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70s_rockbands
Dusting the cobwebs off some more old vinyl and haunting the local library for some stuff I'd previously thrown out, I've been finding out how some older rock albums stand up musically today.
Jeff Beck, There and Back, 1980
Brand X, Moroccan Roll, 1977
Steve Hillage, Green, 1978
Pink Floyd, Wish You Were Here, 1975
Rush, Hemispheres, 1978
Jeff Beck, There and Back, 1980
At the tail end of the 1970s Jeff Beck was getting rather vexed with seeing his house disappear under a mountain of the latest freely-supplied effects pedals and other gizmos, so one day he literally threw them all in the trash and turned up at the studio with nothing more than a Fender Stratocaster and a clear head. The album's no-nonsense front cover reflects this, also on the inner sleeve showing Beck walking to the studio, with nothing more than a guitar case like a man going to work. There and Back is still dynamic, clean unadulterated jazz-rock propelled by the awesome drumming of Simon Phillips (who was barely into his twenties), the electric keyboard weirdness of Jan Hammer and Tony Hymas, and one of the sharpest British bassists, Mo Foster. Beck showed here why he was one of the most technically accomplished guitarists in the world, plus on the track 'Space Boogie' I reckon he gave us one of the nastiest chords ever committed to vinyl. Still good.
Brand X, Moroccan Roll, 1977
I wonder how many people recognise the title as a play on words in the same way that their music plays the usual edgy game of rock vs. jazz. Brand X were blessed with being known as 'Phil Collins's better gig', and were the best kept secret of teenagers tired of the self-conscious pontification of Yes, Genesis and ELP. They were also possibly the most creative ensemble for eccentric British strangeness in the 1970s, Gong and The Enid notwithstanding, and the inescapable influence of Joe Zawinul's Weather Report was an altogether positive thing. Moroccan Roll is probably the best introduction to the band, with Collins's drumming providing a good framework over which the rest of the band could throw their not overly-indulgent experimentation. It was obvious that Brand X were always going to be an underground thing with a guitarist as eclectic and sophisticated as John Goodsall, and the tone of Moroccan Roll is occasionally tongue-in-cheek and often downright cynical – 'Hate Zone' being the sharpest cut. There was always a particularly loose kind of craftsmanship to Brand X, but in listening to Moroccan Roll again I'm impressed with how the whole shabby affair hasn't dated too badly. They drifted apart in 1981 but reunited for a tour in 2004 (with a different drummer as Phil Collins was too busy superstarring elsewhere), and I hear they'll actually have a new album out soon.
Steve Hillage, Green, 1978
Johnny Rotten's pronouncement 'never trust a hippy' was just one nail too early in the coffin for punk because he seemed blind to the fact that they had one common enemy: pre-Thatcherite Britain. But what did mark the border more clearly was that while punk was about anger and a quick revolution, the likes of Steve Hillage were all about love and lazy revolution. Green was an indulgent exploration of 'green' consciousness ('I Talk to the Trees'... indeed you do, Steve), and the referencing of UFOs was unashamed, extraneous and yet, naturally for Hillage, perfectly in place. The music itself, exemplified by the warmth and over-the-top soloing of 'Palm Trees (Love Guitar)', leaves you in no doubt where Hillage's head was at. To my 21st century ear this now sounds like tripped-out bliss music with added musicianship, though you cannot dismiss it as naîve because it contains a different, ulterior political honesty. I also saw a later, more energised Hillage at an ecstatic Hammersmith Odeon gig in London after his partly punk-influenced album Open in 1979 (with punks in the audience who by then could also think for themselves), and common sense saw Hillage later teaming up with Simple Minds, Robyn Hitchcock and The Charlatans, which helped put even further behind him the marijuana-driven laziness that was once Gong. There's also a Hillage tribute on Joe Satriani's 1998 album Crystal Planet in the shape of 'Love Thing', the soloing being a concise rip-off of the man himself – and I can't believe I'm the only one to have spotted this.
Pink Floyd, Wish You Were Here, 1975
Pink Floyd's quiet invective is too often overlooked, but Wish You Were Here is actually a good place to find it. One of the blessings of experiencing a vibrant and divisive thirty years of British rock culture is that long ago it became perfectly OK to have The Sex Pistols and Floyd sharing your CD rack (and I can remember a time when that was an almost impossible thing to do). Wish You Were Here had as many harsh things to say about the absence of humanity in the music industry as it did about the absence of Syd Barrett: 'Welcome to the Machine' and 'Have a Cigar' are as understatedly cynical about EMI as The Sex Pistols' more direct 'EMI' was. 'Understatement' is the watchword for Wish You Were Here; there is far more flowing beneath the surface than what you hear and the currents run deep and ponderous, standing the test of time like a wide, slow river. What started out as a pointless project to make an album with no musical instruments over its two-year incubation grew into something sublime, yet kept a clarity that was lost in the very long shadow cast by the madness of Dark Side of the Moon, its own theme of 'absence' giving much of the music that deceptive, spacious, unhurried calm defined by 'Shine On You Crazy Diamond'. There's also a noticeably comfortable balance in evidence between all the band members before Roger Waters' negativity came too much to the fore in subsequent albums, Floyd being at their best when Waters' considerable anger was filtered by Gilmour's cooler, more controlled demeanour. It's still all here in this album if you know where to listen, but you have to listen hard.
