THE MAN LEFT IN SPACE

This is my first introduction to multi-instrumentalist Robin Armstrong's musical vehicle Cosmograf, as I almost took the plunge with the previous 2011 album due to various interesting reviews of 'When Age Has Done Its Duty'. Finally, this just-released work simply winked at me lewdly with its expressive artwork and, well, I fell for its alluring charm, sucker that I am! It was one of those slow burners, needing quite a few spins before making any kind of justified opinion, not that its anything overtly complex but just trying to find the balance between quaint British pastoral musings and some drop-heavy anchor riffs that pound and bludgeon, strange space communications and instrumental forays. The theme espoused is sort of Apollo 13-ish, with winks at 2001 A Space Odyssey and a dash of Bowie's Major Tom, The Man Left in Space takes a rather typical prog concept of some poor astronaut who was inconveniently forgotten in the depths of void. In the end, I enjoyed this piece of space prog a fair amount, stunned by the incredible talent of Mr. Armstrong (talk about a portentous name for a spacewalk!) on display, though he is quite ably assisted by some of British Neo-prog's finest guns , led by two Big Big Train members (They are the prog sweethearts 'du jour' as of 2013), guitarist Greg Spawton and drummer extraordinaire Nick D'Virgilio, ably aided by bassist Steve Dunn as well as respected axemen Matt Stevens, Lee Abraham and Simon Rogers, among others. Armstrong seems to handle all the spacy keys with remarkable flair and atmosphere.

After some brief and obligatory NASA talk introductions, the lift-off mood is kicked brutally forward with the opener 'Aspire, Achieve' that combines power and serenity throughout its brooding 10 minutes +. While a very good song, it's not really indicative of the mood to follow. The core of the album start with a couple of instrumental tracks that are particularly intense and brilliantly executed, the drums crisp and the keyboards evocative. The guitarists provide some harder-edged Gilmourisms that again are the hallmarks of this style, seductively up-front and center. The whimsical 'The Good Earth behind Me' is a lush highlight, a crafty space poem all dollied up with some dense synthesized frills and a scouring guitar wail that soars beyond the universes. When the beefy beat kicks in, we are in celestial heaven! 'The Vacuum I Fly Through' simply continues the echoing spatial theme, somewhere between classic Floyd and its German cousin RPWL, travelling nicely into dreamland with Matt Stevens giving his instrument a jolly workout. 'This Naked Endeavour' is keyboard-oriented, with assorted voice samplings, electric piano and massed synths, before the pleasant Robin Armstrong vocals kick in. He is not a genius 'lungist' but he gets the job done. 'We Disconnect' has a little opening 'HAL' feel, a musical Kubrick emanation that instills some ominous feelings of doom, expertly highlighted by the rollicking bass/guitar klang. A nifty little guitar solo shows off some slippery tendencies, comatose lyrics that wink and nod at Steve Wilson's fascination for pharmaceutical medication, nice rocket stuff indeed. 'Beautiful Treadmill' continues the cottony mood but amps up the power chords quite a bit, preventing any possibility of fading into unconsciousness. The tortuous voices are leading the fray, deeply troubling. This is where the listener gets a sense of enjoyment in delving into the 'trip'. The final 2 tracks are both 9 minute+ epics that establish the overall credentials of quality for this intriguing release. The title track is without question the icing on the cake, a stellar piece of cosmic consequence, complete with the Bowie-esque tone of Robin's voice. The main theme is unreservedly marvellous, featuring rippling organ, bruising bass rumbling, some seductive acoustic guitar phrasings and a shockingly attractive axe solo. The electric guitar workout is extensive, emotive, tremulous and desperate. The shimmer of electric sounds and the siren's pleading voice has a deep sense of finality. It has 'classic' stamped all over it! How can this be possibly topped? Well, the finale 'When the Air Runs Out' has all the promises of a choking moment of a final gasp, when the brain is deprived of vital oxygen and the mind starts hallucinating, deep into the farthest reaches of the cosmos. French-accented command control space talk, sounding like Truffaut in 'Close Encounters', introduces the freak-out blaring alarms as well as the desperation of a mission gone horribly wrong! Lyrically, the mood gets exciting, evoking all the lunatics and madmen, heroes and artists, footballers and actors whose minds were blown away by a bullet or a bottle. Sam doesn't respond, 'Please respond Sam' intones the voice. A bizarre psychiatric voice ends this presentation as if some laboratory autopsy.

4.5 Keir Dulleas