Trollheart

Ah you can’t beat the classics can you? Which of us hasn’t danced, swayed, kissed or indeed fu --- mbled in the dark to this superb love song? The song that really made 10cc and got them a major recording contract, it has gone down in history as one of the most technically expert and innovative pieces of music of the seventies. In a time when polyphonic synthesisers were not yet de rigeur, 10cc took the idea of “sampling” one note, sung by each band member in unison, and creating a chord progression that they could then play back on the keyboard. The first proper sample? I don’t know, but it certainly made musical history back then!


“I’m not in love”
10cc
1975
From the album “The original soundtrack”

Apart from the inventive musical composition of the track though, the lyric itself is very atypical of love songs of the period. Rather than sighing about being in love, strutting or boasting, or indeed, whining over unrequited love, the singer tries to deny that he is in love. He uses every excuse --- ”I keep your picture upon the wall/ It hides a nasty stain that’s lying there” --- and declares ”It’s just a silly phase I’m going through.” It’s clear he doesn’t believe it though. Quite why he’s denying it is uncertain and never explained in the lyric, but there’s a certain amount of arrogance in the lines ”Don’t get me wrong/ Don’t think you’ve got it made” and ”If I call you don’t make a fuss/ Don’t tell your friends about the two of us.” It’s also quite a turnaround, as it’s usually the woman who is trying to tell the guy she’s not interested, that he’s reading too much into their relationship. But here, it’s the man who’s saying “This is not love, I’m not in love. You’ve taken it up wrong” even though he knows he’s lying, to her and to himself.

The second number one hit single for the band, it was in fact dumped by them originally as they had not been happy with the original composition, but seeing others sing the song around the studio gave them the impetus to go back and re-record it, and thus a legend was born. The song even did well in the USA, something of a coup for a British band at the time, just barely missing out on the number one slot there too. It has gone on to become one of the classic love songs, instantly recognisable from its big choral orchestral opening and still a favourite both on the radio and TV, and on those seemingly ubiquitous “Love song” albums.

The song itself opens on a single drumbeat which is joined by a slow, almost breathy choral vocal and then a lush piano line, the choral vocals building to a powerful climax before they fade out momentarily as the actual vocal begins. All through the song though they maintain a presence that is impossible to ignore, sounding like both a bank of synthesisers and a large backing vocal group. Halfway through they fade a little to allow bass and piano to take the instrumental midsection, with a woman's voice whispering “Be quiet. Big boys don't cry”, this line repeated to fade as the choral vocal comes back strongly, ushering in the return of the vocal for the second verse.

The middle eighth then is about the only part of the song that does not have the wall of sound in attendance, with just guitar and piano accompanying the slow percussion. As the third verse ends and the piece fades into the end chorus the choral vocals swell and grow more intense and powerful, eventually falling back to fade out and leave just the piano before it too fades out.


”I'm not in love, so don't forget it:
It's just a silly phase I'm going through.
And just because I call you up
Don't get me wrong, don't think you've got it made.
I'm not in love, no no, it's because..

I like to see you but then again
That doesn't mean you mean that much to me.
So if I call you don't make a fuss;
Don't tell your friends about the two of us.
I'm not in love, no no, it's because..

I keep your picture upon the wall:
It hides a nasty stain that's lying there.
So don't you ask me to give it back ---
I know you know it doesn't mean that much to me.
I'm not in love, no no, it's because..

Ooh you'll wait a long time for me.
Ooh you'll wait a long time.
Ooh you'll wait a long time for me.
Ooh you'll wait a long time.

I'm not in love, so don't forget it:
It's just a silly phase I'm going through.
And just because I call you up
Don't get me wrong, don't think you've got it made
I'm not in love…
I'm not in love..."

__________________
Trollheart: Signature-free since April 2018

Trollheart

There’s a whole almost subgenre to be found in Rock Progressivo Italiano apparently, and I’ve barely scratched the surface here, my other introductions to the subgenre being the likes of Alphataurus and Hostsonaten. But RPI is such a rich and varied vein of progressive rock that it does in fact make Italy the only country deserving of claiming its own special niche in the prog rock genre. This is another debut (few of them on the list) and is an entirely instrumental affair.

Ulisse: l’alfiere nero --- Progenesi

I’ve plenty of time for instrumental albums, even if they are a little harder to review than ones with vocals. But there is an inherent problem here.

This is a concept album. Now I know the likes of Rick Wakeman, even Vangelis have created instrumental concept albums, but I have always found it hard to follow a story when there are no words. This, apparently, is based on the journeys of ancient Roman hero Ulysses. better known perhaps by his Greek name, Odysseus, from which comes the title of Greek playwright and poet Homer’s “The Odyssey”. I love Greek myth --- all myth really --- and I feel like I’m going to be unintentionally cheated on this album, because first of all I won’t be able to follow any concepts just by the music and secondly, even if it were a vocal album it would be in Italian most likely, so there’s no way I could follow it.

But such it is, and if we try to leave aside the concept (hah!) of the concept album, and just concentrate on the music Progenesi play, then perhaps we can approach this album from a different angle and appreciate it on its own merits, rather than compare it to something like Hostsonaten’s “The rime of the Ancient Mariner”, which does use vocals, and English ones too. With a name like Progenesi you’re probably expecting a lot of the style of Genesis in their music, and you would not be disappointed. Or you would, if instead of expecting you were dreading. But I have a feeling the word in Italian means something like firstborn or something like that, so the similarities to Collins, Gabriel, Banks and Rutherford may not be actually inferred from the name of the band. But it doesn’t stop them sounding at times like an Italian Genesis. Whether that’s a good or a bad thing depends on your view on the progressive rock giants.

