A Hard Day's Night (1964)

Artist: The Beatles
Release Year: 1964

Rating: 8/10

Track Listing: 1) A Hard Day's Night; 2) I Should Have Known Better; 3) If I Fell; 4) I'm Happy Just to Dance with You; 5) And I Love Her; 6) Tell Me Why; 7) Can't Buy Me Love; 8) Anytime at All; 9) I'll Cry Instead; 10) Things We Said Today; 11) When I Get Home; 12) You Can't Do That; 13) I'll Be Back.

I suppose I’d call this the first really famous Beatles album, in that the name instantly calls to mind both a hit song and a film.  But let’s not forget the artistic vision, which has also taken another leap.  There’s not a cover to be found here, leaving the Lennon/McCartney juggernaut to entertain us for a full 30 minutes.  So, do they succeed?  Well, I guess you could just look at the number of green tracks up there, but since you’re already reading this, I’ll blather on.  

First of all, if you haven’t seen the film, it’s a harmless bit of wacky, even surreal fun, essentially serving as one long music video to squeeze more cash out of the band and their fans.  The songs are mostly light and sunny, even “silly love songs” at times, as Sir Paul would later call them…but what’s wrong with that?

Well, a few minor things.  “Tell Me Why” is a bit generic in melody and lyrics, and is in fact the song I often use as a counterargument to the claim that the Beatles never wrote filler– yet, I can’t help but conclude that that falsetto “if there’s anything that I could ever doo-oo-ooo” in the bridge singlehandedly saves the song from ruin.

See,  even if the songs themselves aren’t nearly so insipid, there’s still a lot of the teeny-bop mentality floating around here, so it’s refreshing when the album dips into moodier territory.  “And I Love Her” and “I’ll Be Back” are two great examples of that contrast, like dark chocolate on an album of cotton candy, but my favorite of these is the portentous, almost baroque atmosphere of “Things We Said Today”.  I mean, why does Paul make it sound so ominous?   What did they say today?  It isn’t clear, and it’s that ambiguity that makes the song work so well.  Between that and the unexpected turns of “If I Fell”, there’s plenty for the more somber listener to appreciate.

Ha!  How serious can one be, though, when the album also contains “Can’t Buy Me Love”, or “I Should Have Known Better”, or the immortal title track?  Listen to how loud and obsessive, even borderline rabid, they sound on songs like those and try to imagine not grinning like an idiot with great taste.  This is young love par excellence, after all: love of one's partner, love of possibility, love of life, you name it.

Still, nothing in this life can be perfect, so the album is hobbled a bit by a few awkward throwaways like “I’ll Cry Instead” or “When I Get Home”, with the latter grating on me the most.  But those don't impact my enjoyment of the album all that much.  Yeah, there were a few more steps to be taken toward “maturity”, as it were– but in the spirit of this album I say life is better without that.

Remission (2002)

Artist: Mastodon
Release Year: 2002

Rating: 8/10

Track Listing: 1) Crusher Destroyer; 2) March of the Fire Ants; 3) Where Strides the Behemoth; 4) Workhorse; 5) Ol'e Nessie; 6) Burning Man; 7) Trainwreck; 8) Trampled Under Hoof; 9) Trilobite; 10) Mother Puncher; 11) Elephant Man.

Here it is, the CD that was my official gateway into everything heavier than Metallica.  Right from the opening T. rex roar, we're thrown into a current of murderous rage, and I'd have it no other way.  

Listen to that guitar solo in "Crusher Destroyer" and tell me there's no animalistic madness behind it.  Yes, there's the appropriately primal fury throughout this album, as if we're awakened something even more ancient and lethal than the band's namesake.  Just listen to that electrifying riff that opens up "Mother Puncher" for a perfect example.  Not every band can manage this sort of aesthetic without being tongue-in-cheek, or without it coming off as laughably phony, but Mastodon do so handily.

Naturally, there are brutal, pulverizing sludge-metal torrents in "Where Strides the Behemoth", "Burning Man", and "Trampled Under Hoof", and while there's little variety between those, I say that if it ain't broke, don't fix it.  "Behemoth" is my favorite, though it's hard to decide whether that's because of the bludgeoning rage of each vocal line, or the scrabbling, drilling riff, or the suffocating drum breakdown, or just because it was the first Mastodon song I ever heard.  

And it's clear that Mastodon had prog inclinations right out of the gate-- just listen to the relentless time changes in "March of the Fire Ants", which you may not even notice if you're too busy being beaten over the head with filthy, growling riffs and images of terrestrial decay.  "Workhorse" does sort of the same thing, but this is where you hear the closest representation of the flayed, screaming horse on the album cover.  

There are quieter moments too, and while none of them annoy me, some stretches feel like they were inserted as contrast against the heavier bulk, rather than to serve a distinct purpose on their own.  It's fine when "Ol'e Nessie" gives us a meandering breather before launching into the heavier half, but when  "Trainwreck" and "Trilobite" do the same thing over, the trick loses its impact when the dizzying, paranoid chaos returns again.  Maybe this is the one area where the album loses just a bit of praise, because the couplets of tracks 5-6, 7-8, and 9-10 all feel pretty similar in that regard.

Then the album closes with a desolate, brooding instrumental in "Elephant Man", which contains an extended guitar solo that seems equal parts angry, painful, and just exhausted by existence.  Again, the prog comes in, but only as a side effect of what's already being presented-- just like the way the heaviness seems to arise.

That's right: very little of this sounds like it was deliberately written to be edgy or heavy or anything like that-- it just is.  While I have no trouble envisioning people moshing or headbanging to this, it seems like the heaviness was an incidental characteristic of the music rather than a predetermined template for it, and that's important.  This album proves that Mastodon had the impeccable sense of groove down right from the beginning.  That's what first drew me in, and that's what keeps me around even today.

Journey to the Centre of the Eye (1971)

Artist: Nektar
Release Year: 1971

Rating: 5/10

Track Listing: 1) Prelude; 2) Astronaut's Nightmare; 3) Countenance; 4) The Nine Lifeless Daughters of the Sun; 5) Warp Oversight; 6) The Dream Nebula I; 7) The Dream Nebula II; 8) It's All in the Mind; 9) Burn Out My Eyes; 10) Void of Vision; 11) Pupil of the Eye; 12) Look Inside Yourself; 13) Death of the Mind.

Wait…this is supposed to be the story of an astronaut having some great Awakening near Saturn, right?  Is that album art a reference to 2001: A Space Odyssey?  Wouldn't surprise me.

Anyway, here's Nektar in the wake of a wider psychedelic movement, which means they were practically forced to lean extra hard into their natural trippy tendencies.  The "Prelude" and "Astronaut's Nightmare" manage to sound adequately epic despite being slightly generic, at least in terms of resembling what others bands like The Pretty Things were doing around the same time.  But while said Pretty Things often sounded strained while doing hard rock, from these guys it sounds more natural, so that's good.  There's also a bit of mannerism in those verses that inject some sadness, some lamentation, making us feel a greater weight in what's to come.  

Unfortunately, what's to come is largely a mess, especially today.  "Countenance" is a good primer for so many other Nektar releases: an eerie, dusky, slow buildup to a sudden heavy psychedelic guitar freakout, with some good old "aahh-ahh-ahh" in the background too.  Nice, but then this is overextended into "Nine Lifeless Daughters", which goes nowhere for several minutes before devolving into the needless cacophony that is "Warp Oversight".  Obviously, this was meant as an imitation of "Interstellar Overdrive", but I assume that without a healthy dose of LSD or something, I'm just not going to get it.

I just wish they wouldn't wander around so much before they get to the good stuff.  What's with the wholesome, 50s throwback vocals AND the Mellotron together in "It's All in the Mind"?  And why is it mixed so badly?  Is this a lost track from Epitaph or something?  But those flute solos do have something going for them.  After that one, though, the album slumps into some interesting, but disjointed and half-baked segments done over an annoying organ riff...yuck.

With a bit more focus, this album could have been great, but it just bogs down in psychedelic tangents too often at the expense of melody.  Moments of bittersweet, revelatory beauty are present ("Burn Out My Eyes" in particular), but the strangely tinny production really doesn't help here-- all those organs and cymbals really grate on the ears.  Interesting, with some solid playing throughout, but very little of this can back up the "profound spiritual awakening" that it implicitly claims to provide.