Rush, Hemispheres, 1978
Rush hadn't yet realised that a multitude of self-penned fantasy tales do not always make good rock music, and here on Hemispheres they took yet another stab: the 18-minute track 'Cygnus X-1' is near enough to space opera that they might have been hoping for some musical equivalent of a Hugo Award. At least it was more challenging in terms of production, but in light of what they'd already done over five previous studio albums it was beginning to seem rather repetitive: Neil Peart was still able to subvert a standard time signature better than any other North American rock drummer but all this kept them as distant as ever from a good old-fashioned 4/4 thrash. Hemispheres is still very listenable in parts, and I have a particular soft spot for it because the guitar solo to 'The Trees' is one of the first I tried to learn (badly), and the album concludes with that highly intelligent instrumental 'La Villa Strangiato', based on Alex Lifeson's famously vivid nightmares. It's an intense, potent nine-and-a-half minutes in which Lifeson stretches himself with some blisteringly good guitar work, Peart shows who's really boss and Geddy Lee proves that often the best Rush tracks are the few on which he doesn't sing. Hemispheres did nothing to distance them from the kind of naff pomp-rock epitomised by Styx (that was to come later) but at least they were succeeding in their self-appointed role of the thinking man's rock band, and putting a brain on the cover was a dead giveaway.
70s_rockbandsDusting the cobwebs off some more old vinyl and haunting the local library for some stuff I'd previously thrown out, I've been finding out how some older rock albums stand up musically today.
Jeff Beck, There and Back, 1980
Brand X, Moroccan Roll, 1977
Steve Hillage, Green, 1978
Pink Floyd, Wish You Were Here, 1975
Rush, Hemispheres, 1978
Jeff Beck, There and Back, 1980
At the tail end of the 1970s Jeff Beck was getting rather vexed with seeing his house disappear under a mountain of the latest freely-supplied effects pedals and other gizmos, so one day he literally threw them all in the trash and turned up at the studio with nothing more than a Fender Stratocaster and a clear head. The album's no-nonsense front cover reflects this, also on the inner sleeve showing Beck walking to the studio, with nothing more than a guitar case like a man going to work. There and Back is still dynamic, clean unadulterated jazz-rock propelled by the awesome drumming of Simon Phillips (who was barely into his twenties), the electric keyboard weirdness of Jan Hammer and Tony Hymas, and one of the sharpest British bassists, Mo Foster. Beck showed here why he was one of the most technically accomplished guitarists in the world, plus on the track 'Space Boogie' I reckon he gave us one of the nastiest chords ever committed to vinyl. Still good.
Brand X, Moroccan Roll, 1977
I wonder how many people recognise the title as a play on words in the same way that their music plays the usual edgy game of rock vs. jazz. Brand X were blessed with being known as 'Phil Collins's better gig', and were the best kept secret of teenagers tired of the self-conscious pontification of Yes, Genesis and ELP. They were also possibly the most creative ensemble for eccentric British strangeness in the 1970s, Gong and The Enid notwithstanding, and the inescapable influence of Joe Zawinul's Weather Report was an altogether positive thing. Moroccan Roll is probably the best introduction to the band, with Collins's drumming providing a good framework over which the rest of the band could throw their not overly-indulgent experimentation. It was obvious that Brand X were always going to be an underground thing with a guitarist as eclectic and sophisticated as John Goodsall, and the tone of Moroccan Roll is occasionally tongue-in-cheek and often downright cynical – 'Hate Zone' being the sharpest cut. There was always a particularly loose kind of craftsmanship to Brand X, but in listening to Moroccan Roll again I'm impressed with how the whole shabby affair hasn't dated too badly. They drifted apart in 1981 but reunited for a tour in 2004 (with a different drummer as Phil Collins was too busy superstarring elsewhere), and I hear they'll actually have a new album out soon.