Again we’ve only got six tracks, and “La gioia della pace” starts us off with a riproaring ride on the keyboards, very Marillion on “Market square heroes” I find, boppy and uptempo with some nice guitar. It’s no surprise that the album is so keyboard-driven when you learn that the man behind the keys, Guilio Stromendo, is also the composer of this whole thing. Great work on the Hammond joins the busy synths as Omar Ceriotti drives the beat along behind the drumkit. It all slows down near the end to give way to soft piano and the first taste of sweet violin, provided by guest musician Eloisa Manera, and with the sounds of tinkling piano and some pizzicato strings we’re off to “La strategia” (I think even I can translate that one) where honky-tonk piano gives way to brassy synth in a sort of dramatic, upfront sort of melody with some staccato drumming from Ceriotti.

It slows down about halfway with a marching drumbeat and sparkly keys in quite a Yes vein, and rather interestingly at the end they rip off the ending from the full-length version of Prince’s “Purple rain”, but Manera does it so tastefully it doesn’t seem like it’s being copied. A beautiful slow piano and cello from Issei Watanabe, another guest, takes “Il blue della notte”, which is either blue night or blue north. My Italian is crap, basically nonexistent. A nice jazzy keyboard rhythm then unfolds, with for pretty much the first time really that I can hear the guitar of Patrik Matrone making itself heard, and very good it is too. Stromendo though soon reasserts his somewhat iron grip over the composition and it’s Hammonds, pianos and synths all the way. We then get a boogie blues tune in the third minute, with another eight still to go.

Again Matrone comes in and adds his flourishes to the music, and they’re welcome. I love keys but this album is perhaps a little too concentrated on one instrument, and no matter how well it’s played that eventually gets a little jaded, which is why it’s nice when the violin or cello break through, or as here, the odd guitar solo or passage. The longest track on the album, there’s no denying the quality here, and to think this is a debut effort is pretty stunning: these guys sound like they’ve been at this for years. Always the measure of a good epic or even long track, it’s heading towards the end and it sure doesn’t seem like it’s been eleven minutes.

Technically that is the longest track, but the next two almost go together and if you add them then their combined length is five minutes over the previous one. “Il rosso della notte” (which I think may mean “the north wind”? Don’t know where that came from, but somewhere in my mind it’s saying the word rosso is wind in Italian?) is split into two parts, with part one being a fast, almost frenetic ride along Hammond and keyboard rails, slabs of church organ thrown in there too and a thumping drumbeat accompanying it all. Great to hear Matrone cut loose with a real rocker of a solo too, but Stromendo isn’t prepared to let him have the limelight for long and is soon back in front. To be fair to him he’s a wonderful keyboard player; I just wish he wasn’t so almost dictatorial about the band, or at least this is how he seems. Maybe they’re happy playing the little bits he gives them. Hmm, yeah. You ever know a musician, especially a guitarist, who was content to stay in the shadows?

I am hoping we get some more of that beautiful cello and that exquisite violin though before the album ends, as as we head into part two and it all slows down with an eerie, otherworldly atmosphere I think perhaps we may meet up with them again here. It’s dark piano to set us off though and then climbing, dramatic synth backing it before Matrone gets to reel off a lovely acoustic guitar piece and yes, there they are, the sumptuous violin of Eloisa Manera and the stately cello of Issei Watanabe. Just beautiful. An extended keyboard solo by Stromendo leads into a nice duet with Matrone and Manera’s violin is there adding its colour too. Then the bass of Daio Giubileo finally gets a moment to shine before the man behind the keyboard is off again, kicking up the tempo and pulling everyone along with him in yet another superb solo, and everything slows right down and fades away, with the first (and probably only) spoken words (in Italian of course) as the song draws to a close.

A powerful finish then as “Un grand eroe” (I assume “a great hero”) bounces along on exuberant keys and some unfettered guitar from Matrone, sort of a reprise of the basic melody of the opener, with the violin and cello also making their voices heard. This is also a long song, just over ten minutes, and goes through some changes, slowing down after the third, then picking up on rippling piano and Hammond in the fifth, some of the piano semi-jazzy. And again we’re six minutes into the ten before I even know it. I think I could listen to these guys all day. In for the big finish then and really this album could hardly be any better, unless it had more guitar or strings in it. But what’s this? Even the drummer gets to rack off a solo right at the end. Maybe this guy Stromendo is not such a tyrant after all!

Whether he is or not, Guilio Stromendo has here put together one hell of a band and a debut that sets the benchmark for RPI for the future. I predict great things for Progenesi. Superb, absolutely superb.

TRACKLISTING

1. La gioia della pace
2. la strategia
3. Il blue della notte
4. Il rosso della notte, part 1
5. Il rosso della notte, part 2
6. Un grand eroe

In a way, I’m kind of sorry I discovered that this is a concept album, because when I just listened to it before researching anything about it I could really enjoy it for what it was. I still can, of course, but now I’m left trying to tie the great music into the story of the Greek hero, and while it’s not impossible it is a little difficult and leaves me perhaps not concentrating so much on the music and more on the plot of the album. But even if you ignore that --- and you probably should, unless you’re a musician and can see where Stromendo is coming from here --- you will find it hard to deny that this album is pure musical gold all the way through.

Really. It’s rare to find an album, much less a debut, much much less an instrumental one, that has literally no bad tracks. There’s nearly always one that mars what could otherwise be a perfect record. But here, everything is a gem. There’s not one track I can find fault with and I am quite in awe not only of the proficency of these guys --- I know some of them came from other bands, so it’s not like they’re a bunch of sixteen-year-old kids coming together for the first time, but it’s still mighty impressive --- but of the composing skills of Giuilo Stromendo. I may not know what his vision is, or what passages are meant to represent what, but with his bandmates here he has created an album to rival the best in current prog, and even give the old masters a run for their money.

I therefore push the rating on this to a new record of 9.3, and it deserves every single percentage point.