The Left Banke Too (1968)

Artist: The Left Banke
Release Year: 1968

Rating: 7/10

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Track Listing: 1) Goodbye Holly; 2) There's Gonna Be a Storm; 3) Sing Little Bird Sing; 4) Nice to See You; 5) Give the Man a Hand; 6) Bryant Hotel; 7) Desiree; 8) Dark Is the Bark; 9) In the Morning Light; 10) My Friend Today.

Hideous album cover, but that's far from the only hit that these guys took after Michael Brown's departure.  So much of this album reminisces about the stellar marriage of pop lightness and baroque darkness that begat the immaculate debut, but it rarely manages to return there again.  Sadly, while these songs are still pleasant and warm and very very listenable, they still come off as rejects from the debut.  Still, to expect these guys to reproduce Walk Away Renee/Pretty Ballerina would have been a tall order even with Michael Brown, let alone without him…so what did they come up with?

Well, I do love the opener "Goodbye Holly", one of the catchiest tracks they ever cut.  I mean, who could resist the swanky guitar riffs or the eager, gorgeous harmonies-- or the voice of Holly herself in the bridge?  Sounds like something the Zombies would've done around then.  On the other hand, "There's Gonna Be a Storm" is pretty and nice moody, but please tell me: whose dumb idea was it to put this song second?  It sounds like it should be last!  Putting a song like this here just kills the momentum we gained in the first track.  Bleh.

Then there's the usual vague-but-still preachy, "spiritual" tripe of the day, like in "Give the Man a Hand".  I can't deny that the chorus is catchy, but it also sounds like it's patronizing me for not seeing some obvious conclusion it's putting in front of me.

Back to the good.  "Desiree" is a gorgeous ballad that stands up to everything on the debut, from the mysterious "everything returns again…" exposition to the winding prechorus, which builds up to the revelatory, almost hymn-like chorus.  Oh, wait-- Michael Brown was involved with that one.  Go figure!  And "Bryant Hotel" is a ton of fun, with those haunting vocals describing the most decrepit hovel, before the chorus crashes in with a flurry of plinking piano and some screaming that only goes a little overboard.

Otherwise, it's mostly nice, mildly-above-average Sixties pop with some orchestration.  "Nice to See You" and "Dark Is the Bark" are pleasantly harmonized as usual for the Left Banke-- the first light and airy, the second dusky and romantic-- yet there's not much to make either of them much different from what the Beach Boys could have done a few years earlier.  

The rest of the album is similar in that regard: pleasant and likeable, but lacking in the punch, the immediacy, that made the debut such an incredible achievement.  Even the standout tracks can't break the feeling of stagnation that pervades the album as a whole, which is too bad, because the sound is still a unique one that I hate to see the virtual end of.

Seatrain (1970)

Artist: Seatrain
Release Year: 1970

Rating: 7/10

Track Listing: 1) Willin'; 2) Song of Job; 3) Broken Morning; 4) Home to You; 5) Out Where the Hills; 6) Waiting for Elijah; 7) 13 Questions; 8) Oh My Love; 9) Sally Goodin; 10) Creepin' Midnight; 11) Orange Blossom Special.

One look at that album cover would instill confusion in anyone who knows me well.  A country album?!  What that photo reveals, though, is a group of humble guys who are well aware of the way they might be received by snobs like me, and hence play their music with just a bit of humor to rejuvenate the old country and blues cliches.  There's very little of that dead-serious, oceanic reverence that plagues so much country music--just a good-natured fun time with lots of heart, and I can't dislike an album with those qualities.

It's clear that Peter Rowan and Co. had a very real passion for their bluegrass and gospel roots: just listen to those yodels and choral chants in "Home to You", for example.  Hell, that one and "Creepin' Midnight" almost remind me of something Carole King and Bob Dylan could have done together.  Wait...Carole King did write "Creepin' Midnight"?  Ha!  What do I win?!

But, speaking of gospel, there's a retelling of the Book of Job, which is an affront to my usual rule against religious retellings, but those vocal workouts and the little wah-wah accents every time Satan shows up make for an entertaining blues number all the same.  Still not as great as their cover of Little Feat's classic trucker anthem "Willin'", though: for all the quiet dignity of the original, this faster and brighter rendition injects enough new enthusiasm to turn it into a singalong highlight.  Also early on, "Broken Morning" is warm and soulful with a great chorus.

But!  The best has to be their blistering adaptation of "Orange Blossom Special".  I've not heard such infectious fiddlin' this side of "Beef: it's what's for dinner", and when the vocals kick in, that declaration of "bringin' my baby baaaack!" is suitably triumphant and never fails to lift my spirits.  And yet, Richard Greene has the generosity to continue his face-melting solo for another minute or two afterward.  Fantastic.

Now, there are a number of generic country-blues numbers in the middle, like "Out Where the Hills" or "Oh My Love", and that's where this album slumps a little for me.  Oh, and the "Sally Goodin'" track tacked on the end of the latter is probably the most obnoxiously backwoods of them all, but at least it's short.  None of these fully disrupts the vibe, though, and I suppose a better fan of southern rock and country might like them better.

With just a bit more artsy-fartsy touches like their fellow Californians in Frisco were doing at the time, this album might have been catapulted even higher.  Still, considering the only copy of this album that I ever owned was a decrepit vinyl pressing, I'm glad to have dug up a nice remaster.

Scatology (1984)

Artist: Coil
Release Year: 1984

Rating: 6/10

Track Listing: 1) Ubu Noir; 2) Panic; 3) At the Heart of It All; 4) Tenderness of Wolves; 5) The Spoiler; 6) Clap; 7) Solar Lodge; 8) The Sewage Worker's Birthday Party; 9) Godhead-Deathead; 10) Cathedral in Flames.

First of all, I typically ignore bonus tracks when considering albums, so please note that wherever a discrepancy exists between the LP tracklist and the CD, I will be reviewing the LP version.  

This is the first proper album by Coil, an industrial and avantgarde band that always dwelled in the darker recesses of the human condition, to put it very mildly.  A lot of this might have sounded shocking in 1984, but now it comes off as if they're just trying to be edgy.  I mean, look at the title!  You can't tell me Coil weren't proclaiming themselves the long-awaited vanguard of filth with a title like that.

Of course, there are songs like "The Spoiler", which seem to deliberately bludgeon me with their repetitive obnoxiousness.  The fact that that one tries to inject some gravitas with that waltz meter only makes me hate it more.  

But other times, this thing is done well.  We have these long trances of mechanical beats, droning synths, and hideous guitar tones, all while John Balance bleats out the same vocal mantra: a recipe for monotonous disaster, yet there's just enough subtle dynamism in there to make it work.  Case in point with "Solar Lodge", which I point out specifically for the grating guitar solos that remind me of what Lou Reed was doing on "I Heard Her Call My Name" and whatever Can threw in during their freakier passages.  So it's a hard equilibrium to maintain, but they manage it more often than not.

The opening "Ubu Noir" reminds me of something Leland Kirby might do, with those tape loops of what should be joyful, jazzy brass instead becoming a harbinger of damnation by forces beyond anything our puny minds can comprehend.  That leads us into "Panic", probably the closest thing to a danceable song on here, which beats us over the head with a demented swagger that I can't deny-- almost as if Depeche Mode had been left to starve in the dark for a few weeks before picking up their instruments again.  That's what I need these days, in fact: less of that phony idealism and more acknowledgement of where the human id truly leads us when the lights are out.

So, if I'm able to praise the themes of this album, why did I only rate it a six?  Mostly, because I appreciate this album more than I enjoy it.  Tracks like "At the Heart of It All" are nicely atmospheric and eerie, but still come off more as soundtrack material than anything else, so I can't see myself putting this album on outside of a D&D session or something.  

Or for contemplating the rotten center of depravity that dwells within all men, of course.

One-Album Wonders: Unruly Dogs

"I'm a lost dog, running 'round the park, 'cause I really wanna see you again"

Genres: pop rock, indie
Recording decades: 2010s

Known personnel:
Andy Burns

Album release year: 2012

Rating: 8/10

Track Listing: 1) Prologue; 2) Big City Lips; 3) Lost Dog; 4) Sweaty Wiv You; 5) I'll Bite You; 6) Freaky Weather; 7) Small Faces; 8) I Am What I Am; 9) Walking the Dog.

