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Brave (1994)


Brave in every sense of the word. As the third album with new vocalist Steve Hogarth, this was the band's decision to return to progressive rock, having tried and failed to expand their audience via shorter, more commercially-oriented songs on the previous two albums. Ironically, Marillion's greatest chart success has been and probably always will be "Kayleigh", which just fell short of the number one spot and comes from their other concept album and one steeped in the traditions of classic progressive rock, Misplaced Childhood. This one, however, also ranks quite uniquely as Marillion's darkest and most mature album, with its themes of incest, rape and abuse, and in some ways could perhaps even be seen as a sequel of sorts to that 1985 third album.

Written completely as an idea based around a news report about a girl found wandering without any idea of her identity, the storyline fleshes this out and hints at what Steve Hogarth believes could have happened to her. In that sense it's entirely fictional, as it isn't based on any real details, but who knows? He could have come close to the truth in his writing. Whatever the case, the album is bleak and cynical in its themes and does not offer any solutions or excuses for what happens to the girl. There are apparently two endings to the album, one "happy" and one not so happy, but as I've only ever owned the one CD I'm sticking here with mine, which happens to be the more upbeat of the two.

The scene is set from the beginning, with the sound of water and a foghorn honking before Mark Kelly's luxuriant keyboards smooth their way in as "Bridge" introduces us to the heroine of the story, leaning over the side and looking down into the water, probably contemplating throwing herself in. A nice little slow piano then accompanies Hogarth's voice as he sings the first few lines then the song moves on into "Living with the Big Lie", driven on echoey keys and Steve Rothery's crying guitar as Hogarth imagine the girl's early life, initially calm and pleasant until things begin to spiral out of control. The song gets harder under Ian Mosley's hammering drumwork meshing with Kelly's sweeping organ, painting flourishes over the backdrop as we go through the girl's schooldays and she realises "When to kiss and when to kick/ When to keep your head down/ When they're choosing sides".

The song slows down then on soft synth and sound effects, with Hogarth's voice softening too for a few moments before Mosley and Rothery bring the tempo right back up and organ from Kelly punches through and Rothery goes off on a superb solo trip that takes the song to its conclusion and into "Runaway", which begins low-key with the sounds of an altercation and slamming door as Kelly's dolorous organ comes in, Rothery following him in and Hogarth relates the tale of the runaway girl recaptured: "Did you cry when they dragged you home/ Put a lock on the door and the telephone?" The track picks up power and intensity, getting angrier and more frustrated as it goes along, Hogarth's voice mirroring the music and the mood. An anguished solo from Rothery coupled with some sterling bass work from Peter Trewavas as the piece reaches its climax as we hear the sad tale of the abused girl: "You'd freeze to death before you'd/ Share a room with them again/ And you'd die before you'd let him /Get his hands on you again!"

The longest track on the album is a suite, "Goodbye to All That", which runs for over twelve minutes and is broken into five sections. The first, "Wave", is a short piano piece which will resurface later in "The Great Escape", while "Mad" is, as you might expect, a frenetic guitar-oriented piece that bounces all over the place, with Mosley bashing away at the skins and Hogarth's voice rising in frustration and confusion as the girl tries to sort out her life, screaming "Tell me I'm mad / Well you're a fine one to decide!" She ends up in a crack house, as "The Opium Den" begins, where everything quiets down again with droning synth and soft percussion, a kind of sussurating riff running through the keyboard melody and slowly building. This part is mostly instrumental, though Hogarth does mutter some words as the music plays, and it's pretty much a duet between Rothery and Kelly until we hit the fourth movement, "The Slide", where Trewavas takes over with a slow, doomy bassline and some sound effects are thrown in, Rothery screeching along the guitar strings to make wailing noises, before slow percussion and piano slips in. A quite atmospheric piece, it builds up to something of a crescendo where Rothery's guitar just screams out the frustration and confusion the girl must be feeling.

From here it's piano and vocal, as Hogarth comes back in to advise the police that "You think you got here/ Just in time/ But you're twenty years too late." A big thundering instrumental part brings "Standing in the Swing" to a close, finishes the suite and piles directly into the heavy rock "Hard as Love", with some great guitar and thumping percussion, Hogarth's voice now defiant and angry as it appears the girl is now on the streets and selling her body. Fine organ work from Kelly here too. It stops in the middle and goes all quiet on the back of Rothery's tingling guitar, building back up as Hogarth squeezes every ounce of passion he can out of his voice for the big finish.

