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The possibilities afforded to composers since the birth of electronic instruments together with a willingness to explore different fields ensured that formal music progressed. The appropriation of classical music forms by rock musicians from the late 60s onwards marked the birth of progressive rock.

David Bedford was equally at home in both camps, at the forefront of a movement ensuring that all forms of music could be appreciated by everyone and anyone

By ProgBlog, May 19 2018 08:29PM

If you choose to go to a pub, which will more likely than not be showing some desperately important sporting event and could, theoretically, be showing more than one, you know that the combined volume of the clientele, competing with televised commentary, is going to make casual conversation with your mates somewhat difficult; this is to be expected. Similarly, you don’t go to a football match for serenity or a quiet chat. My team, Crystal Palace are well known for their vociferous supporters and the atmosphere at Selhurst Park is acknowledged as being one of the best in the Premier League; even Palace’s away support is regarded as acting as a twelfth man. Having realistically secured continued top-flight status with a couple of games to spare before the end of the season, our final match of 2017-18 last Sunday, against already relegated West Bromwich Albion was free of nerves for both the fans and the players, so the crowd behaviour was loud and uninhibited. On this occasion too, the Baggies fans were splendid, corrupting a well-known chant to ‘Que sera, sera, whatever will be, will be. We’re going to Shrewsbury...’


Crystal Palace vs West Bromwich Albion 13.05.18
Crystal Palace vs West Bromwich Albion 13.05.18

I had always thought that you go to a gig for the music but it’s becoming increasingly evident that not everyone thinks that way. A comment in the Paper Late column in Prog magazine (Prog 87) nicely illustrated that the matter is getting seriously out-of-hand and, in my experience, it doesn’t matter what form the venue takes whether that’s the Royal Festival Hall, the Royal Albert Hall, the Shepherd’s Bush Empire or some small club on the outskirts of some Italian city.


My first experience of irritating mid-gig conversationalists where I genuinely couldn’t concentrate on the music was at one of London’s hippest venues, the Shepherd’s Bush Empire, where I’d gone to see a double bill of Caravan and Curved Air in October 2011. Part of the problem was that I was in the unreserved seating on the third level where the proprietors had deemed it sensible to install a bar. This meant that there was a steady stream of punters going up to buy drinks joining those who had taken up positions from which to survey the proceedings while enjoying their beers, and to talk loudly. Noise from the bar at the Troxy (Steven Wilson, March 2015) also dented my enthusiasm, making me wish that all venues would restrict sales of drinks to an area outside the auditorium. Even this contingency is not enough to eliminate idle chat; there are a number of bars outside the concert halls at the Royal Festival and Royal Albert Halls, but sitting next to me at the Dweezil Zappa performance (RFH, October 2017) were a couple of Zappa experts who were unable to let the music speak for itself, providing a running commentary and critique and dulling my enjoyment.


The gig fatigue I experienced at the end of March this year, following a weekend in Milan with a late-running event on the Friday and a dash back to London for Yes on the Sunday, culminated in a disappointing show from Steven Wilson at the Royal Albert Hall on the Tuesday. After that Troxy gig, I’m wondering if Wilson attracts loudmouths to his shows, willing to pay a not insubstantial sum for their seats but who don’t seem to be very bothered with the music, the spectacle, or those around them who do want to watch and listen. My companion on that particular occasion, someone I wouldn’t describe as harbouring violent thoughts, did confess that he wanted to punch the guilty pair seated behind us but rationality prevailed and, after a word to one of them during the interval, the second set was largely comment-free. On the other hand, having any number of bars outside the hall does not prohibit concert-goers from becoming inebriated either before or during the performance, irritatingly demonstrated by a couple immediately in front of me at the same Steven Wilson show.


Large venues make money from ticket pricing and inflated food and drink charges; small venues like The Half Moon, Putney tend to have moderate pricing for tickets. ESP 2.0 last month cost a very reasonable £10 in advance (£12 on the door) and charged normal London beer prices; a couple of the clubs I’ve attended in Italy seem to mark-up the cost of a drink so that you’re paying a little more than you would in a local bar without music, though the admission charge for two, three or even four bands is exceptionally good, ranging from €10 - €15.