__________________
Trollheart: Signature-free since April 2018

Trollheart

Trollheart reviews albums in the style of …. Nickelbackrules


The Bridge --- Billy Joel --- 1986 (Columbia)

Everybody knows, and there is no logical argument against this, that Billy Joel would be nothing without Nickelback. If it hadn’t been for the well-documented* patronage of Chad, Billy would still be playing a cheap piano in a run-down bar, trying to make enough from tips to make his rent. Mister Joel has a lot to thank Chad for, but he seems to have forgotten this, as I find no reference in the liner notes to what is unquestionably and inarguably the biggest musical influence in Joel’s life, or indeed, any musician’s life. This strikes me as ungrateful and also somewhat disingenuous: Joel is here taking all the accolades, claiming to have talent he really does not possess. Chad, of course, taught him everything he knows. Some people have no gratitude!

The album opens with “Running on ice”. Not only did Chad suggest that title, but he worked with Billy on that frantic, frenetic rhythm that puts you so much in mind of somebody running. Chad used the experience he had shared with Gilmour and Waters when showing them how to lay down the track for “On the run” on the classic Pink Floyd Album, “Dark side of the Chad” --- sorry moon; they wouldn’t use the title he suggested and I have still to this day no clue why ---and this is what makes this song work so well. There’s a real sense of panic and paranoia about it. But where Chad has always excelled of course is in the ballad, and “This is the time” recalls a period in his life when he was looking back on all he had accomplished down the years, the stars he had made --- many of whom refuse even today to acknowledge his part in their rise to fame, probably because they don’t want to have to pay him anything ---- and how far he had come. Joel is said to have been “knocked out” by the breadth of Chad’s experience on this song and felt that if he allowed him a credit it would be, quite rightly, mistaken as a Nickelback song, and he would be accused of ripping them off, something he did not want to contemplate at this stage of his career, having only ten albums to his name.

Chad of course is used to being ripped off and underappreciated. He knows that other artistes are just insanely jealous of his talent, his effortless affinity with music, both playing and writing, and his total command of the English language. They hate the way he can get right into a listener’s soul, hear what they’re hearing and make contact with them in the most intimate of ways, ways no other artiste in history has ever managed. This cannot be argued, so please Nickelback-haters, do not even waste your breath trying, as you are on a hiding to nothing. Chad literally wrote the book on music. Which is why it makes him so angry that two of this album’s singles went top ten, with no credit given at all to him. “A matter of trust” is perhaps the most annoying of these, given its title and Joel’s assurance that he would pay homage to Chad in the lyric. I don’t see it anywhere. He lied.

“Modern woman” is worse. Who could deny, with a straight face, that it was Chad who taught modern ladies how to dress, how to move, how to sing and how to act? Chad is as much a woman of the world as he is a man, and yet here again Joel is singing about a modern woman without once mentioning Chad. I despair, I really do.

When Joel teamed up with the legendary Ray Charles for “Baby Grand”, there was an emotional reunion between Chad and Charles, the latter almost crying as he hugged the Nickelback frontman and declared “This guy taught me everything I know! I owe it all to him!” See, Billy? That’s how to pay your dues, and to fess up and admit the music you’re playing and the lyrics you’re singing have been given to you by a higher power. Chad is eternal, and always will be. Charles reportedly enjoyed working with Joel but irked the “piano man” by spending too much time with Chad. From the “Strolling Bone”, July 23 1989: ”It was like, you know, I wasn’t there. You know that feeling when two friends are catching up and you just feel out of the loop? That was me with the two of them.”

Joel has a lot to thank Chad for. Again it’s well known** that when he wrote “Piano man” he was using the opening lyric ”It’s nine o’clock on a Friday, the regular crowd shuffle in. There’s an old man sitting next to me drinking his tonic and gin” and Chad, after giving the lyric the once-over, suggested changing it to Saturday night and replacing the word “drinking” with “making love to”. Joel was apparently bowled over by Chad’s grasp of the situation and the way he could make such a rudimentary and ordinary action as having a drink special and romantic. This, of course, has always been one of Chad’s many strong points, as we all know, and nobody can argue with that.

The album did well for Billy Joel, hitting the number seven spot in America, and Chad, though uncredited on it, was delighted to be reunited with the man whose solo career he had singlehandedly masterminded, Steve Winwood, when he played the Hammond on the closing track. Reports are that Chad, Winwood and Charles went drinking the night after the album was mixed down. Joel was not invited.***

In 2004 Billy Joel did however come clean, to the world’s relief, as everyone knew anyway the massive part Chad had played in the recording, mixing, production, writing and playing of the album --- Joel did not even play piano on it, but left that to the much more talented Chad. With the terrible burden of claiming credit for “The Bridge” beginning to affect his health, and his musical output --- have you heard “Storm front” and “River of dreams”? --- he was advised by friends and colleagues including Eric Clapton and Bruce Springsteen --- two more alumni from the Chad School of Music --- to make a clean breast of it. He arranged an interview with Joe Polanski of Q Magazine, an excerpt of which is reproduced below, with their permission. And Chad’s of course.

”It’s been weighing on my conscience for decades now. The guy is an icon, a star among stars, and has helped so many musicians who are now famous but who would be nowhere without his help, that I feel terrible having denied his input, not only into that album (“The Bridge”) but all my others prior to that. He helped me to stardom and success, there’s no question. I wrote “Just the way you are”, but only the title: he did the rest. And “Piano man” was mostly his composition. Plus he played piano on it; in a fit of childish jealousy I overdubbed his parts till they were gone completely, and claimed the performance as my own. He suggested I change the title of “She’s always a whore” and that change helped me get a huge hit, not to mention his tireless attempts to get me released from my contract with Family Productions.”

“Yes, he taught me how to play the piano. He found me at some dive in Queen’s playing for tips and took me under his wing, obviously seeing something in me that others did not. And he taught me how to write songs. “The Stranger”? All his work, apart from a few notes from me. “Glass Houses”? There’s no contribution in that from me, and yet these were my two most successful albums. Yeah, I owe the guy everything, as does just about any other musician I know, and more I don’t. The rising stars of today owe it all to Chad, as do the ones who haven’t yet been born. He’s a musical colossus, and I just hope someday he can forgive me for stealing his thunder.”

