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.