Oh wow, 2012 and there's not a drum machine in sight (or maybe there is and I just can't hear it), which means this album was doomed from the beginning.  I say this half-jokingly, but Unruly Dogs seem to be plenty clever in their single half-pop, half-rock release.  The impressive variety of these eight songs (plus the short "Prologue") ensures the listener is never bored.  The guys drift from straight-ahead pop rock ("Big City Lips") to mid-tempo dance pop ("Small Faces") to mellow contemporary ("Walking the Dog") to even electronic-turned-salsa ("Sweaty Wiv You").  Sure, you won't expect to see any of these songs on a "best of" list, but just because they're not earth-shattering in any sense, doesn't mean they don't still make for a great listening experience.  

On top of the variety, the continuous dog metaphors throughout keep things interesting and give the album a healthy dose of humor.  That theme sure gives the lyrics a greater resonance: case in point with the Track 5 chorus: "I like you / I like you / But I'll bite you / If you liiieee tooo meeee", for instance-- or Track 8's assertion that "I might be growing up / But I'm still the same pup!".  Yes, silly little touches like this are, indeed, enough to make me forgive track 7 for the laughable declaration that the Small Faces invented the concept album (I assume they mean Ogden's Nut Gone Flake, which I'm struggling to restrain my thoughts on at the moment).

Regardless, this is a smartly humorous album of freely-enjoyable indie pop rock, all the better for its compactness, and it shows a band willing to put in the time to balance out the work.  Count me as an Unruly Dogs fan, but we have yet to hear more from these guys, which is a real shame.

Forever Changes (1967)

Artist: Love
Release Year: 1967

Rating: 10/10

Track Listing: 1) Alone Again Or; 2) A House Is Not a Motel; 3) Andmoreagain; 4) The Daily Planet; 5) Old Man; 6) The Red Telephone; 7) Maybe the People Would Be the Times or Between Clark and Hilldale; 8) Live and Let Live; 9) The Good Humor Man He Sees Everything Like This; 10) Bummer in the Summer; 11) You Set the Scene.

Every so often, I’ll hear an album whose reputation, both artistic and historical, seems disproportionate to its actual content; yet, years later, I still find myself ensnared by its beauty and mystique.  Is this, then, a validation of that reputation that I’d formerly denied? 

This is the ultimate question that plagues me every time I listen to this album (and I’ve listened to it a lot).  What exactly was so revolutionary about this record?  What did it change?  What could it be said to have bowled over and reconstructed in the wake of other 1967 monoliths such as Piper, Sell Out, and Sgt. Pepper?  The orchestrated, folk-psychedelic music is not far removed from what The Pretty Things were doing on Emotions seven months before, and seven months is an eternity when talking about mid-Sixties musical developments.  Hell, even the most haunting baroque elements, such as those heard in “The Red Telephone”, were predicted by The Left Banke the previous year…so what gives?

I’m still not certain, but I’ll venture a guess that it has a lot to do with the album’s philosophy.  Each song paints a different surreal picture, most of them outwardly warm and serene, but always with a constant, nagging feeling that something is just…off.  When “The Good Humor Man He Sees Everything Like This” comes to lines about “little girls wearing pigtails in the morning”, why does it seem so ominous, almost as if these are kids about to be disintegrated in a nuclear blast a la “There Will Come Soft Rains”? 

Well, in short, it’s because they are.  Forever Changes is an album written primarily by a man who had grown disillusioned with the hippie movement and its lack of actual efficacy against the Order it so vocally denounced.  There were dark forces taking over the world: masters of war and avarice and deception and death – not only in Vietnam or the USSR, but right at home.  The doomsday clock was ticking ever closer to midnight, and Arthur Lee delivers the near-hallucinatory lyrics with all the despair of a man who sees what no one else can be bothered to see: absolute oblivion.

The songs bleed out with such a soft sadness, a palpable fatigue…and beneath, almost a sense of dread, if the singer can even be bothered to feel dread.  There is little extraversion or universal love here—never mind what the powerless protagonist says in those warmer moments, because those are presented in such an insular way as to seem almost dreamlike and willingly denialistic.  Go on and tell me you believe "Andmoreagain" is a real person, for instance!  Each song is a product of a jaded individual who has sequestered himself away from the masses, almost as if he has dispensed with the idea of human unity – though whether that is because he believes us naturally incapable, or because he sees existing power structures as insurmountable, really depends on the song.

And what of the songs?  They’re fantastic—all of them.  The first three are all first-rate baroque pop-rock, stylistically similar to the psychedelic hits of their time, but all with that eeriness and foreboding that keeps them from playing too nicely with others.  From the second: “And the water’s turned to blood, and if you don’t think so, go turn on your tub.”  The reality is right in front of us, yet no one bothers to observe for themselves—we’re all stuck in fantasy land.

There are moments when we seem to be reaching out to others: “Old Man” tenderly details the wisdom given by mentors, and “The Daily Planet” and “Live and Let Live” lament the isolation and violence, wishing for more connection, even in spite of the infamous “snot has caked against my pants” line in the latter—maybe that’s the true groundbreaking element here!

In the end, though, the enigmatic “You Set the Scene” sees Lee turning away from society and resolving, with equal parts triumph and desperation, to live his own life as he pleases, making the most of whatever time he does have – ironically, in the same solipsistic manner that probably enables the greedy and malevolent to ravage that society in the first place.  But, if doom truly is upon us already, then I say he’s well within his rights.

I still don't know whether to rate this album a perfect ten or not, since a few passages are a little monotonous to me, but what would I have them add?  I still love everything on here.  Even if the individual songs don't always jump out at me the way they would on a Beatles or Floyd album, the holistic product is much more than the sum of its parts.  Listening to this album is like walking into a cathedral of despair and leaving feeling just a tiny better about things, all because someone finally decided to ditch all the stupid idealism and level with you for once...and that's more valuable than ever these days. 

Calling All Stations (1997)

Artist: Genesis
Release Year: 1997

Rating: 2/10

Track Listing: 1) Calling All Stations; 2) Congo; 3) Shipwrecked; 4) Alien Afternoon; 5) Not About Us; 6) If That's What You Need; 7) The Dividing Line; 8) Uncertain Weather; 9) Small Talk; 10) There Must Be Some Other Way; 11) One Man's Fool.

A lot of good bands go bad.  Fewer good bands go terrible.  Even fewer bands traverse the entire territory of "terrible" and cross over into "bizarre", but that's what Genesis did with this turd of an album.  

Peter Gabriel and Steve Hackett are long gone, and now Phil Collins is out as well, leaving the questionable duo of Tony Banks and Mike Rutherford to carry on the mantle of Genesis.  But who would sing?  Of all people, that ended up being Ray Wilson of Stiltskin, a decent alt-rock band from Scotland.  Trouble is, Wilson's gruff, pained voice works a lot better in Stiltskin than in Genesis...but that's hardly the only flaw.

The much bigger issue is that this is not even a Genesis album in anything but name.  In fact, I don't know what to call it.  Imagine taking the alt-rock hits of the Nineties, removing all the cool guitar fuzz and any sort of edge they once had, slowing them all down to a sluggish tempo, then handing the whole mess to a half-intelligent computer and telling it to produce over an hour of what it considers to be music.  That might give you some sense of what this album is like.  It's godawful and no innocent person should have to sit through it.  It's like Pink Floyd circa 1987, but without the flashes of inspiration like "Learning to Fly".  It's rock structures, played at radio ballad speeds with weird electronic dribbling all over the place.  I literally said "Oh God, no" the first time I heard the opening of "Small Talk".  Even the passable chorus can't save this abomination from the hilarity of the little chants of "small talk!" everywhere.  Where's the barf bag?

The opening track sounds interesting for the first few seconds, until you realize the guitar riff is completely unsupported by the whiny, lifeless dronefest of a song.  Songs like "The Dividing Line" and "Alien Afternoon" are even worse: this time the absence of melody (and pulse) is dragged out for anywhere from five to eight minutes.  And with Ray Wilson moaning and slurring all the time, the songs sound even more tired and castrated, not to mention the listener's own fatigue as this album drags on for over a bloody hour.  Why are these songs so long?  Why are there all those industrial-sounding clangs and booms everywhere?  For atmosphere?  Sure reminds me of the cold, soulless factory of moribund pop music production, in that case.  