So there you have it. The so-called Piano Man finally comes clean, and admits what every person with a brain already knew, that his long career and all his hit singles are all down to the influence and guidance of one man. Just as Springsteen’s “Born to run” was a Chad-inspired triumph, and “Nevermind” benefitted from his advice and input so much that it is now acknowledged as one of the most important records in music history, “The Bridge” by Billy Joel is completely a product of Chad’s superior brain, musical talent and writing skill.

Thank you, Chad.

(Next time: Chad’s influence on "Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band”)

Trollheart's notes:

* Not documented at all
** in my own mind only
*** There is no documented proof of this.

__________________
Trollheart: Signature-free since April 2018

Trollheart

Let me tell you about television when I was growing up. No, not the programmes, but the actual sets themselves. Yeah, we called them “television sets” back then. Those of you who have grown up knowing a television has a flat screen, is very thin and can be controlled remotely do not know how good you have it. I lived through an era where even the concept of remote control was once unknown, and if you wanted to change the channel (or “station”, as we had it back then), you had to --- gasp! --- get up out of your chair! What, I hear you say? Was this the Stone Age you lived in, Trollheart?

It’s true though. It was some time into my teens maybe before we got our first telly with remote control, and it wasn’t the compact flat little thing you think of today as being your remote. Oh no. This was big. Probably about as big as one of those 200-packs of cigarettes you get when you go away on holiday, and about as thick. It was heavy and --- wait for it --- was tethered to the television by a cable, something like they used to use for operating camera shutters remotely. You probably don’t remember that either, do you, in these days of electronic digital timers. Indeed, even digital cameras were not always here and people had to use manual cameras and get the film “developed”. But that’s a story for another time.

I can’t find an exact picture, but it was something along these lines:


Of course, our old remotes did little more than change the channel and control the volume, possibly the brightness too. After all, our tellys were serious beasts. You wouldn’t lift one on your own. They were fat, wide things with no real handgrips and the only way you could take a hold of one was to tip the screen towards you and grab the back of it and then stagger along with it hoping you didn’t trip over anything! The screen was curved. There was no flatscreen back in my youth. Everyone was used to seeing the very edges of the picture bend out very very slightly, and the screens were thick! The television was also set in a cabinet of sorts. Whereas today your telly is basically a big monitor/screen with some controls and a stand, back in the seventies and eighties they were made of wood, fashioned like a cabinet into which the screen sat, with the controls either under the screen or to one side, and often more on the back.


You’ll note that the screen appears green. Well it was. Don’t ask me why. Probably something to do with the kind of glass they used in them. And it was glass too: if you pinged your fingernail or rapped your knuckles on the screen you would hear the hollow, slightly ringing sound glass makes. The speaker (mono only of course) was down there at the right, with the controls, such as they were, above it. Mostly these consisted of a volume knob, channel buttons and brightness control. Most channel buttons were pushed in to select the channel but could also be turned. Why? I’ll tell you in a moment.


That’s what they looked like around the back. None of your USB jacks or stereo audio inputs, and HDMI was an acronym that would not be invented for decades. As you can see, there are ventilation slots in the back, and they were necessary because these machines got HOT! If you touched the back of one while it was running, well you wouldn’t burn your hand but you would certainly feel it. You can see this one had knobs on the back too. They were for tuning.

Unlike today’s tellys, which come either pre-tuned or which, with a touch of a button can find all the channels and tune them in to pin-sharp clarity, older tellys were not generally tuned in. If you rented --- or, if you were quite well-off, bought --- one, you would usually have to look forward to more than an hour of trying to tune in the television. If your tuning selectors were on the front of the unit you were lucky, if not then you would either have to have someone else turn them at the back while you watched the screen, or stretch your arm around the back of the set while craning your neck to see if the reception was coming in. Channels didn’t just appear: you tuned and tuned till you heard a ghostly, whistly noise and then slowly the image would appear. Once you had the station, and knew which one it was, you did whatever it was you had to do to commit it to memory: some TVs worked on the basis of you popping out the selector knob (ooerr!) turning it and then once you had tuned it push it back in, and the selection was saved. Others worked different ways. To be honest, I don’t remember the fine details: it was a long time ago, and each set worked differently in this regard.

Once you had one channel tuned in you moved on to the next, selecting the next knob down after making either a mental note of the name of the station you had just tuned in or marking it with a sticker on the button so you knew where to go when you wanted to get that channel again. Inevitably, as all the channels were broadcast on the same wavelength, you would come across the channel you had already tuned as you went, and cries of delight would quickly turn to disappointment as the family realised we had already got this channel.

And on it would go, till all channels were tuned in. Then we would sit proudly back and confidently press button 1 for BBC 1, button 2 for RTE and so on, and be very happy with ourselves. Of course, if someone accidentally tuned the station out afterwards --- I’ll explain why that might happen in a moment --- then you had to go through the whole process again, at least for that station. And if someone mislabelled the buttons, or the stickers fell off, well just hope you had a good memory otherwise you were due to spend more time clicking around, trying to find the programme you wanted, usually thirty seconds before it was due to be broadcast (for the one and only time).

And then there was what we used to call “ghosting”. In these days of digital television and High Definition channels, everyone expects and gets perfect pictures every time. But not back in my day. We used to have to rely on a company now called UPC and previously Cablelink, but I can’t recall what it was originally called, to provide us with television channels other than the local one. This was generally referred to as “The piped”, as it was piped into our homes. “Piped --- often shortened to pipe --- TV” was the thing to have. Ireland had at the time only one channel, RTE, the national channel and if you wanted more you had to have a television aerial on your roof.

