Top 100 Albums - #61: Hotel (2005)

Moby's only effort to make the countdown is Hotel, a loose concept album and his most recent offering.Moby's musical career can be loosely divided into three periods. The first period - the long years of obscurity - began in the punk of The Vatican Commandos in the early-1980s, leading to his involvement in house, drum'n'bass and finally electronica. The second period - the forgotten albums - kicks off with the release of 'Go' (a Top 10 hit in 1991) , his signing to Mute Records and the release of albums like Everything Is Wrong (1995) which received critical acclaim but little in the way of sales. The third period - the years of rapid fame - saw the release of Play (1999) and its follow-up 18 (2002), which established Moby as a pioneer in mainstream electronica and made him a global superstar. These albums saw the consolidation of Moby's trademark use of sampling and blues riffs to create truly memorable soundscapes.

Hotel is a departure from the start, being a concept album; whilst before fans relied on Moby's sleeve notes to gain an insight into his workings, here the unified structure of the songs around a theme - what hotels symbolise in the modern world - provide a way into that intelligence. It opens with, unsurprisingly, 'Hotel Intro'. At once the familiar motifs of Moby's work are apparent - the use of a simple riff as a base, the slow layering in of instruments as diverse as violins and drum machines. This creates a great opening feel to the album, introducing you to the comtemplative mood of the album.

When I say 'contemplative', that is not to say that there are up-tempo moments. 'Raining Again' is one of them. Although the lyrics don't make the most sense in the world, the mood of piece is enough to carry it. Whereas the last track tended toward ambient music - of the kind you might here in hotels - this is a more danceable, electronica number.

'Beautiful' continues the genre-hopping, utilising the brash guitars to create a rock feel. Sadly, however, this is an otherwise empty track. The riffs and hooks are there, but there is no substance to the lyrics beyond that found in a vacuous pop song (e.g. Hanson, say) - and that is not the standard which Moby fans have come to expect. Thank goodness, then, that 'Lift Me Up' is a cracker. This combines the fake violin keyboards of some things off Play, overlays them with some decent drums and catchy lyrics. This is an infectious, highly danceable song, which showcases Moby's range as both a composer and a singer. It's one of his greatest tracks.

'Where You End' is the first real song on the album to bring out the themes of the album. The lyrics, especially in the chorus, speak of relationships and the fleeting nature of humanity:

If I could kiss you now

Oh, I could kiss you now again and again

'Til I don't know where I begin

And where you end

The fade-out is taken straight from 'We Are All Made Of Stars' - his hit single from 18 - and the whole product is very touching.

'Temptation' is a cover of the New Order song, and is sung by singer-songwriter and political activist Laura Dawn. Unlike the trashy, Hacienda original, this is done down-tempo, sung sultrily by Dawn and backed by soft and elegant strings. Normally speaking, because this is a dance song, it doesn't really matter about the speed at which you play it, it will be pretty hollow and meaningless. But choosing to do it as this speed has managed to flesh out Bernard Sumner's (albeit dodgy) lyrics and if nothing else it compliments the pace and feel of the rest of the album.

With 'Spiders', Moby tries to tease the listener with a series of off-set phrases which then give way to his flat-ish delivery. This is a weird track, a song which tires to be a rocker while maintaining its electro-pop roots. Again, the lyrics are very vacuous, but again the sonic washes are enough to make you at best like this track without caring and at worst ignore them.

'Dream About Me' is another showcase for Dawn, and another repetitive, slow-beat dance song. Dawn's delivery is breathy and distracting, like she's trying to emulate Imogen Heap but coming across like someone who's just run a half-marathon. Nevertheless, the 'background noise' which Moby layers in once more provides the necessary cushion.

'Very', however, is a step too far. Dawn is fuller here, which is a relief. The trouble is that the multiple drum machines plastered over the mix reduce this attempt at music to a humdrum disco tune, the sort of tune you'd drink lager to in a crowded club without paying it a second thought. Not the sort of music that belongs on a Moby album.

As Graham Chapman said, "now for a complete change of mood". 'I Like It' is a sultry, faintly erotic song. With its siren song in the background and the breathy duet of Moby and Dawn, it's incredibly arousing, especially in the final third. This is the kind of song whose feel and (blatent) lyrics) puts pictures in your head - perhaps the rose-petal scene in American Beauty (1999)? Dawn is on top form, and Moby's contribution is very reasonable, if only because he is able to restrain the excessive instrumentation of the previous track.

Apart from 'Lift Me Up', 'Love Should' is the only truly brilliant track on this album. Like '18' before it, it's a poignant, piano-heavy track whose production is lush. It starts with a sparse click before the rich chords blend in seamlessly. Moby's classic monotone doesn't grate here, on the contrary, it brings out the emotion of the lyrics. Again, these are simplistic - I know how it rains/ I know how it pours/ I never could feel this way/ For anyone but you - but they do their job without overstaying their welcome.

'Slipping Away' has a similar opening to 'Dream About Me'. In fact, it's similar in many ways to its predecessor. But Moby is not in a holding pattern. It's another bright, generally melodious song, with the hooks being provided by the vocals in true electronica style. 'Forever', however, is another one of these wierd, ambient-esque tracks which the texture of the tracks is so flat as to allow Moby to let himself slide with the lyrics. Few of them are genuinely engaging, it has to be said.

'Homeward Angel' is an instrumental which opens with some interesting use of clicks and echoes, of what sounds like a squash court. Over this is planted some simple keyboards to create a calming feel. In terms of sound, it's not quite ethereal by any standards, but it's as close as Moby has come on this album. The closer, meanwhile - the hidden track, '35 Minutes' - begins like Samuel Barber's 'Adagio for Strings' played on a keyboard, somewhere between the original composition and William Orbit's pop-hungry meddling. It's a sweet, balletical kind of a piece, perhaps what you would hear if you played an ambient album by Brian Eno though a pair of Marshall Stacks with the volume on max.

Most of the critics in the music world ravaged Hotel upon its release. The kindest word it got was when Rolling Stone described it as "a sensible way to come down from a multi-platinum high."¹ And that's the point. The critics saw this album in a bad light because its true predeccesors were such big commercial successes - and if anything is true in the music business, it is that commercial success and critical acclaim are often completely unrelated entities. True, the concept is often lost in the slightly more clichéd elements of the record. But, on the other hand, it remains a deeply personal record. Because Moby is so open about his political and religious views, the whole experience is rendered a little hollow. But if anything this album and its themes adds a new dimension to the thinking person's DJ.

3.80 out of 5

References

¹ Christian Hoard, 'Moby: Hotel', http://www.rollingstone.com/reviews/album/7202549/hotel. Accessed on November 6 2007.