There may be some tolerable moments, like "Congo" and "Shipwrecked", and maybe the chorus of "Uncertain Weather", but even those are drenched in this album's lifeless production.  I admit it took me almost ten years before I could endure this whole thing in one go.  Four or five songs, max, and I wanted to clutch my head and rock back and forth in the corner.  This album is excruciating.  Maybe I wouldn't hate it as much if it were by someone other than Genesis, but it's hard to say for sure.  Why?  Because I don't listen to bands who make this kind of music, let alone review them-- this is just a special case to complete the Genesis discography.  

But, despite all this, I shall refrain from rating this album a 1/10, because that badge of shame is reserved for insipid Top 40 acts.

We Can't Dance (1991)

Artist: Genesis
Release Year: 1991

Rating: 4/10

Track Listing: 1) No Son of Mine; 2) Jesus He Knows Me; 3) Driving the Last Spike; 4) I Can't Dance; 5) Never a Time; 6) Dreaming While You Sleep; 7) Tell Me Why; 8) Living Forever; 9) Hold On My Heart; 10) Way of the World; 11) Since I Lost You; 12) Fading Lights.

Novelty does strange things - like compelling the music industry to squeeze every drop of disc space out of the shiny new CD format.  That's exactly what happened here, and the fact that it happened to a trio of long-running prog-turned-pop stars with a love of electronic elements, spelled near-disaster.  Apart from a few solid tracks, this album demonstrates just about everything Nirvana were rebelling against that same year: overproduction, blandness, and presumptuousness.  You know how there's that conspiracy theory about all the hip-hop record executives agreeing to favor consumerist lyrics over socially conscious ones by the early 90s?  I can't help but suspect there was a similar scheme to push sedatives like this onto suburban white people.

There are two epics on here.  First is "Driving the Last Spike": ostensibly a fan favorite, but a toss-up for me.  Okay, the guitar riffage near the climax is good, like the sunlight breaking through, and then the finale about "a new kind of order...they'll never see the likes of us...AGAIN!" is legitimately great.  But did they have to take five and a half sleepy minutes to get there?  Whatever.  You get more or less the same thing on "Fading Lights", which is marginally better, but trying to bring back the old prog magic after Invisible Touch was never going to work.  

Most of the rest are inoffensive, but in such a tepid way that I have a hard time remembering them at all.  Okay, I do remember "Hold On My Heart", of course, and I don't hate it like a lot of people seem to, even though it's just as trite as almost everything else on here.  Most of these songs overstay their welcome, and the production is disgustingly slick, with Phil's big booming drums often the only discernible instrument amid a swamp of synths and computer manipulation.  And speaking of which, I refuse to give them any points for the so-called "elephantus" sounds in "No Son of Mine".  Decent song (despite being melodramatic enough for a Lifetime TV movie), but Adrian Belew did that same effect over a decade prior.  Yawn!

For all that, there are two tracks that somewhat redeem this album.  The first is the fast, biting "Jesus He Knows Me", with its darkly humorous lyrics, catchy melody, and even great singing by Phil.  The other is the almost-title track "I Can't Dance", this time a deliberately off-balance, stompy song with a cool riff that sounds a lot tougher than the self-deprecating lyrics would suggest.  This was a hit that really deserved it (and I fondly remember the video on VH1, too!).  But after it's over, it's nothing but bland, sentimental schlock all the way to the end.  "We can't dance?"  More like "we can't entertain for more than ten consecutive minutes".

Invisible Touch (1986)

Artist: Genesis
Release Year: 1986

Rating: 5/10

Track Listing: 1) Invisible Touch; 2) Tonight, Tonight; Tonight; 3) Land of Confusion; 4) In Too Deep; 5) Anything She Does; 6) Domino; 7) Throwing It All Away; 8) The Brazilian.

Well, I guess that release year just about tells you all you need to know.  The art-pop subtleties are gone, and in a flurry of synths and drum machines, Genesis now take their place among the sterile adult pop acts of the mid-Eighties.  Hearing Genesis play this kind of music may not be as bad as hearing it from a bunch of other bands, but that still doesn't mean I want to hear this kind of music at all.

Right from the opening synth riff in the title track, we're made aware that the warmth and personality we once knew are long gone.  It's as mid-80s as it gets: catchy at the start, but aggressive and in-your-face as it continues, before committing the mortal sin that forever dooms a song in my eyes: the upward key change at the end!  I've ranted about this trope at length and would happily write a full essay on why I hate it so much, but that's for another day.

There are some good moments.  "Tonight, Tonight, Tonight" has a sense of danger that makes things interesting, although we eventually bog down in a sea of synths, drum machines, and a guitar tone that sounds more like TV static than anything.  At least Phil's usual exemplary real drumming comes in near the end.  I really love all the smooth twists and turns of "Throwing It All Away" - not to mention the cool riff and the different segments that flow together so well.  All the class and warmth of this song means it will always be a favorite of mine.  And "Land of Confusion" is source of inner conflict for me.  The thing sounds aggressively preachy, like the melody itself is shaming me for not effecting the kind of change these millionaire pop stars are demanding from us peons…and are those freaking MIDI sounds sprinkled in?  Yet, the song is an absolute rager throughout, and I can't dismiss it.  It's good.

But of course, I can't find as much to like for all the material on here.  "In Too Deep" is the tepid radio hit that makes adequate slow-dance music and nothing else, while "Domino" is a mess that doesn't begin to justify its length.  It smacks of the same problem they had in the Duke era: taking a pop song and stretching it to prog length to try to retain their old gravitas.  Unfortunately, that has about the same effect as trying to stretch a piece of bubblegum: it doesn't result in any more substance, and in fact it just aerates the product and kills the flavor.  And I can't even remember "Anything She Does", so never mind that one.  Finally, "The Brazilian" alternates between buzzing synths and even more annoying percussion.  It's all just so plastic.  

Sure, the world could see this coming since Duke, but at least that era's songs had some kind of nuance to them.  Here, it's just product, product, and more product.  The songs aren't that much different from before in terms of structure and melody-- play any one of these on an acoustic guitar and it will probably sound fine.  Not great, mind you, but fine.  It's the production, though, that makes me feel like I'm drowning in a sea of plastic and sterility, and slogging through that for 45 minutes is a bigger chore than an album should be.

Abacab (1981)

Artist: Genesis
Release Year: 1981

Rating: 8/10

Track Listing: 1) Abacab; 2) No Reply at All; 3) Me and Sarah Jane; 4) Keep It Dark; 5) Dodo/Lurker; 6) Who Dunnit; 7) Man on the Corner; 8) Like It or Not; 9) Another Record.

And finally, we arrive at the endpoint of the transformation.  The best feature of this album is that they ditched the prog aspirations before they threw out the desire for experimentation.  Yes, these are all pop songs, firmly in the New Wave vein that had taken over by 1981, but there's more than enough humor and general quirkiness to keep me happily entertained throughout.

The peppy and driving title track is full of nice effects and little nonsense vocal twists that almost turn into full hooks, but don't quite manage it.  A real shame that the production buried the guitars so far down, especially in the instrumental section, because Rutherford is playing some cool minimalistic New Wave licks under all those monotone drums and synths.  I prefer the bigger hit "No Reply at All", which is pure classic Phil, from the brass accents to his unmistakably exasperated vocal sound.  I think that quick "the buck stops he-ee-ere" moment in the bridge is my favorite moment on the album.

Maybe there are still some vestiges of prog, but by now they're just flavor to make the pop smart and distinguishable.  For instance, the centerpiece "Dodo/Lurker" starts out with some aggressive rocking verses, interspersed with some subdued ruminations that sound like a resentful beast under the ocean, waiting to rise.  Maybe that rising is what's depicted in the synth washes afterward... but those just pivot us into the humorous "Lurker" section, with that synth riff that won't leave your head for days.  And I like "Me and Sarah Jane", although the disparate elements within took about a dozen listens to gel together in my brain.  Once you manage it, though, it's an essential part of the record.  

The one atrocity is the nauseating "Who Dunnit?", which I assume was meant as a joke, but there's difference between being tongue-in-cheek, and taking the gimmick and running with it.  I can't stomach the offbeat bleating of "we know, we don't know" for more than five seconds.  They're not Gentle Giant, and this isn't "Knots" (and I still have trouble with that one too, but I digress).  