These were tall, unwieldly things which stood usually on a metal stand or tube and had to be on the roof in order to get any sort of reception. They rarely failed, but if a storm took yours down, or if birds messed with it, your tv could be knocked out. Those wishing for a simpler solution, and willing to receive only the national channel, could use a pair of “rabbit’s ears”, a small indoor aerial that plugged into the back of the telly and then stood on top of the set. The drawbacks of these were many. First, they were anything but stiff as time went on, and the times I remember trying to force one arm to stand up while the other collapsed and fell over, the picture for a moment sharp (or as sharp as you could get with rabbit’s ears!) on the screen before it dissolved in a sea of static to a chorus of disappointed groans. Secondly, although most TVs were flat on top they weren’t very wide --- wider than today’s almost-not-there models certainly, but the base of a pair of rabbit’s ears was quite wide itself, so often you would stick it on the back of the TV, as in the second image above. Problem with that was that the back of the TV was curved and sloped downwards, so inevitably after a while the rabbit’s ears would begin its slow journey down the TV, slip off the end and bang would go your reception! Not only that, but with a pair of rabbit’s ears you could ONLY get your channel in if the ears were positioned a certain way AND LEFT THERE. The slightest deviation of even one of the “ears” and your programme was gone. So when the unit fell off the tv naturally the arms flopped all over the place and you were looking at some time trying to get the channel back in. All the while, of course, your never-to-be-repeated programme was continuing without you!

“Just get it on the plus one channel!” I hear you youngsters yell knowledgeably and perhaps a little derisively. Would it surprise you to know that there have not always been plus-one channels, that they are in fact a relatively recent invention? So indeed are repeats of the same show either that day or later in the week. When I was growing up if you missed the show you missed the show. There was no catch-up channel, no repeat and they didn’t even do those “previously on…” segments. You really were lost, unless you could find someone who had seen the show and fill you in.

But back to ghosting. What was it? Well, before digital television became the norm, we all received analogue signals. Since they all transmitted on the same wavelength it occurred rather regularly that the signal for one would become stronger than for the other, and it would bleed in to the weaker channel. I don’t know the technical specifics; we just knew it as “bad reception”, probably a figure of speech that would be totally alien to some of you, unless you were thinking in terms of a badly-planned wedding. But it happened all the time, so much so that when you got home and wanted to watch your favourite programme you prayed silently to the television gods that not only would the reception be good, but that it would stay good for the duration of your show, as ghosting could occur at any time and at any point during transmission.

The net effect was that you were looking at, say, Captain Kirk walking along an alien desert,, while in the background a faded, grainy image of a newscaster could be seen. Or “Match of the Day” was suddenly invaded by ice skaters or cartoon figures. The sound would also be affected, so you would hear the programme you were watching (or trying to watch!) and then a buzz, a hiss of static, and “Luton Town, nil. Shrewsbury Rovers two, Dagenham, one.” and so on. Very annoying but very common, and there was literally nothing you could do about it. Not that we didn’t try. Screaming, shouting, cursing, and when none of that worked, blaming our mother and finally trying to “tune in” a channel that was already perfectly tuned, often losing the signal in the process so that the channel that had been ghosting through suddenly came through strongly, as Mister Spock turned to Captain Kirk with a concerned look on his face and a glance at the sky, and say “Sir I think THAT WAS A FANTASTIC GOAL! OH CITY REALLY HAVE IT ALL TO DO NOW!” Cue much cursing, banging of the top of the telly (this always worked) and frustrated noises, threats to “put me foot through that effin’ thing!” and a general air of grumpiness descending.

We had no twenty-four hour television either. Usually around midnight or 1am the Irish national anthem would play and we would know there was no more to be seen that night. Test cards replaced the final programme like this one

and pop, classical or sometimes supermarket music would take over. Also, the channel would not be on-air during the day, so until maybe early afternoon if you tuned in this is what you would more than likely see, again accompanied by music

Finally the music would fade out and the announcer (a real one, not just a voiceover) would appear and welcome us to the channel, telling us what was on that day and then the first cartoon or whatever of the day would begin. If you were off sick from school you could not rely on the telly to keep you entertained, that’s for sure. Unless you enjoyed shopping music.

There were of course no video recorders. We didn’t get our first one till I was about fifteen, and then it was a big event. The idea that you could tape a show and then watch it later? Pause it? Rewind it? Man, state of the art! What a time to be living in! And by now we had progressed on to infra-red remote controls, which were much smaller (generally; some were still bloody huge) and needed no connection to the TV in order to work. The Space Age had arrived!

So now we could record all the shows we enjoyed and keep them, for watching whenever we wanted! Cool! I remember renting two video recorders, specifically so that I could wire them up together with SCART leads. I would record my shows on one, then wind the tape back, put a blank one in the second VCR, and go through the show again, recording it but this time stopping the recording at the beginning of each advertisement break and starting it again when the break was over. In this way I made shelves full of tapes of my favourite shows --- Buffy, Angel, Star Trek, Babylon 5 etc --- with no breaks at all, and yes, I made special covers for them. I was a super nerd!

You may or may not be interested to know that I only made the move to a flatscreen TV a years or so ago. Up till then I had been fine with my big chunky CRT (Cathode Ray Tube, basically a wide fat TV) set until one day it just died on me, and I was forced to make the switch up to HD and flatscreen. While I would not wish for those days back again --- the idea of ghosting is now gone forever, and good riddance: it ruined more than one programme for me --- I still think fondly of those old cabinet televisions and wonder if they’ll ever make a comeback, even in a “retro” style, with maybe a flatscreen inside the cabinet? Probably not though: they were, I have to admit, bulky, heavy, often ugly, loud and they got hot easily. And yet, they broke but seldom. In these days when we buy a new TV and expect to be replacing it within five or ten years, our old sets back in the 70s and 80s were very reliable and were usually only replaced due to upgrade rather than necessity. And screen size was not the social status symbol it is now. Some people had small TVs, some had portable ones (fourteen-inch screen or less) and some had big, ostentatious twenty-eight or even thirty0two inch ones. But nobody who had a small telly was that bothered if their neighbour had a bigger one, or if they were, didn’t show it that I saw.