Top 100 Albums - #62: A Momentary Lapse Of Reason (1987)

Pink Floyd make their first appearance on the chart with A Momentary Lapse Of Reason, the band's first album following the departure of bassist, lyricist and vocalist Roger Waters.After the release of The Final Cut in March 1983, Pink Floyd slowly tore itself apart. Chief among the reasons was the feud between Waters and guitarist and vocalist David Gilmour. Gilmour was aggrieved by the creative control Waters had laid/ lay claim to, which over the course of their last three albums had shifted the emphasis too much towards the lyrics and the concepts over the music. He also resented Waters' decision to fire keyboardist Rick Wright during the recording of The Wall (1979) on the ground of being unco-operative. Waters responded that Gilmour had all but shut him out of the creative process before Meddle (1971), and that his lyrics were the reason for their commercial and critical success throughout the 1970s. After devoting time off to solo projects - Waters' The Pros And Cons Of Hitch Hiking, Gilmour's About Face, Wright's Identity (as part of Zee) (all 1984) and Nick Mason's Profiles (1985) - in 1985 Waters announced that Pink Floyd was over and left. After a year's hiatus, the surviving members regrouped and, amid a flurry of legal threats from Waters, attempted to record another album.

The album opens with 'Signs Of Life', an instrumental piece. It opens with the sound of a rowing boat and then slowly morphs into a synthesiser-heavy exercise. The keyboard tones Wright creates set the tone for the album, both in the simplicity of the phrases - signifying a retreat from the complexity of Waters - and the forbidding sounds they create, reflecting the general theme of unknown territory and losing control of the senses. Aside from the confusing and garbled vocal contributions from Nick Mason - allegedly a poem about both Waters and Syd Barrett¹ - this is a good introductory piece, reminiscent of earlier Pink Floyd work.

For all its assets, however, it cannot compete with 'Learning To Fly'. Written about Gilmour's (and Mason's) love of flying, this is a rip-roaring 1980s rocker with an art-rock twist. Like a lot of stuff on The Division Bell (1994), the lyrics reflect the sense of beginning afresh and dealing with the departure of Waters; although there are no direct references, you can sense what the song is really about (even if stringently denied by the band). Gilmour's angelic delivery perfectly counterpoints Mason's simple and effective drumming, while the guitar solo is a textbook classic. And, for the second time in as many songs, Mason appears in a vocal capacity, this time describing pre-flight checks. This is a great song right out of the top drawer from the band.

'The Dogs Of War' is a darker, more aggressive piece. While it lacks the sinister and brooding feel of the earlier 'Dogs' - taken from Animals (1977) -, it shares both the political and anti-war themes which sustained the band at its lyrical peak. Here, Gilmour attempts to write tough lyrics, perhaps as an affront to Waters' efforts both with the band and in his solo work (the band were touring the album at the same time as Waters toured his second solo album, Radio K.A.O.S. (1987) - suffice to say the two parties took great pains to avoid each other). This doesn't really come close on that level, but it hardly forgetable, thanks to the atmosphere created by the drums and Gilmour's snarling delivery.

'One Slip' begins with an obvious rip-off of 'Time' in the form of alarm bells ringing. From then on in, it's a fairly straightforward song about lust and regret. This is the fastest song on the album, and the chorus is quite good at summing up the message of the song:

One slip, and down the hole we fall
It seems to take no time at all
A momentary lapse of reason
That binds a life to a life
A small regret, you won't forget
There'll be no sleeping here tonight

The track relies on some heavy guitars and bass, creating an almost hard-rock feel. As a result both Gilmour's signature guitars and Wright's keyboards are undermined, albeit by not enough to damage the track.

'On The Turning Away' is another very decent effort by the Floyd, not least because it is a much better showcase for Gilmour's voice, still very much in its prime. From a cynical view, this song is another attempt at relevancy, this time tackling the tendency of people to ignore or 'turn away' from issues likes global poverty. Speaking less cynically, it is a very well-executed song on a subject which is so often the resting place of rubbish ballads and charity singles (compare to Waters' 'The Tide Is Turning' to see what I mean). This is a power ballad which eventually comes into its own as Gilmour finally unleases his cleverly controlled hell through his guitar.

So far, so palpable. Unfortunately, from here on in the album turns a bit sour. 'Yet Another Movie/ Round And Around' begins with some strange noise effects which will no doubt serve to drive many the casual listener away. For those that stay, we encounter some snails'-pace ramblings about the film industry through the medium of tedious lyrics, of which the only discernable thing is a vision of an empty bed - which explaisn the cover art (this involved dragging 700 NHS beds onto a Devon beach.)² After the (unexplained) excerpt from Casablanca (1942) - at roughly 5:57 the mix gives way to Gilmour is full majestic mode, providing the bridge into the rotating instrumental. The point with this is that, although this short phrase is enough to make you listen all the way through, you leave wishing the rest of the song had been like that.

'A New Machine (Part 1)' is complete filler, featuring Gilmour reciting into a synthesiser to vaguely alter his voice. In this brief discourse about mortality, he addresses the listener in terms already well-worn. Equally off-putting is the high note with permeates throughout - until you realise that it provides the segeuing intro into 'Terminal Frost', another instrumental. This, on the other hand, is splendid. Although like 'Round And Around' it is essentially a repeating phrase played an tweaked slightly differently each time, unlike its predecessor it develops into a thought-out piece. The instrumental side of things was always Gilmour and Wright's forte, and this proves it undoubtedly.

'A New Machine (Part 2)' needs little saying about it save that it's thankfully short enough to pass the listener by without sufficient irritation. Now we are at the closer, and the other truly great song on the album. 'Sorrow' is one of Gilmour's strongest efforts lyrically by his own admission, and even if it does borrow heavily from John Steinbeck, it is still gripping. The drumming and use of a Steinberger GL 'headless' guitar add to the feeling of melancholy and depression which surround this song. It's a proper arena rocker with the sombre sense of loss reflected in the band - and the Floyd were at their best when their music reflected not just the world around them, but their own situation. It's a great way to close the album after such a rocky middle section.

Often called 'a David Gilmour solo album in all-but-name', A Momentary Lapse Of Reason has suffered heavily at the hands of the public since its release. Fans, especially Waters devotees, mourn the lack of lyrical depth and direction, while critics attacked both the album for its stereotypical production and the reforming of Pin Floyd as a neo-oldies act, only continuing to earn money from touring. Look past the politics and emotion surrounding the album and actually there are glimpse of brilliance here, both of the kind that the Floyd exhibited in their prime and of the like which was showcased years later on The Division Bell. True, this is not the most well-directed Floyd effort; and true, we have to sit through a lot to get to the good stuff. But considering the circumstances that Gilmour and Mason were in in 1987 (Wright was legally not allowed to return as a member), this is a damn-fine effort. Now that the dust has settled 20 years on, maybe the time has come for revision.