Most of the more intimate gigs I attend, both at home and in Italy are in pubs or clubs where there is no physical barrier between the bar and the stage and with only the rare exception the audience is content to listen. After the Palace match it was straight up to the Fiddler’s Elbow for a prog night, organised by Malcolm Galloway of Hats Off Gentlemen It’s Adequate, one of three bands on the bill (the others being Servants of Science and The Tirith); fortunately the crowd was only there for the music, because the stage area and the bar were only a few metres apart.



It was my first visit to the Grade II listed venue (the building dates back to 1856), even though it has been putting on gigs since the 1970s. It’s co-owned by Dan Maiden, a musician and promoter, and local businesswoman Nancy Wild who pride themselves on their professional approach, offering a platform for unsigned music and acting as a showcase for up-and-coming talent. It’s fair to say that both Servants of Science (based in Brighton) and Hats Off Gentlemen It’s Adequate are relatively new to the scene; the former released a widely acclaimed album The Swan Song at the end of last year and HOGIA have somehow managed to put out three CDs since they formed: Invisible (2012); When the Kill Code Fails (2015); and Broken but Still Standing (2017). Their 2015 offering won plaudits from Steve Hackett but the writing shifted from post-rock towards prog on Broken, where the first fifteen minutes includes some stunning flute, putting it firmly in the prog category – they also featured on the covermount CD of the latest edition of Prog magazine (Prog 87) with Last Man on the Moon. The Tirith have been around since the very early 70s when they were called Minas Tirith and, after going their separate ways (though keeping in touch), they reformed in 2011 and released Tales from the Tower, which included reworkings of some of their early material, in 2015. Shortly after their reformation, the three-piece (Tim Cox, guitar/keyboards; Dick Cory, bass/vocals and Paul Williams, drums) acted as support for Focus in Leicester but by the time of the CD release, Carl Nightingale had taken over on drums. They played at last year’s HRH Prog VI (where HOGIA also appeared, parachuted in to fill a slot vacated by Touchstone) but I’d seen them previously, at the Resonance Festival in 2014, where I described them as being a bit unadventurous; I’m not sure that it’s possible for a guitar-bass-drums trio to be prog, though Cox did elicit some interesting sounds out of his guitar and occasional keyboard.


On this particular Prog Night Servants of Science were first on stage, playing through The Swan Song in its entirety. The album is based on a few musical ideas from keyboard player/guitarist Stuart Avis which were bounced off and added to by bassist Andy Bay. Avis turned to long-term collaborator Neil Beards (The Amber Herd) to add vocals then, through his studio connections he recruited Helena DeLuca on vocals when a female part was added to the story, drummer Adam McKee and guitarist Ian Brocken. The live recreation was pretty faithful to the album, with the Floydian Another Day and the mini-epic Burning in the Cold which best demonstrate the band’s prog-leanings, bookending the set. They even had time for an encore of Comfortably Numb, wearing their influences on their sleeves. My only complaint would be that with four guitars playing simultaneously the subtlety and sweeping cinematic feel of the record became a bit blunted; even Brocken’s solo during the encore was too low down in the mix, meaning you could barely discern it above the other players; the one instrument that cut through the wall of sound was the bass. However, despite being a bit loud for the venue, I did enjoy the performance and it cements the ensemble as being a group to watch out for.