We finally have a ballad after all that, as Kelly opts for a simple piano for "Hollow Man", the vocal so low from Hogarth that it's at times almost inaudible as he considers the weaknesses of people. It sounds like there's violin on this, but as none is credited (and it's not normally an instrument utilised by Marillion) I'll have to assume it's made on the synth. Big guitar intro then to the marching "Alone Again in the Lap of Luxury", with chiming guitar and measured drumming and like much of the material on this album it builds up from a slow beginning into something of a frantic ending, mostly thanks to Steve Rothery's fretwork. It seems to depict the girl's fantasy of what her life could have been, instead of how it turned out: "This is a photograph of who I could be" and ends on a little coda which they call "Now Wash Your Hands", which has a clever little line as its only lyric: "You give up hope/ You settle down/ With your favourite soap/ Now wash your hands." What I love about this is the double meaning: the idea of the wife deciding she can do nothing about her husband's appetites and leaving him to it while she turns up the TV to drown out her daughter/step-daughter's cries for help, and the washing of the hands being both related to soap, as is the telly programme, as well as absolving yourself of all responsibility. The imagery is stark and very real, and extremely effective.

Another hard rocking track is next, with the sound of possibly train wheels or maybe water, I'm not sure what it's meant to be, but "Paper Lies" powers along nicely with a strong vocal and driving drumbeat. This ends on an atmospheric twist which slips seamlessly into the title track, carried on droning synthesiser with a sort of horn sound behind it, kind of like an accordion. It slows everything down, with what sounds this time like uileann pipes giving the song a very Celtic feel. It's quite ambient really with a fine restrained vocal from Steve Hogarth, and brings us into what I consider the standout of the album. "The Great Escape" is broken into two parts, the first, called "The Last of You", recalls some of the themes from "Goodbye to All That", with a gentle piano opening accompanying Hogarth's vocal before percussion and guitar break in, the pace a slow, stately, almost funereal one, until about two minutes in when it soars into a powerful passionate piano and keyboard melody, Hogarth's voice angry and disbelieving as the girl snarls "Just when I thought I'd seen/ The last of you/ You come here/ Scratchin' at my door" and demands an apology, an explanation for what was done to her, and asks "Why did you hurt the very one/ You should have protected?"

Part two then is "Fallin' from the Moon", built on another piano melody and chiming guitar with slow, measured drumming as Hogarth remarks "A bridge is not a high place .../ When you've fallen from the moon." Wonderful evocative guitar solo to close and then we hear the sounds of water again as we end up back where we began, before "Made Again" finally brings us a happy ending, with an acoustic guitar opening, very simple and clean, Hogarth singing softly against this, eyes wide with new wonder at the world. The band comes in to accompany him then as the song takes on a jaunty, upbeat tone as the album comes to an end.

TRACK LISTING

1. Bridge
2. Living with the Big Lie
3. Runaway
4. Goodbye to All That
(i) Wave
(ii) Mad
(iii) The Opium Den
(iv) The Slide
(v) Standing in the Wwing
5. Hard as Love
6. The Hollow Man
7. Alone Again in the Lap of Luxury
8. Paper Lies
9. Brave
10. The Great Escape
(i) The Last of You
(ii) Fallin' from the Moon
11. Made Again

After Script for a Jester's Tear, this is far and away my favourite Marillion album. After two albums of more or less basic rock on Season's End and Holidays in Eden, Marillion returned to what they did best and revisited the painful world of Misplaced Childhood, to take a more mature and experienced look at youth and growing up, and what can befall the most innocent through no fault of their own. The title is appropriate in two ways: the heroine of the story is brave in that she gets away from her abusive father and useless mother, and tries to make a life for herself (although in the alternate ending to the album she jumps from the bridge and drowns) and it was also a very brave and bold decision for the band to take, knowing they were losing touch with their fans and wishing to return to their progressive rock roots, but still tackling a very sensitive and in many ways taboo subject.

It didn't pay off for them commercially, as though singles were taken from the album this is not one that lends itself to hits, and nor were there any. It did reasonably well in the album charts, getting into the top ten but behind the previous two albums and a long way off the band's best-ever showing of a number one slot for Misplaced Childhood. But critically the album was acclaimed and it has gone down as one of the fan favourites. You could almost hear Fish singing this, though profuse credit must be given to Steve Hogarth, who conceptualised the whole thing and wrote almost all of the lyrics alone.