3.80 out of 5

References
¹ 'Signs of Life (Pink Floyd song)', http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Signs_of_Life_(Pink_Floyd_song). Accessed on October 22 2007.

² 'A Momentary Lapse of Reason', http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Momentary_Lapse_of_Reason. Accessed on October 22 2007.

Top 100 Albums - #63: Then And Now: 1964-2004 (2004)

The Who's second appearance comes in the form of a compilation, released to mark the 40th anniversary of the band from the release of 'I Can't Explain'. It is also the source of the first new Who recordings for 22 years.
After Keith Moon's untimely death in 1978, The Who continued with the help of keyboardist John 'Rabbit' Bundrick and former Small Faces drummer Kenney Jones. The group released two more albums, the pop rock Face Dances (1981) and the cry for help It's Hard (1982), but it was clear that, on the live circuit especially, something had gone out of the band, perhaps permanently. After the release of the delapitated live album Who's Last (1984) to commemorate the 'farewell tour', the band called it quits. There were subsequent reunions - a half-arsed set for Live Aid in 1985, a 25th Anniversary tour in 1989, a revival of Quadrophenia in 1996 and concerts at the Royal Albert Hall in 1999 and 2000 - but none of them produced any new material. Following the death of John Entwistle in 2002 - on the eve of a sell-out US tour - surviving members Pete Townshend and Roger Daltrey began to consider the possibilities of recording together again.

But before we can get to the new stuff, we have to sit back and review 18 of The Who's biggest hits and most memorable songs. We begin with 'I Can't Explain', their first single released as The Who under the management of Kit Lambert and Chris Stamp. It's a very punchy little number, which sees Townshend and Entwistle merging the guitar and bass parts together so that they are almost indiscernable. As a Mod song, this is a very good song, even if Townshend's knack for summing up his generation doesn't especially come through. It is also interesting to see Daltrey sing in his early, awkward style.

It is easy in the 21st century to write off 'My Generation' as, amongst other things, one of the most over-played tracks of the 1960s. But give it more than half a chance, and it's a treat. Entwistle's bass chords are simply brilliant, serving more than enough proof to his claim as the man who revolutionised bass guitar. The first hints of Moon's breakneck speed and mad fills are also present, and Daltrey's stutter is perfectly executed. Even if the message of the lyrics became an albatross around the band's necks - I hope I die before I get old and all that - at the time this was one of the most radical songs around.

Unfortunately, we also get the bad side of the 1960s in this early assortment of singles. The first slip-up of this compilation is 'The Kids Are Alright'. Taken from My Generation (1965), the use of harmonies is reminsicent of the surf music which Townshend hated (and Moon loved), and the sound of the piece means that, Moon aside, all that is distinctive of The Who is lost in the mix of a better-than-average 3-minute pop song. 'Substitute' is a great deal better, not least because it grows on you instead of coming across like so much throwaway pop of the days. Daltrey and Townshend vie for the vocals while managing to sustain a very nice melody. It's a much better effort lyrically as well from Townshend, just look at the second chorus:

(Substitute) Me for him
(Substitute) My coke for gin
(Substitute) You for my Mum
At least I'll get my washing done

'I'm A Boy', the first single from A Quick One (1966), is the first real hint of concept from Townshend. This song, about a mother with four girls and designating one of them as a boy, actually had its origins in a musical he had been writing called Quads; set in the year 2000, it takes place in an age where "you can order the sex of your children, and this women orders four girls and one of them turns out to be a boy, so she pretends it's a girl... horrifying!"¹ Primitive rock opera aside, this is another good song because of two things. One, lyrically it's a return to form for Townshend insofar as he is writing about society rather than fantasising. And two, musically, it's an insight into the chemistry of the band. Daltrey has an air of aggression and swagger about him as he bellows the lines over Keith's crash.

No sooner had he returned to form, though, than Townshend returns down Kooky Lane and creates havoc in the process. And this is not the kind of autodestructive havoic for which the Who became rightly renowned. 'Happy Jack' is another relic of the 1960s pop scene which makes little sense, a waste of the energies of Messrs. Moon and Entwistle. (For the trained ear amongst us, listen out for the cry of "I saw you!". This is Townshend shouting at Moon. After Keith insisted on singing on the tracks, he was locked out of the studio during the vocal take, but responded by pulling faces at Townshend throughout the successful takes).

'I Can See For Miles', the only number on here from The Who Sell Out (1967) is often called the peak of The Who's output.² Released as their initial onslaught on the States got underway and the Mod scene had well and truly disappeared, it is better-than-average at best. Daltrey's delivery is very off-putting, since this rather psychedelic, swirling number is more suited to Townshend's voice. Moon's fills drown out the bass in this mix and overall it's too forgettable to justify its reputation. 'Magic Bus' is below-par but for a different reason. This is the Who's attempt at late-1960s psychedelic folk - well, 'folk' as in acoustic guitars and the drum kit swapped for a couple of percussion instruments. Entwistle was never fond of this song, and he had a point. While the version on Live At Leeds (1970) benefitted from Townshend's echoey guitars and Daltrey's braggadachio³, here it's tinny, irritating and just plain stupid.

And so we enter into the classic era, leaving 60s pop behind us for good. The two offerings from Tommy (1969) are mixed. 'Pinball Wizard' is, of course, well-known, well-loved, and well-deserving of a place in any Who collection. Before Who Are You (1978), it features some of the best acoustic guitar Townshend every laid down. Daltrey has finally found that majestic voice which would put him right up there with great rival Robert Plant in the league of the best rock singers. Just by hearing it, you get the impression of the band going up a gear - the trapping of the singles market are wisely cast aside and replaced by the slight grandeur of early rock opera.

'See Me, Feel Me', on the other hand, is, not to put too fine a point on it, cheating a bit. This 'quiet section' of the opera - so called because Roger could finally hear himself sing on stage - belongs at the end of 'We're Not Gonna Take It' (although the phrase of music is a motif throughout the album). Though within the context of both the rest of the song and the album this works great - as does the version in the film from 1975 - here it feels stilted and out of place.

'Summertime Blues' is lifted from Live At Leeds and speaks pretty much for itself. It's the only non-Townshend song on the album - it was written by Blues legend Eddie Cochran - but like the rest of the concert it's raw power is unassailable. Here Entwistle returns to prominence on both bass and vocals. You can feel the energy coming off Daltrey as he drives through Townshend's power chord, while, in all this time, Moon is on another planet busy with his cymbals.