Probably the biggest shock is how much I love the dusky "Man on the Corner": it's moody and mysterious without being melodramatic, and the bridge is surprisingly emotional.  "Like a monkey on your back, you need it...but do you love it enough to leave it?"  Not the most profound statement out there, but it works.  Otherwise, you've got the wonky, weirdly infectious "Keep It Dark", and a pair of more generic pop tracks at the end that are acceptable, no more and no less, carried along by the strength of what came before.

Yeah, Tony is all over the place here, but in this case I'll give him a pass.  As long as the music is light and dynamic enough to not get bogged down in synthfests, I'm happy enough.

A Trick of the Tail (1976)

Artist: Genesis
Release Year: 1976

Rating: 8/10

Track Listing: 1) Dance on a Volcano; 2) Entangled; 3) Squonk; 4) Mad Man Moon; 5) Robbery, Assault and Battery; 6) Ripples; 7) A Trick of the Tail; 8) Los Endos.

The biggest question on everyone's mind in 1976, of course, was whether Phil Collins could pick up the torch after Peter Gabriel's departure, and I'd say this album provides a resounding "yes".  This album may not be the most coherent, but these songs all have an individual personality that demands my attention to each.

Right off the bat with "Dance on a Volcano", we're thrown into a rocking groove with an infectious hook of "better start doing it rii-ii-iight", and everyone's really tight throughout this complex song.  Next, I have to admit I'm a sucker for the intermittent bars of 7/8 throughout "Entangled", a story of psychotherapy through medically-induced hallucinations-- not just because I'm a nerd, but because it really aids the feeling of unease throughout this eerie trip through interlocking guitar passages and creepy choral voices.

Hackett's best moment on here is easily on "Ripples", a song that's beautiful already if you're not paying attention to the lyrics, which is for the best if you want to avoid the awful existential crisis within.  But the emotional vocals from Phil and the soaring, ethereal solo from Hackett are enough to make me endure the reminders about getting older and uglier.  I wish there was more for Steve Hackett to do on this album, but at least there's enough of Phil's unpredictable, jazzy drum style to spice things up.  He's an absolute superhero throughout all of the arena epic "Squonk", both in terms of vocals and on the drums.

Sadly, this album slumps in the middle.  "Mad Man Moon" is pretty in places, but a slow and plodding thing like this would have been better at four minutes instead of nearly eight.  "Robbery, Assault and Battery" annoys me too, and not just because the title doesn't use an Oxford comma.  On an album of mythical beasts and existential crises, a comedy about criminals just seems out of place, and I find it mostly an inferior copy of "The Battle of Epping Forest", at least until Mike Rutherford's and Collins' rhythm freakouts.

The title track is a ridiculously fun and bouncy story of a earnest little creature who wanders into the human world, and it's easily the best singalong moment of mid-period Genesis.  Then there's a reprise of all these tracks on "Los Endos", which I could do without, but it's not offensive-- just forgettable.

Their most underrated album to my ears, this one is usually cited as a refutation of the "pop sellout" allegations that people throw at the post-Gabriel years.  Maybe that's fair at face value (no pun intended); but having heard the next few albums, I can't help thinking a lot of these songs were still carried by their earlier, prog-stage inertia.

The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway (1974)

Artist: Genesis
Release Year: 1974

Rating: 9/10

Track Listing: 1) The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway; 2) Fly on a Windshield; 3) Broadway Melody of 1974; 4) Cuckoo Cocoon; 5) In the Cage; 6) The Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging; 7) Back in NYC; 8) Hairless Heart; 9) Counting Out Time; 10) Carpet Crawlers; 11) The Chamber of 32 Doors; 12) Lilywhite Lilith; 13) The Waiting Room; 14) Anyway; 15) The Supernatural Anaesthetist; 16) The Lamia; 17) Silent Sorrow in Empty Boats; 18) The Colony of Slippermen;  19) Ravine; 20) The Light Dies Down on Broadway; 21) Riding the Scree; 22) In the Rapids; 23) It.

Well, if you haven't done a rock opera, are you even a prog band?  This may no longer be the musical zenith of the Gabriel period, but it's certainly the philosophical one: the band starts out grounded in the shoes of a downtrodden Puerto Rican from the streets of New York, and ends up making metaphysical declarations about identity and reality.

And why not, because right from the pattering piano opening of the title track, we're thrust into a cavalcade of very real characters and scenes.  The melody may be a bit dramatic, like a musical would be, but we are talking about a young man with issues here, so maybe it fits.  There's a real sense of bright lights flashing across every little vignette to drop us into a bustling, tireless, grimy and brutal New York City for this epic story, and it's fantastic.

From here, I don't know how to summarize the story well.  An angry young delinquent named Rael navigates a surreal world in search of his brother John, who continuously eludes him.  In the process, Rale interacts with bizarre characters, cheats death, and is finally forced to surrender his manhood (literally and figuratively) in exchange for a chance at saving John.  Knowing the story may be helpful for understanding the music better, but the details of the specific scenes often don't make much sense, so you pick your poison.

Getting back to the individual songs, there's the dizzying, multi-part suite of "In the Cage" that alternates between impatient, thrashing frustration and momentary glimpses of hope, such a well-crafted piece that I don't even mind the synth wankery in the middle.  A highlight for sure.  Rael's reminiscing on "Back in NYC" is a bit awkward at times, but I can't imagine the album without all those bitter and sneering verses about the insatiable crisis of insecurity that the guy is dealing with-- a timeless struggle, as today's headlines would attest.  We have the morose, almost clinical instrumental of "Hairless Heart" to foreshadow Rael's ultimate fate, before the mood whiplashes to black comedy in the catchy-as-hell "Counting Out Time", in which Hackett's dorky guitar solo choreographs Rael's disastrous attempts at sex.  

The best, though, is "Carpet Crawlers".  That kind of creepiness and beauty can rarely be combined so well-- just imagine a rich mahogany dining hall with luxurious carpet and a nice fireplace...covered with withered, desperate invalids trying to scrape their way into a warped passage they'll never reach.  And the way the gentle music and vocals swell upward with each verse, like a warm fire creeping up on us, a bit too close for comfort, is up there with the greatest Genesis moments ever.

The second disc is less impressive, but the great moments are still emotional and beautiful.  I'd kick myself for not mentioning the advantage of Tony Banks often choosing classical piano over synths, which really helps keep this thing afloat.  I have no problem getting through the entire thing-- but I'd still advise wearing proper PPE just in case.  "The Colony of Slippermen" gets into some nicely weird grooves as Rael discovers the very symbolic need to cut off his schlong to regain his humanity (long story, so just trust me here).  Before that, Steve Hackett lets loose with some nice solos in "Anyway" and "Supernatural Anaesthetist", if you can pick them before the fatigue that starts to sink in.

Despite that, almost everything is alive and breathing, and all the characters are memorable.  It's just that the album as a whole is long and bloated and dense, and the second disc in particular drags a fair amount.  We don't need all the ambient noises like on "The Waiting Room" (though some are nicely creepy), and the climactic scene in the river could have been shortened to increase its urgency and impact.  Come on, did we really need a full four and a half tracks to describe Rael chasing down his severed pecker?   In other places, such as "The Lamia", the story enters some really interesting phases, but the depiction of that perfumed, sedative atmosphere bogs the music down too much unless you're really dedicated.

Then, there's the climax, in which Rael forsakes his fleeting chance to return home.  Why?  Because he sees his wayward brother drowning in the river, and it's after only a moment's deliberation that we hear the triumphant "HEY JOHN!" that makes the whole bloated journey worthwhile to me.  The rest is a bit sluggish, but still emotional and tender as Rael saves his brother and makes a discovery that I won't spoil.

I could go on even more about our protagonist, but this is long enough as is.  Rael is young in body, reckless in spirit, but ultimately immature and impotent against greater forces, and Peter Gabriel's performance to portray this complex character is second to none.  This was the instance of Gabriel giving the proverbial "last full measure", exhausting himself in the final push toward a higher purpose.  After this, he would quit the band and go on to a successful solo career that I suppose I'll have to dig into at some point.  

...And Then There Were Three... (1978)

Artist: Genesis
Release Year: 1978

Rating: 5/10

Track Listing: 1) Down and Out; 2) Undertow; 3) Ballad of Big; 4) Snowbound;  5) Burning Rope; 6) Deep in the Motherlode; 7) Many Too Many; 8) Deep in a Night's Dream; 9) Say It's Alright Joe; 10) The Lady Lies; 11) Follow You Follow Me.