So next time you plug in your brand new HDTV and watch the channels pop up in front of your eyes, or next time you view your favourite HD channel and marvel at the clarity --- or bitch that it isn’t quite pin-sharp enough for you --- spare a thought for what these televisions had to go through to get to where they are today. They’re not the pinnacle of technological evolution, far from it. But they began from very humble origins, and they owe their dominance of our viewing habits to their elderly grandfathers, who at one time would not even have recognised the term remote control.

Happy viewing, you lucky people!

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Trollheart

Der gefallen stern --- Flaming Bess

I have something of a problem with this album. It’s not that I don’t like it: I do, very much. The music, that is. But there appears to be some sort of narration running through the album --- could be a story, could be a poem, could be anything --- and it’s all in German so I have no idea what’s being said. That’s bad enough, but without meaning to cause offence and with apologies to any German readers, or anyone who understands or enjoys the language, I’m sorry but as I said in a thread recently on the subject I just find the German language one of the harshest and most ugly in the world. I mean, I can’t speak Spanish or Italian or French (or indeed any language other than English and a very little Irish) but I could either guess the basic idea by picking up on certain words I know or can guess at the meaning for --- much of the usage of words in the “romantic languages” sounds pretty similar --- or at worst just listen to it and enjoy it.

German, not so much. It’s just so hard on the ears. Even to be honest if I understood it I think I would still consider it a terribly gutteral language, full of hard consonants and phrases that sound like they’ve been spat from a machine gun. I recognise this is my problem and that many people will have no difficulty with or dislike of the German language, but when you have to listen to literally minutes of someone spouting something in German, with no idea what he or she is saying, it gets tiresome. I have asked for a translation and Kartoffelbrei has said he will oblige, but he’s busy and I’m not holding my breath. He did mention that the narration seems to be part of an ongoing storyline, huge in breadth and covering several albums, so the chances of me getting the gist of it seem slim at best.

From other reviews I’ve read I’ve discovered that the idea, or part of it anyway, seems to concern the journey of the lead character through Hell, guided by a shining star, voiced by a lady called Mirjam Wiesemann, on some sort of quest. This is, apparently, the second in a triilogy of albums that seems to be titled overall “The music of the spheres”. The fact that I have no clue what’s going on makes the review very frustrating, and it’s just as well the music is so bloody good, otherwise I would not have bothered, which would I think have been my loss. To directly quote the contributor known on Progarchives as PleasantShadeOfGrey in his (or her) review of this album: ”Thus unfolds a mysterious quest, that, at its best moments, is utterly beautiful, endowed with a lyricism that will unfortunately be lost to those not familiar with the German language.” And he/she is right. I would love to know what is being said, I’d love to be let in on the mystery, find out what the story is, but I know nothing of the German language and until Kart comes back to me (if at all) with a translation I remain in the dark.

Even more impressive then the fact that I have really grown to like this album. The musicianship is completely flawless, with the main band already a five-piece and an extra seven players on this album making this a real almost cinematic experience. The album is made up of either three long tracks or fifteen shorter ones. I really don’t know which. There’s a title for each of the three parts but --- surprise, surprise! --- I don’t know what they mean. So they could be movements, chapters, sections, anything. As for the titles of the “songs” themselves, I can guess at one or two but that’s about it.

Before we get to the album though, let me just tell you that Flaming Bess have been together since 1969 would you believe, and have in that time released a total of six albums, of which this is the latest. Why such a relatively small output over such a long period of time, you ask? I don’t know. All I know is that their first album didn’t come out until 1979, ten years after they formed, and after that 1980 saw the release of their second, though sixteen years would pass before their third album hit in 1996. Then another nine years for the fourth, with the fifth out in 2008 and this their sixth. Guess they must be perfectionists or something. On the basis of this album you’d have to say that it was the right idea not to just rush out an album every other year, but even so, a hell of a wait between certainly the third and the fourth.

Wind sounds usher in a lonely piano before trumpet peals sweetly across the tune, the percussion cutting in powerfully as “Erwachen” opens the album. Now this is prefaced by the title or legend “Verloren im dunkel”, so we could be listening to part one of whatever that means, I don’t know. Strong guitar takes the tune as the tempo ups a little and breathy synth lays down its own flavour in the background. Then in the third minute there’s a sharp intake of male breath and the first narration begins. Behind the voice of Markus Wierschem, the character known as The Nameless, soft atmospheric synth and echoing, doomy drums in a slow pattern create the backdrop. A female voice joins the male, this being The Star, the female spirit that guides the Nameless through Hell --- apparently --- and voiced as I said earlier by Mirjam Wiesemann.

The next track, if it is a track, is the title of the whole section, so to speak. Um. It’s called “Verloern im dunkel” and it’s a slow but measured drumbeat with spacey keys and a vaguely AOR sound on the guitar when it comes in. The guitars are handled very ably by Achim Wierschem, surely the brother of the voice of the Nameless? Nice keyboard run, then it gets more dramatic and oppressive … oh wait a moment. This is very confusing. I think (though I can’t be sure, it is very disorienting trying to sort this out when you don’t have a word in the language to work from) that the first track was as I said, but the second part of it, from where the Nameless comes in and starts talking, is actually called “Verloren im dunkel”. Now this track I’m listening to and have been describing above is I think called “Nosce te ipsum”. Maybe. Anyway, there’s a running keyboard riff going through it which is nice but the guitar pretty much holds court here. Nice squeaky, sort of brassy synth ending and it seems there will be no speech on this track. Thank god for small mercies!

It’s not that I don’t like the talking, but I just don’t know how to talk about it, as I have no idea what’s being said, or why. Anyway, next up is, I think, “Verzweifelt und Vergessen”, and here Flaming Bess hit you with yet another surprise. No narration (yet) but a vocal, which is in English! Sung by Jenny K, it’s a joy to hear something other than music that I can understand, and the song itself is an uptempo AOR style song, which seems to question why the character is not in Heaven but in Hell, as she asks ”Where are all the stars in Heaven?/ Where are the golden rays of light?” Sort of a funky dance feel to it too, with samply synth and ticking percussion. The song kind of puts me in mind of Daft Punk, especially when they employ some vocoder, then a Lizzy-style guitar break from Achim which soars into quite a solo that takes us into the last minute of the song.