Out of all the songs on Who's Next (1971), 'Behind Blue Eyes' seems a strange choice when put alongside 'Baba O'Riley' or 'My Wife'. However, as one of Townshend's more tender numbers - in the era predating The Who By Numbers, at any rate - this is a very good effort. Daltrey proves his range, keeping the volume down and allowing room for Townshend on both vocals and acoustic, resisting the temptation to pounce and scream the lyrics. Cometh the hour, cometh the Moon; in the last third he showcases his talent with his witty improvisations over the lyrics with a bravado that John Bonham never matched.

And of course, there is room here for 'Won't Get Fooled Again'. Indeed, how could there not be? If something like 'I Can See For Miles' was typical of The Who during their mod and post-mod years, then this, aside from anything else, is the benchmark against which all their 1970s output must be measured. Everything that made The Who exciting, progressive, raucous and rivetting is here. Moon's drumming is both tight and flamboyant; you listen to his drums and imagine him with a smile on his face as he plays like a lunatic. Entwistle anchors the song while finding time to cram in notes in his fills where you never thought there was room. Townshend is flying high on the guitar, backed by the revolutionary synthesisers. And Daltrey - well, the scream says it all. Eight-and-a-half minutes of unbeatable genius.

Out of all The Who's subsequent output, Quadrophenia (1973) is the only album which has ever stood a chance of matching it. If the stuff included on here is anything to go by, it's pretty much true. '5:15' is a riot, full stop. Townshend starts the song off tenderly with his guitar and vocals, but from then on in, it's Moon, Moon, Moon. Here he is in his element, as backed by Entwistle's horns he swings around the kit hitting everything in range. Daltrey's vocal delivery is impeccable considering most of it is outside his natural range. The whole piece is absolutely splendid, and nothing more needs to be said.

'Love, Reign O'er Me' is equally majestic, though again for different reasons. It's a lot shorted than the album version, and the ordering of the verses and choruses are swapped for some reason. But even without the rain, the extended intro and the proper verses, this is still one of the greatest love songs ever written, certainly ever written by Townshend. Here he lets the guitar and strings lay the perfect groundwork for Daltrey, who delivers with gusto and passion a performance which again extends his range, producing a magical piece of music.

Having reached such heights, we are brought down to the realities of band life with a jaunty bump. 'Squeeze Box' is the only track from The Who By Numbers, and it's a poor choice. It was out of kiltre on the album and it's out of kiltre here. While Townshend's other more merry numbers of this period - like 'Blue, Red And Gray' - had substance, this is just a minefield of innuendo strung together like a pop song for a period long gone.

The title track of Who Are You is a damn-sight better, least not because it is bereft of any banjo. The familiar crash and synthesiser combinations have been written off as cliched by the more nostalgic of fans, this is still a very fine effort. Although Moon's abilities had by this stage all-but deserted him - thanks to a lethal cocktail of drink, drugs and much fine food - he is really trying, and in the process he comes up trumps on a few great occassions. Daltrey's bluster is a little off-putting, but it's not a tiresome or self-indulgent song, whichever way you look at it.

There is only one offering from the immediate post-Moon era on here. That's perhaps for the best. 'You Better You Bet' is taken from Face Dances and is a middle-brow pop song which tries a little too hard to recapture something lost forever. As hard as Kenney Jones might try, there is a massive hole in the mix where Moon once thundered along. Having slated it thus, this is still a pretty reasonable song; the big flaw is not the song on its terms, it's just that it doesn't have the same gripping, memorable feel to it as the classic era output did.

Finally, we come to the new stuff. Both 'Real Good Looking Boy' and 'Old Red Wine' were recorded in 2004. The former, described by Rolling Stone as "a soaring mix of swing, crash and an explicit touch of Elvis Presley"³, it's an affectionate and heartfelt number from a Townshend who has disposed of all the demons which guided the original Who, and turned them into contentment and a song of thanks to rock'n'roll. 'Old Red Wine', on the other hand, is a sweeping elegy to John Entwistle, poking fun at his foibles and contributions to the band which helped to make it great. Daltrey's voice is huskier, as it is throughout on Endless Wire (2006), but it's a great job and proof of the life left in this great band, despite the loss of two core members.

Then And Now is not to be viewed as just another Who compilation designed to introduce you to the band in a hotchpotch, commercially-biased way. The chief advantage of this is that it both brings Who fans and the casual listener (almost) bang up to date. By adding on the two new tracks - which seems to be a trend in the world of greatest hits collections - it sets the tone for the recordings on Endless Wire, thereby helping a whole new generation get into The Who. Some of the choices are a little odd - most of the best stuff from Who's Next and The Who By Numbers is lost in favour of the songs the general public are more familiar with. However, considering the role of the album is to introduce you to a band without being comprehensive, this does its job amicably, with few slip-ups along the way - save where individual tastes are concerned.

3.80 out of 5

References

¹ Pete Townshend, quoted in Andy Neill & Matt Kent, Anyway Anyhow Anywhere: The Complete Chronicle of The Who, 1958-1978 (London: Virgin Books, 2007), p.107.

² Ibid, p.149.

³ David Fricke, 'The Who: Then And Now', http://www.rollingstone.com/artists/thewho/albums/album/5188887/review/5943634/then_and_now. Accessed on October 22 2007.

Top 100 Albums - #64: Strange Beautiful Music (2002)

'Satch''s second and last appearance on the chart is Strange Beautiful Music, the follow-up to the experimental effort Engines Of Creation (2000). Satriani came to record Strange Beautiful Music after a very busy 1990s. After the release of The Extremist (1992) - his most critically acclaimed work - in 1993 he joined Deep Purple on their tour of Japan; he was asked to join the band permanently but declined. In 1996 he formed the 'shredding supergroup' G3, comprised of himself, Steve Vai and Eric Johnson, who toured widely and continue to do so sporadically. After the release of the neo-classical Crystal Planet (1998) and the experimental Engines Of Creation (2000), 'Satch' went on tour and released a live album of his dates in San Francisco in 2001.

Strange Beautiful Music opens with 'Oriental Melody', and it's not the best of starts. Satriani's guitar is scratchy and sounds convoluted. The piece relies way too much on the thundering bass (played by Matt Bissonette) and the drums (Jeff Campitelli) to create what is essentially an attempted fusion of art rock with a heavy metal rhythm section and oh-so fake violins. It's a bright piece, but the experimentation doesn't really work, in the same way that most of so-called 'progressive metal' is trash.

