peter Jones sings lead and backing 'vokes' and is utterly convincing, albeit weird at times. Colin fiddles with his guitars, both saccharine and sour, depending on the current mood. Unpretentious and dramatic, a fine slice of spice.

Though certainly never wanking, Colin does nevertheless deem fit to wink at past shameless nuggets (no, not boneless chicken!), staring lewdly at that Lisa girl again, an off and on relationship that basks in seemingly endless whimpers of lust, ever since she showed up in daring lingerie on that Corvus Stone II recording, prancing nubile on the cover, smoking a cigar, her preference for 10 inches and having the audacity to moan in public. The little?....! Google will turn beet (beat) red! All I have to say is that I would have liked to send Colin a voice clip going 'tsk tsk'. Angelo, these are my 2 seconds worth! Oh and add a laughter track, in the Beatles-style. This has a short boxer/brief add-on, "Lisa's Entrance, err...unplugged". Nasty!

Colin's blatant homage to the Beatles (Straight out of Abbey Road) is served up as "Something" four ways (Old, new, borrowed and screwed), which I presume relates to a hardware store in desperate need. But why visit supply depot? You were doing fine, travel wise! At least the music playing between the aisles is first class, Colin wailing luminously on his fret board.

"La Palo Desperado "proves not only that Colin likes guacamole (we knew that when he visited Acapulco 2 years ago, wearing only his Scandinavian moustache) but shows that he has the hots for Andres Segovia (who is Spanish) too. What's next, the Gypsy Kings, hombre? Colines Tenchos ? Acoustic and Spanish guitar, a chair and a G-String. Nada mas! A little Mancini-esque Pink Panther, because Colin only watches cartoons, all the time.

All this fun is now tempered with some unabashed pop splendour, landing in Nashville , as "A Beautiful Feeling" comes shining through the speakers, a warm tropical zephyr gently blowing on the bikini bra-laden beach, a very 70s Beach Boys meets the Eagles ditty. All that's missing is a Joe Walsh axe rant, but Colin does a job on his instrument. This is very Yankee/Rebel, so it comes as no surprise that a guest keyboardist from the Ozark Mountain Daredevils shows up, as well as a Buckingham/Nicks sideman on drums. Well, I'll be darned! Love hot dogs with Lingonberry jam! Phil Naro does it again!

Colin likes to roil the waters, so he chooses the Dnieper River, which travels through Belarus, Russia and their Ukrainian rivals, another short guitar manifesto that gets high Marx for amusement. No Engels, though! I always knew Tench was a hard core Colinist! And a card carrying Partyman to boot! This explains the 2 part "Part 4b" suite with lots a parts , Colin 'has no clue, having run out of ideas' , so this ball of confusion is infused with running commentary, full of unending criticism and judgement, offering up Meatloaf-isms, firing original drummer Neil Peart, as well as death metal growls . Tomatoes, potatoes and various toes sticking out of G-strings, it's all there for the prog aficionado, complete with electric giggles of insanity and spooned instruments that seem to have been played by head Master Bates. This was enjoyable, fun, hilarious and serious, all bundled into one and tied down by some loose cords from a bondage session. A trans-global journey , with great on board service, easy refuelling, complementary underwear and no life jackets. Ah, home again, warm my bones beside the fire..

Colin, you were Prog's saviour. Take that, Steve Wilson!

By the way, CTP stands for Call The Police, as this album is criminally brilliant, worthy of Albert Spaggiari (the greatest robber ever, look it up!) in an olive oil-based prog dressing that satiates the umami receptors in your brain.

5 boxer whiskers