Steve Hillage, Green, 1978
Johnny Rotten's pronouncement 'never trust a hippy' was just one nail too early in the coffin for punk because he seemed blind to the fact that they had one common enemy: pre-Thatcherite Britain. But what did mark the border more clearly was that while punk was about anger and a quick revolution, the likes of Steve Hillage were all about love and lazy revolution. Green was an indulgent exploration of 'green' consciousness ('I Talk to the Trees'... indeed you do, Steve), and the referencing of UFOs was unashamed, extraneous and yet, naturally for Hillage, perfectly in place. The music itself, exemplified by the warmth and over-the-top soloing of 'Palm Trees (Love Guitar)', leaves you in no doubt where Hillage's head was at. To my 21st century ear this now sounds like tripped-out bliss music with added musicianship, though you cannot dismiss it as naîve because it contains a different, ulterior political honesty. I also saw a later, more energised Hillage at an ecstatic Hammersmith Odeon gig in London after his partly punk-influenced album Open in 1979 (with punks in the audience who by then could also think for themselves), and common sense saw Hillage later teaming up with Simple Minds, Robyn Hitchcock and The Charlatans, which helped put even further behind him the marijuana-driven laziness that was once Gong. There's also a Hillage tribute on Joe Satriani's 1998 album Crystal Planet in the shape of 'Love Thing', the soloing being a concise rip-off of the man himself – and I can't believe I'm the only one to have spotted this.
Pink Floyd, Wish You Were Here, 1975
Pink Floyd's quiet invective is too often overlooked, but Wish You Were Here is actually a good place to find it. One of the blessings of experiencing a vibrant and divisive thirty years of British rock culture is that long ago it became perfectly OK to have The Sex Pistols and Floyd sharing your CD rack (and I can remember a time when that was an almost impossible thing to do). Wish You Were Here had as many harsh things to say about the absence of humanity in the music industry as it did about the absence of Syd Barrett: 'Welcome to the Machine' and 'Have a Cigar' are as understatedly cynical about EMI as The Sex Pistols' more direct 'EMI' was. 'Understatement' is the watchword for Wish You Were Here; there is far more flowing beneath the surface than what you hear and the currents run deep and ponderous, standing the test of time like a wide, slow river. What started out as a pointless project to make an album with no musical instruments over its two-year incubation grew into something sublime, yet kept a clarity that was lost in the very long shadow cast by the madness of Dark Side of the Moon, its own theme of 'absence' giving much of the music that deceptive, spacious, unhurried calm defined by 'Shine On You Crazy Diamond'. There's also a noticeably comfortable balance in evidence between all the band members before Roger Waters' negativity came too much to the fore in subsequent albums, Floyd being at their best when Waters' considerable anger was filtered by Gilmour's cooler, more controlled demeanour. It's still all here in this album if you know where to listen, but you have to listen hard.
Rush, Hemispheres, 1978
Rush hadn't yet realised that a multitude of self-penned fantasy tales do not always make good rock music, and here on Hemispheres they took yet another stab: the 18-minute track 'Cygnus X-1' is near enough to space opera that they might have been hoping for some musical equivalent of a Hugo Award. At least it was more challenging in terms of production, but in light of what they'd already done over five previous studio albums it was beginning to seem rather repetitive: Neil Peart was still able to subvert a standard time signature better than any other North American rock drummer but all this kept them as distant as ever from a good old-fashioned 4/4 thrash. Hemispheres is still very listenable in parts, and I have a particular soft spot for it because the guitar solo to 'The Trees' is one of the first I tried to learn (badly), and the album concludes with that highly intelligent instrumental 'La Villa Strangiato', based on Alex Lifeson's famously vivid nightmares. It's an intense, potent nine-and-a-half minutes in which Lifeson stretches himself with some blisteringly good guitar work, Peart shows who's really boss and Geddy Lee proves that often the best Rush tracks are the few on which he doesn't sing. Hemispheres did nothing to distance them from the kind of naff pomp-rock epitomised by Styx (that was to come later) but at least they were succeeding in their self-appointed role of the thinking man's rock band, and putting a brain on the cover was a dead giveaway.
no subject
Date: 2005-12-03 04:07 pm (UTC)A very creative musical loop.
no subject
Date: 2005-12-03 04:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-12-03 04:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-12-03 08:25 pm (UTC)I don't know, eccentric British strangeness was at a peak in the late 1970s. Kate Bush for example, Brian Eno, John Cale, Peter Gabriel etc.
Brand X were always a poor man's Weather Report in my eyes, and Phil Collins over-rated as a drummer. He was a very good drummer, don't gte me wrong, but not great in the way that Neil Peart is, or Steve Gadd or Michael Shrieve.
no subject
Date: 2005-12-03 10:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-12-03 08:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-12-03 11:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-12-04 12:11 am (UTC)