The title track is next, and I did at least find out that “Der gefallene stern” means “the fallen star”, so that’s something. A very emotive guitar solo opens the song, and Jenny K makes her return for what will be her last performance on the album as the track hits into its second minute. Very Genesis feel to this as it gets going with dark, dramatic keyboards and thundering drums. Despite, again, the fact that the title is in German I’m glad to find the lyric is in English. It’s a slower, moodier piece than the last, with a really nice melody. Achim really shines on this, putting in a fine shift on the guitar. It slows right down then in the last three minutes or so, with flutelike synth and wind sounds, before picking up again on a keyboard line almost ripped out of Tony Banks’s playbook.

If I understand anything about the structure of this album --- and I don’t --- then this song ends the first part of the triplet, and part two is made up of five tracks, as was part one. If they are parts. “Anderwelt” opens with, well, “Anderwelt”, a lovely acoustic guitar playing over broody synth, then the voices are back, sadly in German this time, talking to each other with me rolling my eyes and sighing. I honestly couldn’t even make a guess as to what they’re saying: they could be reciting poetry or their shopping list. But the acoustic guitar keeps a nice atmospheric background behind them, a little light percussion complementing the dark synth as Mirjam and Markus jabber on about whatever it is they’re discussing. They seem to get very animated, excited, but it’s lost on me.

A sort of Parsonsesque instrumental then in “Lichtpfad”, with some stabbing synth and hard guitar and a gorgeous thumping bassline from Hans Wende, before Achim sets off on another superb guitar solo. More vocoder is brought in for the last two minutes, with peppy squeaky synth leading the way to the finish line. We then get a different vocalist as Mike Hartmann takes the, er, mike for “... wie Wüstenregen”, which opens with a fine guitar line and then it’s great to hear that the vocal is again in English. Hartmann’s voice is soulful and powerful, complementing the music here perfectly. Some really nice keyboard work on this from Peter Figge, then what sounds like violin leads into a very Pink Floyd-style guitar solo from Achim. I’m going to go out on a limb and say that “Identropie” means identity, and it features more spoken passages from the Nameless as a very new-wave style reminiscent of maybe Duran Duran or OMD takes us into a nice instrumetnal with some Brian May overtones on some quite superb guitarwork from Achim, more vocoders and more Lizy influences on the guitar. “Erlösung ?” is obviously a question but what the question is I have no idea. It does however feature a sort of far-off vocal that’s not too distinguishable, but I think is again in German, as well as bassy piano and echoey slow percussion. This gives way to a very gorgeous piano line that’s almost classical in tone, leading into a deeply sumptuous strings section that nevertheless reminds me of the closing track on Genesis’s “Invisible touch”. Hmm.

Powerful guitar from Achim then takes up that melody, giving it real teeth as the strings keep going. We’re back to solo piano then for the last two minutes of the song, as it all quiets down, with some flutey keys joining in, Achim adding his own touches on the guitar while the distant vocal returns. And so we move into what I guess may be the third movement, “Am Fluß von Sein und Zeit”, which again opens with the title with some Mike Oldfield guitar and choral vocals giving way almost to the opening to “Shine on you crazy diamond”, then the vocal is back, behind a soft lush synth line that reminds me of Pendragon’s “For your journey”.

It all kicks up then for the rockiest track on the album, so different to what has gone before that I’ve wondered if it is really on the album or if I have inadvertently downloaded the wrong track somehow. “Die kyberniten” however makes sense when you listen to the lyric, which is sung in English, Mike Hartmann making his return. The title seems to translate as “cyborg nation” and it’s jammed full of guitar riffs, solos and keyboard arpeggios, with a driving beat and a sonorous organ too. The epic is next, the longest track on the album -- assuming you don’t take this as an album with three tracks; you know what I mean. Don’t you? --- at over twelve minutes, “Haravienna” keeps Hartmann behind the mike for the final time, as a heavy, ominous intro on synth and then howling guitar gives us the final English vocal. It again reminds me of the best work of the Alan Parsons Project, particularly on “The turn of a friendly card” or “I robot”.

You get some part of the story here in the lyric as Hartmann describes, or seems to, the journey these lost souls are making and the quest they are on. There’s also a sense of Asia in the song, though it does get a little repetitive in the third minute or so; after the fifth or so it becomes mostly an instrumental, allowing first Figge then Achim to shine as they go through a workout on their individual instruments: even Wende on the bass comes more to the fore. It’s well into the eighth before Hartmann comes back with the vocal, but to be totally fair it’s nothing more than a reprise of the chorus, the bit that had bored me before the instrumental break and it probably was not needed. Nice acoustic guitar passage from guest Julian Küster, then in the tenth minute it gets really stripped down, to just flute and piano, before kicking up for the big finale with guitar and choral vocals and ending with lone piano and wind noises which carry us into the penultimate track and turn into a rainstorm with pealing church bells as “Rückkehr” opens on flute from guest Markus Roth, who had been responsible for that fine organ in the epic just now. Another really nice acoustic guitar solo before harder electric guitar from Achim joins in, then the closer features the return of Markus Wierschem as the voice of the Nameless. Against the backdrop of synth and crying guitar, “Friedhof der Träume” seems to feature an exchange, argument or realisation between the Nameless and the Star. I think I can figure out that he’s trying to discover who he is and the final words ”Ich bin musique!”, well, they tell their own story, don’t they?

TRACKLISTING

Verloren im Dunkel:
1. Erwachen
2. Verloren im Dunkel
3. Nosce Te Ipsum
4. Verzweifelt und Vergessen
5. Der gefallene Stern

Anderwelt:
6. Anderwelt
7. Lichtpfad
8. . wie Wüstenregen
9. Identropie
10. Erlösung ?