Well, here we are: Peter Gabriel and Steve Hackett are gone, leaving this very self-aware trio to break into pop stardom.  How they did it with an album like this, though, is beyond me.  Where Wuthering had me wondering what might come next, only to be disappointed by the same grayness again and again,  And Then There Were Three is the opposite: I often didn't care what was next, but occasionally got a pleasant surprise-- at least, when I was really working to pay attention.  There are great moments, but you still need a chisel to get this stuff out, and that's no good.

The first big hit was "Follow You Follow Me", a mushy love ballad with lyrics that would make me gag, if not for the nice winding vocal melody in the chorus that helps to sell everything.  Throw in that warm, "scraping" guitar effect and the bouncy "zoop zoop" sounds on the drums, and you're all set.  "Burning Rope" has a really warm and humanistic chorus that's very nice, but the most hopeful point for me was the guitar solo that almost sounds like it could be Steve Hackett returned-- but nope, it's Rutherford.  Too bad the song is several minutes longer than it needs to be.

"Down and Out" is a promising rocker, with an intense performance from Phil on both vocals and drums in all sorts of weird time signatures, but the guitars are mixed too low to give it all the energy it deserves.  Similar complaints apply to "Deep in a Night's Dream", even if the thing is more straightforward.  "Snowbound"  is pretty and evokes the image of shimmering snow at midnight very well, with a soaring chorus that somehow still makes everything sound lonely and sad.  A strange choice for a song about hiding a murder victim in a snowman, but they nail the frigid feeling well enough to get praise from me.

The rest of this album, though, is mostly a bore.  Don't get me wrong-- it's all played and sung very well, but there's just some missing piece that could have prevented the record from sounding as bleak as the drab album art.  "Undertow" has a really nice and heartfelt chorus, but do I want to try to follow the sleepy, wandering verses to get there?  Sorry, but occasional bursts of light can't break the inky monotony of this album.  Even the livelier moments, like in "Ballad of Big", sound like they're struggling to throw off a weighted blanket.  "Say It's Alright Joe" is probably the worst offender here.  At least there are fewer synthfests this time around.

A lot of these songs probably would have been better off on other albums, where some more dynamic production and melodic variety could have helped them pop out more.  As it is, though, they coalesce into a dark mass that I find hard to enjoy beginning to end.  I can at least see myself listening to some of these songs on their own, which is more than I can say about Wind & Wuthering, but I'll probably still have to chase it with something from Abacab.

Selling England by the Pound (1973)

Artist: Genesis
Release Year: 1973

Rating: 9/10

Track Listing: 1) Dancing with the Moonlit Knight; 2) I Know What I Like (In Your Wardrobe); 3) Firth of Fifth; 4) More Fool Me; 5) The Battle of Epping Forest; 6) After the Ordeal; 7) The Cinema Show; 8) Aisle of Plenty.

"Can you tell me where my country lies?"  The thesis statement of this album is, I suppose, a parallel to that of The Kinks' Village Green Preservation Society: that the quaint and jolly old England of yesteryear has been ravaged and eviscerated by the monolith of bland modernity. As a non-Englishman, I cannot evaluate this statement personally, but I can express my gratitude that this album doesn't detour from the music to preach at us the way other concept albums have.  Good thing, too, because Selling England is probably the best thing Genesis ever did.

The opening "Dancing with the Moonlit Knight" is every bit as epic and triumphant as the medieval heroes of old it intends to portray, yet with a portentous feeling for what's to come.  I could go on for at least a few paragraphs about this track, but instead I'm going to point out my favorite bits and hope that that will suffice:

1.  At 1:45, Gabriel's bleating vibrato on "you don't give a da-aa-amn".  

2. At 2:05 - 2:23, Phil's inventive, off-kilter drumming to contrast Peter's rising vocals.  

3. Around 3:07, Steve Hackett's guitar solo, which evokes a bewildering march of simultaneous progress and decay , followed immediately by a wordless lamentation of the "new England" that is then illustrated by the "fat old lady outside the saloon".  

4.  At 4:38, the repeat of the chorus with the different lyric, "with a twist of the world we go", implying an unstoppable march of time much too large for the heroes of old to resist.  

5.  At 6:15, the four-note phrase that is repeated until the end of the song, like a delicate leaf floating to earth, with the strings swelling gently behind it.  Maybe a bit too long, but only on a bad day.

"I Know What I Like" may be a harbinger of the pop days to come, but it's fortunately accented with both Rutherford's rubbery bass lines and Lord Phil's insanely fun drumming.  And when the ecstatic "YEEAHH!" brings us into the final chorus, followed by the declaration that "you can tell me by the way I walk", we're just begging for a smug little mic-drop moment, which we get with that tooting recorder in the coda.

Then we come to "Firth of Fifth", possibly my favorite Genesis song in spite of the terrible lyrics.  That classical piano intro is a thing of magnificent majesty…why couldn't Tony Banks play like this more often?  Then we have some rudimentary, hymn-like verses, a mysterious, satyr-like flute solo, a shimmering synth breakdown, an achingly sublime guitar solo-- overflowing with all sorts of bends and satisfying trills and longing sustains, as if searching for something we know must remain out of reach-- and it all ends with a tinkling reprise of the intro, suggesting a sparkling river flowing away under a bright sun.  Such majesty and beauty, yet with that cloud of foreboding over it all the time, this is the very zenith: a place that the band would never reach again.

The rest of the album is mostly great, just not as stellar as these first three songs.  "More Fool Me" is a nice little ballad that allows Phil to the mic for the first time (foreshadowing!).  Then, "The Battle of Epping Forest" is fun in places, with Gabriel taking on a load of characters in a surreal turf war between a couple of gangs.  But although it starts out strong, it's ultimately too gimmicky and all-over-the-place for me to love it.  I don't need the play-by-play narration of something like this through a dozen different sections.  But at least they fit together well enough, and the satirical humor makes the verbosity worthwhile-- listen to the story of the accountants keeping track of the carnage, for instance.  So much to be impressed by here, yet I just find it too long, which is a real shame.

"After the Ordeal" is a nice instrumental that allows us to breathe after the chaos of the "Battle", which is critical before the delicate "Cinema Show".   After the mundane lyrics about young lovers, this one actually becomes similar to "Firth of Fifth" somewhere in its plaintive solos and expansion to "greater" themes.  "Take a little trip back with Father Tiresias", indeed!  But I'm glad to note, after the transcendent cascades of choral voices and synth breakdowns and guitar wizardry and even more of Phil's dizzying, outstanding drumming, they didn't return to the "everyman" theme of the verse at the end.  We're too far gone into the mystical now, and there's no turning back.  Not until we awaken into what England has become, that is.  

Speaking of which, "Aisle of Plenty" wraps things up on a bleak note, with that ironic reprise of "Moonlit Knight" paved over with the mad raving of supermarket price tags.  Who'd have predicted Genesis would wrap up a social statement with less optimism than Pink Floyd did on Animals?  

My usual complaints about Genesis do not apply to this album.  Nowhere on here do I feel the need for more interesting playing to spice up the longer passages, because everything is so thrilling beginning to end.  This is how prog should be done, and it's too bad that the wheels would start to come loose again not long after.  Maybe it should get a ten...I haven't decided yet.

Walk Away Renee/Pretty Ballerina (1967)

Artist: The Left Banke
Release Year: 1967

Rating: 10/10

Track Listing: 1) Pretty Ballerina; 2) She May Call You Up Tonight; 3) Barterers and Their Wives; 4) I've Got Something on My Mind; 5) Let Go of You Girl; 6) Evening Gown; 7) Walk Away Renee; 8) What Do You Know; 9) Shadows Breaking Over My Head; 10) I Haven't Got the Nerve; 11) Lazy Day.

Alright, I admit it: I needed a pick-me-up after slogging through Wind & Wuthering again.  

I don't know if Michael Brown should stand alongside Lennon/McCartney as a songwriting god, but I'm never going to say that he shouldn't.  He's the main creative force here, and the next albums really suffered from his departure.  This is one of the most gorgeous pop albums I've ever had the pleasure to experience, and it absolutely delivers the melodic hooks to support the aesthetic.