I didn’t get to see The Tirith play, having a very early start the next day, and I nearly missed Hats Off Gentlemen, being forced away from the pub to find some hot food. When I saw them at the beginning of the year only 40% of HOGIA, that is Malcolm Galloway and Mark Gatland performed, aided by a rhythm machine, a small keyboard and lots of effects which was still quite impressive. This time 60% of the band was present, with Kathryn Thomas providing that amazing flute and backing vocals, though she didn’t stay on stage for the whole set. It’s quite remarkable what the two or three of them can do with loops, effects and a drum machine which put the performance at a level close to that on the recent album; what you don’t get on the CD is the incredible punk-like energy Galloway and especially Gatland project. Opening with the dreamy prog of Vent/Almost Familiar HOGIA are another band who aren’t afraid to semaphore their influences and when it gets towards the end of their slot, Galloway pulls off an excellent Gilmour-like solo on Last Man on the Moon... ...but it’s the flute that I love the most!



Palace won 2-0 and this was followed by a night of prog. Hardly peaceful, but a totally enjoyable Sunday.









By ProgBlog, Mar 20 2016 11:29PM


Pink Floyd The Wall – Earls Court, London, 14 June 1981


Well they say “better late than never”, but almost 35 years after this seminal event may be pushing

it a bit. This show is probably the best known live show to prog fans the world over, although some

don’t consider The Wall to be prog, and there are no less than THREE officially released (different)

live shows on CD (from 1980/1, 1990 and 2010-13) and two different DVD releases. So I probably

don’t really need to tell you much about the show itself, who played what, track listing etc but let

me tell you about the experience of three fourteen year olds marking a rite of passage with their

first gig, because that was something really special.

I’ve often thought about this show, and I didn’t realise how big a deal it was at the time, nor how

significant it would be afterwards. My gig debut was the fourth from last gig the Roger Waters’

Floyd played, notwithstanding their fleeting and triumphant swansong at Live 8 some 24 years

later. Of course we didn’t know that at the time, nor of the enmity in the band, and we thought

seeing PF may become a regular event. Since this show there’s only been one gig in amongst the

hundreds of shows I’ve seen that can compare for the sheer spectacle – and that was the Wall tour

that Waters brought to the UK in 2011! When you consider the technology and the money available

for all the mega tours undertaken since 1981 I guess that’s quite something.

My first introduction to this live show was when my brothers and some friends (including your blog

host Gareth) went to London to see the first round of Wall gigs in August 1980. The very next day I

became the proud owner of an official tour T Shirt, costing about £4, which I barely took off for the

next couple of years. There was excited talk of building a wall on stage, then demolishing it and

lots of inflatables, projections, crashing planes, flying pigs and the like. About a month later I

bought a triple album bootleg from the ‘tour’ (if you could call 4 cities - New York, LA, London and

Dortmund - a tour) and immediately became aware of the audio treat that I’d missed out on,

including the great track “What Shall We Do Now?” which was missed off the studio album, but

tantalisingly had the lyrics printed on the inner sleeve. I remember being really struck by the guitar

solo on Comfortably Numb, which was just out of this world. It still makes the hairs on my neck

stand up even now, and is probably (well almost) the only song I will play air guitar to in the privacy

of my own home.


It all went a bit wrong for Floyd soon after those original shows, and they lost a lot of money when

a company they’d heavily invested in (Norton Warburg) went into receivership. The rumours at the

time were that the set of Wall shows in June 1981 were arranged to recover some of their lost

millions. I can’t see they were ever facing a life on the streets, and in hindsight the cost of re-

convening for just five more shows in London to 90,000 people (at £8.50 a throw, so about

£750,000 of ticket sales) was unlikely to fix it, but it seemed vaguely plausible at the time. It’s well

known now that the only band member to make any money from The Wall tours was Rick Wright,

and that’s only because he’d been sacked and was paid a fixed fee.

So, back to summer 1981. Derek at Earthquake records in Barrow sticks the hand scrawled piece

of paper in the window “Pink Floyd, London, £20 coach and ticket”. My friends and I discuss it and

decide we want in, then I recall lengthy discussions with mums and dads and a few days of

deliberation. I must give credit to my folks, because I doubt that I’d have let my 14 year old son and

two of his mates go on a 600 mile round trip on a bus to London, but finally we were given the go

ahead.