As a whole, 'Belly Dancer' is a great deal more focussed. The rhythm section give Satch the room he needs for some lovely bubbling guitar, even if the song is a little too long. For shred-heads there is a great deal of shredding in the middle section, and for those who have an ear for rhythm there is a nice rhythm guitar part which occassionally creeps up behind Satriani's swirling lead. 'Starry Night' is another step in the right direction, taking the tempo and the effects down just a notch to create a more all-rounded, distinctive sound. It's certainly a sign of focus on an album which was slated as being inconsistent and bland.¹

'Chords Of Life' was one of the big sitting ducks for the album as far as critics were concerned. Michael Gowan from AllMusicGuide.com wrote it off as "[a song] which at times sounds like "All Along the Watchtower" and at others resembles scale and chord exercises from [Swedish hard rock instrumentalist] Yngwie Malmsteen — not an enticing combo."² But he was sadly mistaken. This is a stupendous composition, not least because it is a a rare showcase of acoustic guitar, almost anathema on a Satriani record. Eric Caudieux's keyboards are simple but have a metallic beauty to them, and the whole piece is both memorable and beautiful, not because of pop hooks, but because of the emotion which Satriani has poured into this.

'Mind Storm' is a return to metal. This doesn't make it humdrum because Satriani resists relying on the typical deep and thundery chords which pollute the video airwaves all too often. Instead, he swings the bright, melodious chords around the loud drums and produces a big-belted rocker in the process. With 'Sleep Walk', however, the tempo is taken right down. This is the kind of song that would only play in two places: on a beach in Hawaii or driving home in an estate car at night. It's very formulaic and overdone, not to mention a waste of Robert Fripp's classic frippertronic guitars (see my review of Peter Gabriel 2, #85).

'New Last Jam' is a hook-driven rock song which oscillates between blues rock, hard rock and pop-rock. Although it can't quite decide what it is or where it's going, this doesn't really matter. It's so rhythmic and earworming that before you know it you're letting the notes flow through you without much care. 'Mountain Song' is much the same, insofar as it is based on a hooking rhythm part over which Satriani can basically go mad. There is sufficient which is different about this song to make it distinctive, but this approach shows the beginning of a pattern that was not present in the first half of the album.

'What Breaks A Heart' is again a slower number, this time rich in a bluesy rhythm guitar. This time the drums return to a greater sense of prominence, almost to compensate for the wierd theremin noises coming from Satriani's fretboard. There's some very decent shredding on this and the bass is also quite reasonable. This is also the case on the headbanger that is 'Seven String'. This is against a venture into the depths of metal and techno, and again it relies on the hooks of the rhythm to justify itself, rather then allowing itself to be reduced to 'just another song by an 80s shredder'.

'Hill Groove' is probably the strangest track, considering all thast has gone before. With the bright guitar, it has the feeling of a rocked-up single by The Beatles or The Monkees. For this reason, this is relatively banal and formulaic. Above everything else, it's incredibly repetitive, and like all 60s pop songs it's designed to drill into your head and stay there until you are driven mad enough to buy the damn single. The other major let-down, 'The Journey', is just plain directionless, a rubbish chord jam on which the drums rely too much on the symbols and the guitar is too synthy to be taken seriously.

'The Traveller' is a lot better than its predecessor, not least because Satriani has calmed down. His guitars on this piece are complimentary to the drums and bass, instead of wrestling against them. The chorus, if it is such a thing, is quite majestic, but the best part is the gentile level of restraint which Satraini applies, slamming on the brakes where anyone else would attempt to fling in another half-dozen notes.

The album closes with 'You Saved My Life', a fairly predictable but enjoyable ballad. It's hardly his most compelling piece, but it's a fitting ending to what has been an up-and-down record. This is the kind of song to play at the end of a day, just as the sun is going down. It's not that it will send you into a deep sleep, but it will calm you down sufficiently for drowsiness to take hold.

Strange Beautiful Music is a better record than Super Colossal (2006, #96) because most of the experiment pay off and come across. There are some similarities, for instance the second half is a lot more consistent - although in this case, this means that it gets very repetitive after a while. The first half is more interesting if uneven, but the main problem with the record is that it is far too long. Just as so often he tried to cram so much into less tracks, here the experiments and riffs are strung out too much. Like all Satriani records, this is not one to listen to from start to finish, certainly not in one go. But there is much to delight metal fans and shredding enthusiasts alike, and that is enough to justify its inclusion in the chart.

References

¹ Michael Gowan, 'Strange Beautiful Music', http://wc05.allmusic.com/cg/amg.dll?p=amg&token=&sql=10:kjfixqq0ldhe. Accessed on October 9 2007.

² Ibid.

3.79 out of 5

Top 100 Albums - #65: Tubular Bells II (1992)

Mike Oldfield's only chart appearance comes in the form of Tubular Bells II, the updated and revised version of his most famous work, Tubular Bells (1973).
After Tubular Bells became a sensation upon its release in 1973, Oldfield retreated from the public eye, shunning calls for him to tour the project and collaborate with other artists. He spent the remainder of the 1970s creating a series of soundscape albums in a similar format - two long instrumentals, one for each side of the vinyl record. All these efforts, from Hergest Ridge (1974) to Platinum (1979), failed to replicate the critical and commercial success of his breakthrough, although Hergest Ridge briefly went to No. 1 in the UK. In the 1980s Oldfield charged for the mainstream with a series of poppier albums. Some of his efforts - like Crises (1983) - were more than reasonable; others - like 'Shine', his collaboration with Jon Anderson - were vile. After the release of Heaven's Open (1991), Oldfield left Virgin and returned to his New Age roots.

This new version of his masterpiece is divided into 14 parts instead of 2 halves - 'songs' doesn't really do the piece justice as a means of description. 'Sentinel' begins with some sweet, deceptive pinao; but before long this gives way to the familiar sequence which provided the theme for The Exorcist. Gradually this unfolds, bringing in Oldfield's familiar, mournful guitars, played with his perfected picking method of using his nails. From then on the piece rises and rises, from the spooky female vocals to the brooding bass lines. This is an absolute classic in every sense, a masterpiece of atmosphere and a brilliant way to open the album.

'Dark Star' may fall short in direct comparison, taken on its own terms this is still a great piece. At 2:16, it's a lot shorter, but it has a different feel. While 'Sentinel' was mournful, melancholy and breathtakingly sombre, this is rocking, aggressive and jagged at the edges. After some great guitar-duelling - between acoustic and electric - the melody gives way to some monumental keyboards, which are played so low that they are close to being terrifying. This is even better when they are juxtaposed by Oldfield's trebled, tender guitar.

'Clear Light' changes the tone once more, changing the emphasis to classical guitar and piano. When counterpointed by heavy bass, we achieve something very strange but alluring. As the piece develops, the female vocals return and the whole thing becomes a little more angelic. The biggest addition here, though, is the bright horn section, wich rears its head just before the piece deliberately collapses (in a good way) into a beautiful guitar solo backed with synthesised pan-pipes. And, as if this wasn't enough, we get the first glimpse of the title instrument as well.