After this, perhaps rather bizarrely, Marillion would revert to the mostly straight rock they had been moving away from, with an attendant slide down the charts, something the band have never recovered from. But charts are for pop songs, and while it's nice to see your favourite band there, Marillion have always been more about the music and the fans, two things that have ensured they are still popular as ever, over thirty years since they released their debut. They may have changed their format slightly, but with albums like Marbles and last year's triumphant Sounds that Can't Be Made I feel they're slowly edging back to the progressive rock format they helped champion and revive in the 1980s.

But it's unlikely they'll ever record an album like this again. Unique, dark, mature, controversial.

But above all, brave.

Rating: 10/10

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Trollheart

Let's digress a moment and step back four years. In 1987, as already noted, Marillion parted company with their charismatic frontman and lyricist, and singer, the man the prog world had come to know as Fish. Unhappy with the way the band was headed, he escaped out the window, drowned his sorrows at the bar before bidding farewell to his compatriots and striking out for pastures new. In his own words, "By 1987 we were over-playing live because the manager was on 20 per cent of the gross. He was making a fantastic amount of money while we were working our asses off. Then I found a bit of paper proposing an American tour. At the end of the day the band would have needed a £14,000 loan from EMI as tour support to do it. That was when I knew that, if I stayed with the band, I'd probably end up a raging alcoholic and be found overdosed and dying in a big house in Oxford with Irish wolfhounds at the bottom of my bed."

And so in 1988 he set off on a solo career path, taking with him his lyrics and ideas which were supposed to have appeared on the fifth Marillion album, and also artist Mark Wilkinson, who had created the cover of every Marillion album up to then, and would continue to work with Fish on his solo material.

Two years later his first solo album hit the shelves, with a typically Marillion/Fishlike title.


Vigil in a Wilderness of Mirrors - Fish - 1990

It must, in fairness, have been a pretty daunting task, going it alone, even given the fact that he really had no choice, as he said himself above. In the band Fish may have written all the lyrics but he had the other guys to bounce ideas off, and besides that, he wrote lyrics, not music. Marillion as a unit took care of that. After all, let's not forget that great singer and composer though he is, Fish didn't play any instrument in the band. He was purely, first and foremost, a vocalist. So he had to turn to some of his famous mates for help, and his first solo album contains contributions from, among others, Mickey Simmonds and Iron Maiden's Janick Gers. He also used a wealth of talent from uileann pipes expert Davy Spillane to bassist John Giblin and drummer Mark Brzezicki, best known for his work with Big Country.

The album opens on the title track, and it's interesting that his first words as a solo artist are "Listen to me, just hear me out: if I could have your attention?" almost as if he's pleading with that section of Marillion fandom who have cursed his name. Probably not, but it's still a good idea. Although this is a long song (the longest on the album) it would seem Fish had taken some lessons away from his time with Marillion, one of these being that songs that are too long get no radio airplay, and as a solo artist you want as much exposure as you can get. Fish knew, or hoped, that many Marillion and ex-Marillion fans would buy his music, if only to hear the difference to what he had been doing with the band, but he knew too that he could not rely only on the "old guard", and must write songs with one eye fixed on if not the charts then at least radio time. So as an introductory song this is necessarily long, almost an old Marillion song that could have worked on Script, but most of the rest of the songs are relatively short. As there was no acrimonious split with Marillion there's no need for an angry, "Assassing"-style opening shot at the band, and Fish instead blasts consumerism as he pictures himself lost in a "wilderness of mirrors".

The song opens on atmospheric keyboard but soon kicks up on the basis of thick percussion and when it really gets going it takes on something of a Celtic feel, reflecting of course his Scottish roots. He talks about learning that all his childhood beliefs were wrong - "When I was young my father told me just bad guys died, at the time just a little white lie. It was one of the first but it hurt me the most and the truth stung like tears in my eyes that even the good guys must die. There's no reason, no rhyme and I never knew why: even now it still makes me cry."