And what is that aesthetic?  Baroque pop rock, complete with violin, harpsichord, and all the lush harmonies you could want.  I feel a little dirty saying this, but it's almost like the bubblegum pop genre shared a common ancestor with this record, albeit with the Left Banke obviously taking the sunny disposition and immaculate hooks in a much more artistic and meaningful direction.  Yes, the album would still be fine without that baroque, almost medieval flavor that's been injected into what would otherwise be a set of standard pop tunes-- but it's that very element that brings out every incredible aspect of Brown's astounding gift for songwriting.  Everything works, and I doubt we'd be here if he hadn't been given the space to fully develop these songs into the orchestrated gems they ultimately became.

The album is titled after the two singles, and those are probably the best songs on here, but all of them are great.  "Pretty Ballerina" is stately yet airy, floating along into that gorgeous "was I surprised, yeea-aa-ahh" before the falsetto resolution.  "Walk Away Renee" would overflow with intolerable sentimentality in someone else's hands, but it ends up a masterpiece instead, because the longing is just portrayed that well in that gorgeous melody.  Then there's "Barterers and Their Wives", the most obviously "medieval" song on here, pairing a bouncy melody with a brilliant vocal twist in the chorus-- and some low harmonies to give it a bit of gravitas.

There are so many other little touches to call out, like the insistent, bubbling bass on "Let Go of You Girl", or the swirling intensity of "Evening Gown", or the angelic harmonies in the bridge of the ominous "Shadows Breaking Over My Head" that might even beat out the Beach Boys, or the buildup of anticipation in "She May Call You Up Tonight" that you almost don't realize the extent of until you fall back into the chorus.  And yeah, I do have to pick out "What Do You Know" as the oddball country number on here that sounds a fair bit like "What Goes On" from on Rubber Soul.  Hey-- it's even track eight!  Points off of originality for that one?  Nah.

This album sounds like the late morning sun shining through stained glass, with maybe some youthful pining to add a small, exquisite emotional ache to the picture.  It's hazy and dreamy, overflowing with images of dewy flowers and ladies-in-waiting and unsent love letters: youthful and romantic, but noble and classy.  I don't care that this album drips with all sorts of sugary sappiness, because it's the most delectable, gourmet-quality sweetness that's out there.  All those string flourishes, harpsichord accents, and warm vocal harmonies that become desperate in just the right places are legendary to my ears, and that's that.

Wind & Wuthering (1976)

Artist: Genesis
Release Year: 1976

Rating: 4/10

Track Listing: 1) Eleventh Earl of Mar; 2) One for the Vine; 3) Your Own Special Way; 4) Wot Gorilla; 5) All in a Mouse's Night; 6) Blood on the Rooftops; 7) Unquiet Slumber for the Sleepers; 8) In That Quiet Earth; 9) Afterglow.

I sure am glad I had a nice strong cup of coffee handy while I was listening to this thing again, because this album really does sound like its cover art, and that's a bad thing.  The whole record is like a mass of grey mist that coalesced perfectly within the chalk outline of the corpse of classic prog, and was posthumously declared in some dumb posh accent to be "very classy and mature".  No, I don't know exactly what that means, but I do know that it fits.  So much of this album is ridden with maddening synths and cloying production that I struggle to get through it in its entirety.  Steve Hackett is buried in the mix, leaving Tony Banks to drench us in…well, in whatever his endless synth tangents leave behind.

The opener "Eleventh Earl of Mar" is a solid piece that alternates between rocking, with some exciting guitar work from Hackett, and ballad, with plaintive keys from Tony, while serving as a reaffirmation of Phil Collins' place as "lead drummer".  In fact, it sounds a lot like it could've been on Lamb, so that's nice.  And I almost don't care how sappy and saccharine the "Your Own Special Way" is when it provides a breath of air from the thick shroud of sedative gas that is this album-- plus, I love the contrast between the baroque waltzing verses and the hymn-like revelation of the chorus.  

But.  Everything else is a drone of synths, presented with such a theatrical seriousness, even when the lyrics are ostensibly humorous (e.g., "Mouse's Night"); yet, the aggressive tiredness of this prescription-strength downer just can't be shaken off.  Sure, there's the acoustic guitar and oboe at the start of "Blood on the Rooftops", which are promising, but then the song refuses to break us from the coma.  Just the same grey, rainy, sleepy character that plagues the entire disc-- hell, one character even says he hates staying up late and would rather have some tea!  What a bore.

The main problem, I think, is that some of these songs sound like they were written as 3- to 4-minute pop tracks, and were then extended to "prog length" after the fact.  For instance, I do like the heartfelt beginning of "One for the Vine", with the classical piano illustrating the story and all, but then the thing just meanders around and around with no real direction, which means I feel every bit of those ten minutes.  The slog from track 7 onward is little better.  

Most of this album blows.  How it continues to be heaped with praise is far beyond my understanding.

Slowhand (1977)

Artist: Eric Clapton
Release Year: 1977

Rating: 7/10

Track Listing: 1) Cocaine; 2) Wonderful Tonight; 3) Lay Down Sally; 4) Next Time You See Her; 5) We're All the Way; 6) The Core; 7) May You Never; 8) Mean Old Frisco; 9) Peaches and Diesel.

This is the first time I've ever listened to an Eric Clapton solo album beginning to end, and I can't say I'm surprised at anything I've heard: masterful guitar playing, soulful singing, plenty of blues throwbacks, and an annoying sense of commercialism.  

No doubt that Eric Clapton rocks out on here with the best of 'em...but hovering somewhere over most of these songs is a thin, but noticeable, shroud of commercial production-- not enough to turn me off the album, but this certainly isn't the Cream era anymore.  For instance, take "Next Time You See Her".  It's smooth and agreeable enough, but it sounds like a mid-60s Dylan tune that lost its mojo, and I'm thankful for those guitar stings and swoops to spice it up.  Hell, even the harder, rustier, bluesier songs like "Mean Old Frisco" sound like they're struggling to shake off the burden of adult contempo from time to time.

There are some exceptions, though.  "Cocaine" is an all-time great, of course-- no one can match the smug, almost bragging way that Clapton embraced JJ Cale's famous tune.  That swaggering riff and the tasty guitar solos are the stuff of legend.  And I do like the female co-vocals from Marcy Levy on "The Core", and the song is lively enough all the way through to sound right at home at a rooftop party, so I can almost forget that parts of it also sound like they were meant to sell timeshares to swingers.  This is the track where Clapton lets rip with the best solos on the album, too-- pity he couldn't get that sax player to shut up, and...wait-- is that Mel Collins?  Never mind; carry on, sir!

Then there's the matter of "Wonderful Tonight", which as far as I'm concerned is straight-up commercial pap, and I don't care how deeply he might've been in love with Patti Boyd at the time.  I mean, she cheated on George, so what do you expect her to do to you?  Especially since you're a coke-addled abuser yourself, you asshole!  Anyway, the song would be nothing without that heavenly slide guitar riff, so I'll just praise that element and ignore the rest.

Overall, a solid album all the way through, but I can't see myself putting it on again anytime soon.  Even when it's rocking out, there's just too much of that slick commercial sound to it, turning the whole thing a bit more syrupy than I'd expect our high priest of Cream to be.

Foxtrot (1972)

Artist: Genesis
Release Year: 1972

Rating: 9/10

Track Listing: 1) Watcher of the Skies; 2) Time Table; 3) Get 'Em Out By Friday; 4) Can-Utility and the Coastliners; 5) Horizons; 6) Supper's Ready.

Finally, all the pieces fall into place, and the resulting musical landscape is richer and more enthralling than ever before.  

The opening of "Watcher of the Skies" may not be a complex passage, but something about the atmosphere completely nails it this time around.  When those ominous Mellotron washes begin, it sounds exactly like the parting of dark clouds over some epic scene, and then that throbbing bass riff builds up the suspense even more, before Gabriel announces himself with the cry of "Watcher of the skies!  Watcher of all!"  The track is a great place to hear Phil Collins' skills, too, with his work on the second verse being my favorite part.  A true Genesis classic, this one.