We set off down to London at midnight, and arrived at Victoria coach station about 6.30am. After a

couple of hours surfing the tube, and then checking out the museums, we ended up sitting outside

Earls Court in the sunshine for much of the afternoon with lots of other PF fans, soaking up the

atmosphere, avoiding a lot of dodgy blokes selling bogus merchandise, and hoping for a glimpse of

the band. Actually I can’t remember if there was any atmosphere or whether it was just loads of

other travelling fans that had nothing better to do and nowhere else to go. Earls Court was a beast

of a place, and I remember looking up at this massive concrete monolith and struggling with its

scale and its 18000 capacity, a quarter of the population of my home town, and by far the biggest

indoor music venue in the country until the O2 came along.

After hours of waiting we were allowed in and promptly spent months worth of savings on T shirts

(3!), a large poster of a massive arse, programmes, postcards, badges etc – young fans well and

truly relieved of all of their cash. After taking our seats the opening bars of In The Flesh finally rang

out, and I swear the whole building shook, then it all really kicked off with smoke bombs and the

crashing Stuka. What a start. The show was immense and totally immersive, and the sound was

just wonderful, with the band allegedly spending half a million pounds perfecting it. We had pretty

reasonable seats, half way up the left hand side about a third of the way along from the stage, but

for a show of this scale it wouldn’t have mattered that much where you sat. The audience was

fascinating, a few kids like us and a lot of people five to fifteen years older and then some quite

respectable looking “old” people (around 50 – 60!) who were there to see the show as they would

any other piece of theatre. That really surprised me at the time, I was expecting a rock gig not a

west end show.



We knew the show was being filmed, but some of us were nervous about seeing our acne covered

selves at the Astra in Barrow some months down the track, ah the insecurity of youth. The Wall film

that arrived a year later in 1982 turned out to be something different to what we’d expected, so we

were spared, and so was everyone else. If you look on Youtube you can find some very low quality

footage of this tour, much to the band’s chagrin I’m sure, but there’s no pimply teens to be seen.

The show went all too quickly and the highlight for me was, of course, Comfortably Numb, during

which Dave Gilmour stood on top of the wall, heavily backlit, and drowned the place in that guitar

solo. The crowd went nuts at the end of it, so I don’t think it was just my highlight. A side and a bit

later the wall came down, looking a bit battered after being torn down almost thirty times before.

The band were cheered off and someone close by called for an encore of something from

Dark Side. Optimism beyond belief.

After that it was the long trip home on the coach, with it seemingly taking hours to get out of

London, and a return home about 6.30am. I’m pretty sure I got the day off school that day, which

after seeing the Floyd the night before was the icing on the cake.

Ten years later I met my future wife Jayne, who had also been to one of the 1981 shows. Her

experiences of the day were very similar to mine, we might have met, and it turned out that she’d

decided afterwards that the man she would eventually marry would need to have seen Pink Floyd

at least once. I’m still undecided whether that was a quest to find someone with a deep seated

synergy in life’s outlook, or just someone who is a bit cynical.

So how did it all compare to the RW tour thirty years later? That one entailed a more stylish arrival

(at the O2) by Thames Clipper. Well old Rog had certainly cheered up immeasurably by 2011 with,

and these are his words not mine, “poor sad fucked up little Roger” from last time left behind. You

could see he was bouncing and really enjoying what he was doing, free of the shackles of having

to fight anyone to be in charge and (mostly) rid of a few other demons too. The great show of 1981

had become a stratospheric $60m production, and the 32 shows of 1980-81 were eclipsed by the

219 between 2010 and 2013, grossing $458m and leaving the Norton Warburg worries a distant

memory. I was right at the back of the O2 for that one but it was the same feeling when In The

Flesh started, transported back thirty years but with the special effects cranked up an order of

magnitude from the first time, jaw dropping stuff. It didn’t disappoint. If you’ve not seen Roger’s

recent film I strongly recommend you do, ideally in your own private cinema with the volume

cranked up very loud, because your average 40” screen in the comfort of your living room isn’t

going to do this show justice.




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