Further Celtic inspiration is supplied by the appearance of the great Davy Spillane on pipes and whistle, and guitar screams courtesy of ex-Dire Straits man Hal Lindes as Fish is back to the angry man we knew on albums like Fugazi and Script. The feeling of loss and helplessness runs through the album, and the idea of "the Hill" is first broached here. This is a metaphor for the accumulation of wealth and power, the idea that if you're on "the Hill" you can look down on your neighbours and feel that you're better than they are. There’s a lot of anger in the song, but hope too, that someone somewhere will hear his “voice crying in the wilderness” - ”If there’s somebody out there/ Will they throw me down a line/ Just a little helping hand/ Just a little understanding” - and at the end as everything winds down and the song more or less returns to the musical theme of its opening, Fish sighs ”When I can’t scream no more/ And I need reassurance/ I listen to the crowd.” This may reference society, or it may be talking about his audience, now or before; Fish may be saying that when he needs to be reassured he has done the right thing he remembers the crowds shouting and cheering and applauding Marillion.

That’s the last of the “epics” for a while, as Fish kicks things off with the lead single from the album, “Big Wedge”. An obvious push for the charts, this single was never going to do much in the USA - truth be told it didn't exactly shake up the charts here either - as Fish decries the idea of capitalism and specifically American capitalism. It's upbeat and rocky as Fish sings "A priest got in a Cadillac/The shoe-shine boy sang gospel/ As God and His accountant drove away." Showing he was determined also to move a step away from the Marillion music, Fish calls in the talents of a brass section which really "souls" up this track. If there was any doubt about his views on the US of A they're dispelled as he roars "America! America the big wedge! /Am I buying your tomorrow out today?" No US stadium shows for you, Mr. Dick!

Weirdly, although “Big Wedge” was the lead single from the album, “State of Mind” was released months before the album hit the shelves. Seems EMI were afraid of pulling too much attention away from the “relaunch” of Marillion, whose first album sans Fish was due out in 1989, and so they threw out this single as a taster in October 1989, one month after Seasons End hit, but held back the actual release of the full album until the following January. Although also politically motivated lyrically, this is far more restrained and more in the Marillion mode, as Fish fumes about the grip of Thatcher's government over Britain, and foresees a revolution. Driven on a thick bassline from Giblin the vocal is downbeat and restrained, menacing and somewhat paranoid, rising to a hopeful rallying call as he sings "We the people are gettin' tired of your lies/ We the people believe that it's time. /We're demanding our right to the answers: /We'll elect a president to a state of mind." Another example of Fish's talent in making a phrase mean two things, or changing the meaning of a word to fit in with his vision. The title of the album is also mentioned here for the second time. Great crashing guitar and what could be sitar but probably is not.

Perhaps a slight throwback to Clutching at straws, “The Company” is is a folky tune that sways along with the happy abandon of the drunk but soon turns angry as Fish snarls "You buy me a drink then you think/ That you've got the right to crawl into my head/ And rifle my soul." In fact, this could even go back further, to where on Misplaced Childhood he's singing about a journalist bothering him during the "Mylo" section of "Blind Curve". Again "the Hill" is mentioned, quite a lot actually as he says "Here on the Hill, halfway up, halfway down." Nice bit of Celtic violin and flute with an almost orchestral keyboard passage.

The first ever Fish ballad comes in the form of “A Gentleman’s Excuse-me”, and I have to say it’s right up there with the likes of "Lavender" and "Sugar Mice". The imagery goes right back to "Chelsea Monday" as Fish asks, against a lone piano melody, "Do you still keep paper flowers/ In the bottom drawer with your Belgian lace, /Taking them out every year /To watch the colours fade away?" It's an inspired and effective depiction of a life, and the chance of a relationship, wasting away, the more so when he sneers "Do you still believe in Santa Claus?/ There's a millionaire looking for your front door/ With the keys to a life that you'd never understand" but then admits "All I have to offer is /The love I have, it's freely given." Sumptuous orchestral arrangements lift this song right up to the status of instant classic, and if there was a time when you realised Fish - the solo artist, not Fish the ex-Marillion singer or even Fish the Marillion singer - had arrived, this is it.

All through the song Fish tries to compare his real charms, his true love to the fantasies and dreams of the girl, who is waiting for a white knight to sweep her off her feet, and can't see what's under her nose. But in the end, frustration gives way to cold anger and then resignation and acceptance as he tells the object of affection "Can't you get it inside your head/ I'm tired of dancin'? /We're finished dancin'."