There may not be anything strikingly novel about "Time Table", but it's still beautiful with its soft balladry and the gentle, pattering piano breaks - not to mention that the anguished "why...whyyy-yyyy?" in the chorus was the first moment that sold me on Gabriel's prowess as a frontman.  If that hadn't done it, however, then his exceptional performance on "Get 'Em Out By Friday" certainly would have.  To be able to portray a conflict between scummy landlords, a tyrannical government, and poor tenants, each with their own voices AND their own leitmotif, and still make it flow as well as this song does, takes a great deal of talent.  Mike Rutherford might be the unsung hero of this song, though: just listen to him at the beginning of the instrumental section, for example, or how he marks the emotional transition at the "announcement from Genetic Control".  "Can-Utility and the Coastliners" is a little too uneven in its ups and downs to do much for me, but I admit the "crown him, crown him" refrain has something going for it, and it does retain the feel of the rest of the album.

Then, of course, the lovely acoustic passage "Horizons" sets the stage for the famous "Supper's Ready".  I suppose you could write at least one dissertation on that song, considering how much goes on in those twenty-three minutes.  Briefly, it's the story of a modern Book of Revelations, but with enough surrealism and divergence along the way to negate my usual complaints about religious retellings.  Yes, the song really deserves its praise-- the only complaint I have is that the acoustic beginning is a bit too slow for how simple and quasi-atmospheric it is.  Things soon pick up, though, when the Antichrist appears and leads us into the first rocking section, a battle between conquerors and victims, signaled by Hackett's guitar solo.  Then, a period of quiet mourning gives way to a humorous and bizarre "Willow Farm", possibly my favorite section, before "Apocalypse in 9/8" erupts into all kinds of the best progressive rock chaos, with Gabriel in top form as he describes the ravaging of the mortal Earth.  I actually really like Tony Banks' playing here: he provides enough structure to lead us through without taking over completely, and we're even able to appreciate Phil Collins' exemplary drumming in that time signature as if it's the most natural thing in the world.  Then there's the climactic return home, with Steve Hackett's blazing guitar depicting angelic choruses, and Peter Gabriel triumphantly announcing the "new Jerusalem", and it's clear that this was an emotional moment for him personally.  Not perfect, not the best prog song ever, but still-- what a ride.

So, yeah, for my money, this is the best Genesis album: hardly a second wasted, no annoying synthfests, no jarring segues into passages they didn't quite nail...just solid fantasy that remains gripping throughout.  I also have to say that I love Mike Rutherford's playing throughout this album.  From the grumbling opening of "Watcher of the Skies" to the furious bursts and punches in "Can-Utility", and of course the frantic sections of "Supper's Ready", he really is an unsung hero on this record.

Nursery Cryme (1971)

Artist: Genesis
Release Year: 1971

Rating: 7/10

Track Listing: 1) The Musical Box; 2) For Absent Friends; 3) The Return of the Giant Hogweed; 4) Seven Stones; 5) Harold the Barrel; 6) Harlequin; 7) The Fountain of Salmacis.

Here we arrive at what most would call the "classic period" of Genesis: Phil Collins and Steve Hackett are aboard, the boring passages of old are mostly discarded, and the band moves firmly into prog territory.  Although the balance would be tenuous enough to fall apart in a few short years, this is where the good decidedly outshines the bad...as long as you can follow along with all the whiplash-inducing changes between one beautiful section and another, of course.  

The opening song "The Musical Box" is outstanding throughout, right from the timeless harpsichord intro to every other segment of pleading, sighing, crooning, and shouting Gabriel carries us through.  It takes a bit too long to build up to the wicked middle section, but that's a minor complaint when Hackett rips in with that solo.  And the ending, with the desperate "touch me, now, NOW, NOO-OOOWWW!" is electrifying.  This song is everything great about early Genesis.  Then there's the stomping, jagged "Giant Hogweed", which mostly succeeds in making a plant sound terrifying, at least when the band isn't leaning on their very English absurdism.  But the flute and guitar solos are tasteful and fun without bogging these eight minutes down, and Phil Collins' drumming is outstanding.

I do like the morose, dreamy "Seven Stones", as well as the hymn-like "For Absent Friends" and the slightly inferior "Harlequin", which are both pretty, but not stellar.  "Harold the Barrel" is supposed to be a joke, but it just sounds dumb, and I don't care how much of a party pooper that makes me.  

The album is probably summed up the best by "The Fountain of Salmacis", though.  The opening is irresistible, with the sweeping, majestic (Mellotron) strings, a moment to which we return multiple times throughout the song, as if stepping back in awe each time.  As usual, though, my favorite element is Steve Hackett's weeping guitar, and I only wish he'd been given more to do until the frantic middle section.  The story is another ripoff of Greek mythology, go figure-- sorry, I have no patience for religious retellings in any format.  At least this song feels a little more coherent than the ones that came before, even if the falsetto vocal sections sound a bit like a bored child's off-the-cuff musical hallucinations.  But the whole thing is just too cinematic for me to ignore.

So, why only a seven?  Well, the album has a certain unstable quality to it, like it's being played and sung sideways in a funhouse mirror, and with most of the songs sounding like they want to resolve somewhere but never really managing it.  The chord changes, the start-and-stop moments, the melodic turns and changes of mood and motif-- they all seem so drastic and aren't always connected well, and that makes it hard for me to remember all of it.  With more coherent structure, this could have been a truly great album, but as it is I cannot rank it above "consistently interesting" and "very good".  It has been growing on me, though.

Christopher Cross (1979)

Artist: Christopher Cross
Release Year: 1979

Rating: 8/10

Track Listing: 1) Say You'll Be Mine; 2) I Really Don't Know Anymore; 3) Spinning; 4) Never Be the Same; 5) Poor Shirley; 6) Ride Like the Wind; 7) The Light Is On; 8) Sailing; 9) Minstrel Gigolo.

There's so much "nothing" to be said about adult contemporary product like this, except that sometimes there's so much praise to heap on it anyway.  

In a flash of revelation, I realized this album is like a Bob Ross painting: it's pretty, everything is rendered properly, all the brushstrokes are in the right places, it's perfectly suitable to hang in your guest room, and most would never notice the lack of whatever "edge" is demanded by more discerning eyes.  I mean, who wouldn't love the "happy little trees" and everything that makes us feel all cozy inside?  It's just not "high art", perhaps because there's no subtlety or ambiguity: what you see is what you get, and you could just as well have taken a photograph.  But that misses the point when both artist and audience manage to get something more out of the process, even if I personally would toss it out in favor of Remain in Light or something that ruffles a few more feathers.

One could insist that "real" art could never be churned out in the space of a half hour the way Bob Ross did it, that the result could be nothing more than glossy, cynical, soulless product; yet, we must remember a few things.  The "high art" we see in galleries would be meaningless without our ability to contrast it against the mounds of "low art" that hangs in our in-laws' dining rooms, and we must eventually confront the reality that some of that "low art" is, in fact, very very nice, and we look forward to seeing it when we sit down for a meal on Sunday night.  

Long story short, sometimes that so-called dreck is made by a professional who does know exactly what they are doing, and just so happens to produce something that sells very well.  That's what I think happened here.  The album may be as edgy and subversive as a scented pinecone, but I don't call Cross himself a sellout-- judging by his obvious talents, he just happened to be in the right place at the right time.

Philosophy aside, I've yet to describe what this album sounds like, but I don't feel bad about that.  You know "Ride Like the Wind" and you know "Sailing", and the other seven songs are essentially different ratios of one to the other.  It's all yacht rock par excellence-- hell, Michael McDonald even shows up for a few songs!  All the acoustic guitar, piano, strings, brass accents, and tasteful jazzy electric guitar licks you can desire for a well-groomed, acceptable evening out on a patio in a little gated subdivision...you know the rest.  I should hate how much I like this album, but I don't.  

Yes, that flamingo ended up being the perfect logo for Christopher Cross: calming, superficially beautiful, marketable, inoffensive, sentimental...and a plastic product for tacky people to display on their front lawns.  But sometimes that's fine.  All the saccharine utterances of "it may take me a long long time" and "save ourselves from all of our pain" and whatnot should make me puke, but the truth is that it's just done so wonderfully that I can't seriously condemn a second of this album.  I'll just keep trying to forget that all that neutered, sterile, synthetic production managed to edge out The Wall for Album of the Year.

PS: I ultimately had to upgrade this album to an 8/10 after I realized it's a regular listen for me.  Maybe I'll rewrite this review later into something less patronizing, but I'm still working through the inner turmoil.  Forgive me, Chris.