With 'Blue Saloon', we are subjected (or treated, as the case may be) to a much darker, more startling sound. Mike Oldfield created Tubular Bells as a kind of fantasy world into which he could escape. As such it is entirely possible that the music will reflect his psyche, laced as it is with depression, panic attacks and feelings of loneliness. This is a piece void of the angelic guitars or female choirs of previous movements. This is edgy, complete with a pounding heartbeat bass line and a keyboard sequence which will send chills down your spine. Sure, the guitars are here, but they're muted and suppressed by the dark, cold background of the piece.

Thankfully, before long the cold steel walls are stripped away with the bright piano and jaunty guitars of 'Sunjammer'. This really is a record to enjoy in stereo; only then can you get the pleasure of the guitars dancing off each other with the keyboard murmuring in the background. This is an unlikely candidate for an air guitar competition, but there are enough hooks here to make any mute roll around and improvise at will.

Having showered the record thus far with all this praise and adoration, we hit a pebble in the sand with 'Red Dawn'. In contrast to the precise, meticulous nature of the last five moments, this is rather aimless and subdued. The female vocals on this occassion are just plain off-putting, and the guitar part at the end sounds like it is being played by a three-year-old with only one finger.

But all is not lost, for now we come to 'The Bell'. This piece closes the first half of the record, and consists of different instruments being brought in one by one, playing the same little phrase in their idiosyncratic tones. This time around, the narrator is the guttural ctor Alan Rickman as opposed to Vivian Stanshall, founder member of The Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band (incidentally, this could be described as a more serious version of 'The Intro And The Outro' from Gorilla (1967)). Some of the instruments are a little obscure (what is 'The Venetian Effect'?) and the vocal chords sound fake, but despite these this is a piece of unmistakeable grandeur, which, considering its inate simplicity, is both ironic and a compliment to Oldfield's skill as a composer.

'Weightless' is another let-down, a repetitive and rather formulaic composition which relies too much on electronic noise to qualify as a good movement. It's certainly not the best way to kick off the second half of the record. The panpipes on this are good, but overall it's way too mellow to drag you kicking and screaming back into the album in the way that 'Sentinel' got your attention. 'The Great Plain' is a lot better. With its folk guitars, country-ish banjos and shrill, siren-like pipes, it's a more focussed and in-depth piece. It has some wonderful sequences which flash out of the mix - for instance, the 8-bar repeating phrase from 3:11 to 3:27 has a certain magic about it which makes it a delightful listen.

'Sunset Door' is heavily reliant on pipes. While on paper this may seem like an acquired taste, in reality it's a relatively pleasant little interlude. At only 2:23 long, that is all it could serve as and all that it is designed to be. The reason being is that it must soon give way to the mighty 'Tattoo'. Even I, as a non-bagpipe fan, found this intriguing. It's a looping march, but unlike a lot of loops - which appear to not go anywhere - this has a clear sense of direction. The combination of bagpipes and Oldfield's guitar is compelling - perhaps he is using an e-bow, creating the 'bagpipe guitar' sound as mastered by Big Country(?!). Regardless of this, this is the third of the great 'tracks' on this album.

It's a real shame, then, that the album becomes so fickle hereon in. 'Altered State' is rubbish, simple as. It fells clunky, the vocals are extremely off-putting and it appears to have little overall place and purpose on the record. The only thing preventing this from being a complete disaster are the interludes which appear to have lifted straight out of a world music record. But that is not enough to save this travesty of a track.

'Maya Gold' is a good recovery from this, shrinking the album back down to its sad-tinged beginnings. It's more minimalism, relaxed and downcast, all of which works to it advantage. For the trained ear, there is some lovely soft organ parts hidden underneath the guitars. For the untrained ear, there is more than enough to enjoy though. But the same cannot be said for the closer. 'Moonshine' is lifted straight out of country and western music: as such it grates the nerves, is void of any real substance and - worst of all - it's really hard not to get up and dance, however abominable that may be. It's a hillbilly track, which brings the album to a terrible grinding halt.

At the time of its release, Tubular Bells II was attacked by critics as a sign that Oldfield was running out of steam, retreading old ground and become a slave to his own obssessions. This is certainly true for his subsequent... 'revisions', like Tubular Bells III (1998) and Tubular Bells 2003 (2003). But Tubular Bells II, for all its faults, has one big advantage over the original. That is its division into shorter tracks. Whereas subsequent editions trivialised the music by playing around with the timings of the tracks, on this occassion it makes it easier for new fans to discover his music and his genius. Younger listeners who associate 25-minute pieces with the more pretentious side of prog rock (ELP-style) may warm to this a lot more than the original, at least at first. The greatest asset of Tubular Bells II is not the respect it pays to the original, but the way in which it is put together and presented as a more accessible way into one of music's great enigmas.

3.79 out of 5

Top 100 Albums - #66: Frampton Comes Alive! (1976)

Peter Frampton makes his only chart appearance at number 66, with the live album that launched his career as an "arena rocker".A musical prodigy from the age of 7, self-taught guitarist and pianist Peter Frampton began his professional music career in 1966, when he became the lead guitarist and singer for The Herd, scoring a series of minor hits in the late-1960s. In 1969, 'the Face of '68' joined forces with former Small Faces guitarist and singer Steve Marriott, forming Humble Pie. It was during this period that was introducing to the 'talkbox' effect on guitar which would become his signature sound. After two years playing second fiddle to Marriott, he left to start a solo career just as Humble Pie scored their biggest US hit, 'Rockin' The Fillmore'. But despite favourable reviews for albums like Wind Of Change (1972) and Frampton's Camel (1973), mainstream success still eluded him.

Frampton Comes Alive! is the live album resulting from recordings of the 1975 tour of the States, largely culled from the concert at San Francisco. After introducing our hero as "an honorary member of L.A. society", it begins with the rip-roaring rocker that is 'Something's Happening'. Taken from the album of the same name, this is an ideal opener thanks to the precise and aggresive drumming of John Siomos. Overlay this with the guitar playing of Frampton and Bob Mayo and you have a cracking song. You sense from the start that Frampton is in his absolute element. All the timidity of his studio recordings is out the window, and the result is just plain great.

With 'Doobie Wah', Frampton gets more funky (by his own admission). The relatively softly-softly opening allows Stanley Sheldon's run-of-the-mill bass playing to creep out of the speakers. This is a lot more laid-back, with Siomos focussing on the ride and snare than the tom-toms. Frampton crests the heights with his attractive vocal delivery; and on the guitar he is given plenty of room for his riffs to settle. It's not the memorable song he's ever produced, but the sound is definitely there - even if the ending comes a little too soon.