Am Fluß von Sein und Zeit:
11. Am Fluß von Sein und Zeit
12. Die Kyberniten
13. Haravienna
14. Rückkehr
15. Friedhof der Träume

Truth to tell, I feel slightly cheated by this album. It’s my own fault and nothing I can blame the band for --- they’re singing after all in their native language --- but precisely because of that, and the fact that I can’t understand what’s being said, what it means and how it ties into the album, I feel like I haven’t really experienced the full effect of “Der gefallene stern”, and I think it would be so much better if I could follow the story.

Which is high praise, as this is one amazing album, even notwithstanding the above. The wealth of talent on display is staggering, and the album has clearly been carefully constructed over a number of years to ensure they provide the very best result to their fans. It’s just a pity that I’m not one of them. I think the music is excellent but though I made myself listen to this several times for the purposes of this review, it’s not something I would do for pleasure. Nothing to do with the music, and those sung in English are great. But the overpreponderance of dialogue in German just makes it hard to keep listening. As I said at the beginning, were this any other language I could probably just listen toit, but German is way too harsh for my ears to have to deal with for any protracted length of time.

Still, I can see why it’s on the list and if the rest of their albums are this good it explains why there are so few of them over a more than forty-year period. Flaming Bess may not release too many albums, but when they do, it looks like they’re masterpieces.

The rating sadly has to reflect the problems not being able to speak or understand German caused me. Were these just German lyrics in a song I would not be so harsh, as I could still listen to the music. But though music did accompany the spoken parts, it was very much in the background and you couldn’t really concentrate on it, so you were forced to listen to two people ramble on, with increasing passion and excitement, about something you had no clue about. So anyway, given that I enjoyed the music but not the spoken parts, I think the best I can award this album is a probably undeserved 5.5/10. Sorry guys!

Acknowledgement: Thanks to Kartoffelbrie for offering to translate this for me. Maybe someday he’ll get back to me with the full story, but even if not, the intention was there and that’s what matters. Thanks man!

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Isbjørn

Nickelback_rules shall not be forgotten.
Anyway, all those chads are creeping me out.

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Trollheart

They're meant to. They would creep out any sane person. I just wish I could have found that picture he was using on every post. I looked but the one I used was the closest I could get, and there is only so much of Chad one man can take before you have to go have a lie down...

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YorkeDaddy

I wish I had things to post here more often, but I'm just not a prog fan so I have trouble relating to a lot of the posts. I will say, however, that the Nickelback post was quite hilarious, so kudos for that!

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9-Time Winner of MusicBanter's "Most Qualified to be a Moderator" Award

Trollheart

Thanks man, and I do a lot more than prog here, or try to. Did someone mention Miley Cyrus??

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Trollheart

There’s nothing quite like a good intro to a song. Some of course start without one really, either with a vocal very quickly after the music starts or indeed starting on a vocal, or with just a few notes on piano, guitar or even a few drumbeats before the singing starts. And I have nothing whatsoever against such songs. But I prefer to be pulled into the song by way of a really good instrumental intro. “Hotel California”. “Sweet child of mine”. “Wish you were here”. “Stairway to Heaven”. Some great songs down the decades have been characterised by their distinctive and powerful or moving intros, so much so that you can tell the song from the musical interlude that opens it.

That’s what this section will feature then: songs with really good introductions. The first I want to look at is a real classic, and once you hear the pounding piano and growling guitar you know you’re in for a treat. It’s a long intro too, over two minutes of the almost ten the song runs for.


Bat out of Hell --- Meat Loaf --- From the album of the same name, 1977

This album was my first experience of Meat Loaf’s music, and indeed I think my first introduction to hard rock. I’ve spoken before of how my mate and I used to drool over the cover art as we looked at the album in our local record store on the way home from town, but both agreed we would never listen to such music. This without of course knowing what the music inside was like. So when I eventually took the chance and bought the album --- on vinyl, this would have been about 1978 I think and I would have had my first pay packet from my part-time after-school job --- I cautiously let the needle drop onto the grooves and waited with bated breath.

A guitar power chord punched me in the face, almost knocking me over, quickly followed by what sounded like the very Devil himself on piano, his fingers running up and down the keyboard with what seemed to me supernatural speed. The drums crashed in and I was on my way. In those first few seconds I was perhaps not reborn but I certainly saw the error of my ways in slagging off music I had never heard, and a whole new vista was suddenly open to my somewhat disbelieving ears, which up until then had had to accept whatever was on the radio as I had no record player up to now. My first real album, as I think I’ve said before, was one by ELO, then Genesis followed by Supertramp, but this was the first real hard rock melting into heavy metal I had heard, though later of course I would buy “The number of the Beast” and everything would change again. But for now, this was the revelation, and it was glorious!

Like I said, it opens with the loudest, brashest guitar chord I had ever heard, repeated a few times before Roy Bittan comes in on the piano, taking the tune as Max Weinberg pounds away at the drumkit like a man possessed, perhaps grateful to be released from the often more pedestrian drumming he’s had to be content with when playing with Springsteen. The excitement builds to fever pitch as Todd Rundgren fires off an amazing solo on the guitar, everything coming together in a stunning crescendo before it heads into the main melody and then drops back to just piano before Meat Loaf comes in with the vocal.

As an intro I believe it’s hard to beat this. It’s almost more what you would expect to hear in the midsection or even closing of a song (indeed, there is another extended instrumental workout halfway through) and it really sets you up for what’s coming. The vocal, when it does come in, is hard and passionate but somehow giving the sense of taking a breath, which after all that musical histrionics you definitely feel you need!

Of course it’s an excellent song, and a long one, and did much to elevate Meat Loaf --- and Steinman --- to rock god status. But when it gets right down to it, it’s the intro that sends shivers down your spine and makes your heart well, to slightly paraphrase the final line of the song, want to break out of your body and fly away, like a bat out of Hell!

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