Probably one of the most uptempo tracks on the album is “The Voyeur (I Like to Watch)”, with a very Europop feel, almost Madonna's "True Blue"! Not the most original of lyrics I have to say, with the television and particularly the news seen as a voyeuristic activity as Fish declares gleefully "I like to watch plausible pledges of black politicians" (almost twenty years before Obama!) and then references shows like Jerry Springer: "Private lives are up for auction/ And a cupboard full of skeletons/ Are coming out to play!" Again, not one of my favourite songs, though there is a nice Marillion-style keyboard passage in the middle eighth. This was not included on the original vinyl album and to be honest, I wouldn't have missed it on the CD. Oh well, not a terrible song but I guess you can't have a flawless solo debut.

“Family Business” is much more like it. As already mentioned elsewhere, the actual lyric for this was used on a song to have been recorded by Marillion for their then fifth album, which was of course never recorded, Seasons End being released instead after Fish's departure. The lyric was in the song then called "Story from a Thin Wall" and used as "Berlin", but here it has different music, the story of domestic violence, as Fish listens to the nightly goings-on next door and wishes he could help. "Every night when I hear you/ I dream of breaking down your door, /An avenging knight in shining armour". It's a slow, plodding song with crying violin and stark piano, bitter and recriminatory. It ramps up for the bridge as the unnamed husband warns his battered wife "If anyone from the Social asks, you fell down the stairs!"

It's a shocking indictment not only of domestic and family abuse, but of how it's tacitly accepted, mostly because people just don't want to get involved, or are afraid of being pulled into what's seen as "family business". The same reason cops don't intervene in domestic disputes. The pathetic figure of the wife as "She's waiting at a bus stop at the bottom of the hill. /She knows she'll never catch it" is heart-rending, and so typical of women who fail to break out of their abusive relationships. But something will have to be done, she realises; her own fear will have to be faced or placed on hold for the good of her children "Cause when daddy tucks the kids in /It's taking longer every night."

The Hill finally comes into view, as Fish teams up with Maiden's Janick Gers for a searing look at the things people will do to get to the top in “View from the Hill”. Fish snarls "They sold you the view from the Hill, /They told you the view from the Hill would be further /Than you had ever seen before!" It's the old story of the grass being greener on the other side, and the song could be misinterpreted to mean that Fish was regretting his solo move, but that's not the case at all. Gers himself guests on guitar and really rocks the track up, Fish's vocal burning with anger and accusation, almost as if the impotent rage of "Family Business" has exploded out of him in a towering wave, directed at those who sell unattainable dreams. Of course there's a great solo from Gers, and the song is definitely the heaviest on the album, not quite metal but coming reasonably close. It fades out on single chords from Gers and takes us to the closer.

Starting out pretty much like the opener did, “Cliche” is the second ballad, though it ramps up near the end. It's carried mostly on piano and synth, with Fish wrestling with how to get across how he loves his lady without resorting to hackneyed lines and methods. With perhaps a lack of humility he declares "I've got a reputation of being /A man with the gift of words: /Romantic, poetic type, or so they say." The fact that it's true makes it a little easier to take, and the guitar moaning in the background adds a sense of power to the song, with backing vocals from among others, Heaven 17's Carol Kenyon giving it a feel of Pink Floyd. A slick bass line from Giblin runs throughout the tune, and a fiery guitar solo from Frank Usher lays the final polish on a great closer. As I say, a ballad but a song that changes as it goes along and ends up being quite a punchy, emotional and stirring final track.

TRACK LISTING

1. Vigil
2. Big Wedge
3. State of Mind
4. The Company
5. A Gentleman's Excuse-me
6. The Voyeur (I Like to Watch)
7. Family Business
8. View from the the Hill
9. Cliche

As a debut solo album, even for someone already well known in progressive rock circles, this stands as one of the best, and certainly among Fish's catalogue I'd rank it among the big three, with Raingods with Zippos and the followup to this, Internal Exile. If nothing else, it did partially exorcise the ghost of Marillion and the breakup, and showed that Fish was able to stand unaided as a performer in his own right. Of course, that same ghost was not completely gone, and in the subject matter and Mark Wilkinson's Marillionesque album covers, the Jester was always looking over Fish's shoulder.

Rating: 9.7/10

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Trollheart: Signature-free since April 2018