If memorable lyrics were the problem on the last song, that is not the case on the live staple, 'Show Me The Way'. This song from Frampton (1974) finds the band in a perfect mellow balance, and the first glimpse (so to speak) of the famous talkbox. The chorus is classic Frampton modified blues: I want you to show me the way/ I want you to show me the way/ I want you day after day. Overall this mellow rock ballad is a little too laid back for many arena rockers' tastes; on the other hand, the band does not display any feelings of complacency which tend to emerge on such numbers under less control circumstances.

'It's A Plain Shame' is "an oldie, but goodie" with a proper head-banging rock riff, perfectly executed by Frampton. It's a number with a riff straight out of the late-1950s, played with all the bravado of men in long hair playing Les Pauls. Again, Sheldon is pushed into the shade as Frampton and Mayo jump into the quiet area with high-pitched solos. The chorus is catchy in its simplicity, a feeling echoed in lines like She'd like to taste me/ She'd like to waste me - it's so simple it's obviously going to work.

Taken from Wind Of Change, 'All I Wanna Be (Is By Your Side)' is the first acoustic number on the album. It's a love song, much in the same vein as 'Baby, I Love Your Way'. But there is a question of why Frampton chose acoustic for a song which would have sounded a little better with electric. On the album, sure, acoustic skills are welcome, but Frampton is not a folk singer and so cannot carry off unplugged stuff as well. Just be thankful that it's a good song. Sadly, the next one isn't. The title track of Wind Of Change is the first turkey of the album. It's acoustic again, but this time it sounds like Frampton is trying to be Dylan with the least amount of success. It's a soulless song designed only to buy time in the set - perhaps to recharge the talkbox?

'Baby, I Love Your Way' is still acoustic, but thankfully the rhythm section has woken up from its slumber. Siomos adds a lovely samba touch into the mix, while Sheldon played some beautiful harmonies over Frampton's melodies, in a manner reminiscent of a less pretentious Chris Squire. Where Mayo does feel brave enough to step forward, his backing vocals blend in well, so that you almost don't know that he's there. This is a love song from the 1970s that comes without any of the shtick or faux-macho pomposity of an Enkelbert Humperdinck or Tom Jones.

In a parallel of Frampton's career, no sooner has he got it so right, than he goes and gets it so very, very wrong. Both the next two tracks are rubbish efforts, both on their albums and on the stage. 'I Wanna Go To The Sun' is an instantly forgettable funk rip-off which meanders along and down dale with little real substance. There is no substance to this repetitive mishmish of influences, and is one to skip over. 'Penny For Your Thoughts' is pure 1970s self-indulgence. It's an instrumental (bad move) on acoustic (very bad move). Like a lot of arena rockers, these pieces were designed to prove to the audience that electric guitarist could still play acoustic well, without any reliance on effects. But like the rest of them, this sounds like a cross between an ELP record and the music being piped in a touristy Greek restaurant.

Having been stupid enough to sit through this, we come to the really good stuff. And it was worth it. '(I'll Give You) Money' is from Frampton and opens with a brilliant sequence from Siomos on tom-toms and bass drums. The opening lines are priceless: I'll give you money/ I'll give you loving/ I'll give you everything/ Except heaven opening. And while this is too complex to be a proper headbanger, the sound is great. The crowd is louder, the drums are more prominent, the guitar is edgier - everything falls into place. You'd almost think it was a different gig...

'Shine On' is mellower, but only just. Complete with a catchy riff and organ (Mayo), this is yet another one to shuffle to slowly and gently with little care for the meaning of the song. Siomos' cymbals sound notoriously tinny on this track, like something from an early-1960s pop record. Listen carefully and Sheldon will creep into with his melodious bass lines. 'Jumpin' Jack Flash' is a cover - obviously. But this is actually a massive improvement - especially for those who didn't like the original. Die-hard Stones fans will cry sacrilege, but Frampton has done a great service by stripping away Charlie Watts' monotonous timekeeping, jazzifying it with a lovely instrumental section. He can sing better than Mick Jagger, too.

'Lines On My Face' is lifted out of Frampton's Camel and has a more mournful edge to it, with the kind of sound in the opening that Snowy White would borrow in the early-1980s. It's a power ballad with the volume turned down abouty missed opportunity for love. Frampton's voice is quivering slightly, giving the impression that this is intensely personal. It may well be about his first wife, Mary Lovett, whom he divorced in 1973, the year the album came out. It's a deeply personal, well-rounded little number.

As it turns out, we are rewarded for our patience. If you must listen to only one track on this album, for the good of the world, make it 'Do You Feel Like We Do'. It's the longest, clocking in at 14:17, but it's absolutely majestic. From the first six notes from Frampton's guitar, the place is alive with excitement because everyone knows what's coming next. It's solid lyrically, the chorus is simple but effective, and the musicianship is great. But best of all is the long gap left after 3:53. After a pretty reasonable keyboard solo by Bob Mayo, we wait with baited breath for that moment. When the talkbox arrives, the euphoria comes and you sink into a sense of deep satisfaction which is most particular to rock'n'roll.

On all counts, Frampton Comes Alive! would not seem like a worthy rival to Live At Leeds (#68). Judged on the same criteria it comes across as a poor relation. The sound is so polished that all the live energy is dissipated; the lyrics are forgettable; the crowd are almost shoved aside instead of becoming part of the sound; and the musicianship is above average, hardly giving the impression of people at the top of their game. But to view this album through such a narrow prism is to do it a disservice. The real charm of Frampton Comes Alive! is the culmination of Frampton's best work into the arena that suited it best. It is the ideal starting point of an examination of his career, where other live albums are issued to buy time. It's not Live At Leeds, but in the mid-1970s it was the closest that discerning fans would get without selling their soul to punk.

3.79 out of 5

Top 100 Albums - #67: Procol Harum - The Collection (1985)

Prog rock godfathers Procol Harum makes their only chart appearance in the form of a greatest hits compilation, released between the end of the original band in 1977 and its reformation in 1991.

Procol Harum formed in 1967 and comprised of vocalist Gary Brooker, lyricist Keith Reid, guitarist David Trower, bassist David Knights, organist Matthew Fisher, and drummer B. J. Wilson. The band would have a constantly fluctuating line-up, not least with the departure of Fisher in 1969. The band scored a massive hit with 'A Whiter Shade Of Pale', which went to No. 1 in June 1967 and stayed their for six weeks. Their subsequent singles fared less well, as did their self-titled debut album. But albums like A Salty Dog (1969) and Grand Hotel (1973) received critical acclaim and kept them somewhat in the public eye, as least where their fans were concerned. But as the 1970s wore on and the prog movement they helped to found died in the face of punk, the band's reviews crumbled and they called it a day in 1977.

Any compilation has to start with 'A Whiter Shade Of Pale'. And why not? There is a reason why this song has often been voted one of the greatest ever written. It's not as rocking as 'Bohemian Rhapsody' and not as mystical as 'Stairway To Heaven' (supposedly - see past posts on Led Zeppelin IV). But it has a deep emotional quality to it, a resonance that cannot be explained. Fisher's organ washes over Wilson's dynamic drumming, creating the tragedian atmosphere over which Brooker croons his melancholy lines. Like Robert Plant on 'Stairway To Heaven', Reid's lyrics are left open to multiple interpretations: there is a general consensus (it is about tripping on acid from the point of view of the tripper), but there are outside chances too (e.g. it is about the Titanic). It's a song that was way ahead of its time, and perhaps it is that which makes it so endearing.

'Homburg', from 1967, combines the proto-prog influences of the last track and adds some more disticntly psychedelic lyrics into the mix. While Reid's offering on 'A Whiter Shade Of Pale' were bizarre and mystical, here they are straightforwardly English. The chorus - Your trousers cuffs are dirty/ And you shoes are laced up wrong/ You better take off your Homburg/ 'Cos your overcoat is too long - sounds like the kind of line which Syd Barrett would have come up with. Melancholy remains in the form of Brooker, but this is lifted by the presence of an active bass line, courtesy of Knights.

'A Salty Dog', the title track of their 1969 album, opens to the sound of seagulls and minor chords on violins. Again, it's a song steeped in melancholy; again, it's a showcase for Brooker's delivery and Wilson's drums; and again, it's not the easiest thing to listen to lyrically. But this is different from the previous tracks. This is a mood piece, swelling and succinct, which abandons the structure of the first two albums to create something which is truly moving to all but the most Stoical ear. Prog fans will lap this up.

With 'Whaling Stories', we are treated to more of a classic rock style - chiefly because this is taken from Home (1970), the first album without Fisher and thus without organs. The stylish opening features some lovely interplay between Brooker's piano playing and Trower's guitar. From then on it, it gets a bit meandering, but unlike a lot of prog-era records released from hereon in, this is meandering with a purpose. It's a jam, but one which adds texture to the piece and creates an atmosphere, rather than serving as a self-indulgent exercise in improvisation, ELP-style.

'Quite Rightly So' and 'Shine On Brightly' return to the Fisher era; the former quite dramatically. This is an organ heavy piece, which sounds like a dignified version of a Yes song mixed up with bits of Sgt. Pepper-era Beatles. As on a lot of Procol recordings, the production feels distant, perhaps because of the constraints with technology, perhaps out of a desire to appeal to the tripping generation. 'Shine On Brightly', the title track from their 1968 record, sounds even more like a Beatles record; Brooker's delivery and the trippy feeling reminds one of 'Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds'. The lyrics are oblique and forgettable, but it's pleasant enough without them.

Having gone backwards in time, we then rush forward to 1973 and 'Grand Hotel'. For such an orchestral piece, this is surprisingly catchy. The opening lines are quite intriguing in a quaintly inexplicable: ask someone to explain why Tonight we sleep on silken sheets/ We drink fine wines and eat rare meats is so endearing, and they cannot put it into words. And neither can I. While on Home (1970) Reid's insistence on rhyming let him down, here it produces something... well, indescribable. And the changes in time signature - the waltz section in the middle, for instance - work very well to boot.

The first real slip-up comes from 'Bringing Home The Bacon'. For all the rock piano of Brooker, it is clear that from the outset this is a showcase for Wilson and his taste for rhythm. But while Wilson is not self-indulgent like Carl Palmer, his dynamism is best suited to unpredictable fills within tightly organised songs - not unlike his exact contemporary, Keith Moon. This miscalculated emphasis on the drums turns the whole thing into a ham-fisted jam which puts a damper on the rest of their repetoire.

The better and rockier 'Toujours L'Amour' has more of an R&B feel to it, a reflection of Brooker's former outfit The Paramounts who received the backing of the Rolling Stones. It's an acerbic song about love and lost, which features new guitarist Mick Grabham. He provides the foil to both Brooker and the bass guitar, played with an ominous touch by Alan Cartwright. Reid is on top form with lines like She took all the pleasure, and none of the pain/ She took all the credit, and none of the blame.

'Broken Barricades' is the title track from Trower's last album with the band. It features a hooky synthesiser track which paints Wilson into a corner but allows Brooker the room he needs. It has a distinctly pop feel to it, complete with the break in the middle before Wilson is given a chance to breathe. But before one can appreciate it fully, it gives way to an ill-sounding live recording of 'Conquistador'. Taken from the band's 1972 live recording with the Edmonton Symphony Orchestra (oh, prestigious!), it's an example of Brooker at his most ornate and, as a result, most off-putting.

The slump continues with 'Nothing But The Truth'. The flaw here is that this is just plain annoying from start to finish. Brooker's delivery succumbs to the temptations of the long notes, turning his melancholy into a pop-rocker's drawl. Taken from Exotic Birds And Fruit (1974), this is bouncy but irritating, the kind of summer song which is instantly forgotten by the time September is through. The violins and grandiose production cannot save this turkey, anymore than they can with 'Butterfly Boys'. Despite Wilson's attractive drumming and the nice piano, this feel empty and is instantly forgettable. Reid's lyrics in particular fails to convey any of his fascinations with sin and redemption - the many mentions of 'savages' go straight over one's head i nthe face of a self-parodying guitar solo.

And so, the closer - for want of a better term. 'Pandora's Box' is an attempt, at least, to return to the glory days. And to be honest, it doesn't do too badly. The sound is familiar, perhaps; on the other hand, this could be seen as a reflection of all the motifs which made the band such a hit. There are hints of other prog acts in here - the flutes from early Genesis, for instance - along with later influence, like the wierd interference-sounding synthesiser later to be employed by The Stranglers.

Procol Harum became famous almost by accident and as such never reached the dizzying heights of success enjoyed by their contemporaries. On the other hand, it is highly unfair to write them off as a one-hit wonder - or one-trick pony, for that matter. Sure, both commercially and critically, the band never matched 'A Whiter Shade Of Pale'. But that is no reason to dismiss them as the predecessors to the one-hit wonders of the X-Factor kind. This compilation, like others, is good not because of its choice of songs - after the hit years it's a question of who's still listening. This is good because it lays the one-hit wonder myth to rest. And that is enough to lead to a full rehabilitation of this heavily underrated band.

3.79 out of 5