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The phenomenon of inconsequential chatter during a gig has the ability to kill an occasion.

There are times when it's ok to be noisy but a concert venue auditorium during a performance is not one of them. Fortunately, ProgBlog's latest stop on the gig marathon to see Hats Off Gentlemen It's Adequate and Servants of Science was populated by music lovers...

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, Apr 24 2018 08:36PM

i) 50 years of Yes (25/3/18)


Less than 48 hours on from standing in front of the stage for some intricate, symphonic progressivo Italiano (plus UK guests Joe Payne and Heather Findlay) at a modest club in Milan to a venue that I had previously associated with some awful UK TV entertainment, taking my seat for the Sunday Yes50 date at London’s Palladium Theatre was something of a revelation.



I’d booked the tickets for myself and three family/friends only a couple of weeks before the gig and was relieved to find four seats together in the Royal Circle. Labyrinthine below the auditorium, choosing a sufficiently short merchandise queue or, for gentlemen of a certain age, a WC without a lengthy wait wasn’t easy; the theatre had hosted a Fan Convention earlier in the day and had even set up some exhibition space for Roger Dean artwork where the man himself was signing pieces for a trail of fans.



The sight lines to the stage were really good, though I should have expected that from a premier London theatre, and I was very pleasantly surprised by the vibe of the place considering that before this concert I couldn’t have ever imagined I’d have wanted to step inside its doors.

The opening remarks, delivered by special guest and ‘only original member available’ Bill Bruford, were a reminder that Yes had begun making music in 1968 and in the intervening years, despite the personnel changes, continued to produce incredible, inspirational music. One of the reasons I felt I had to attend this tour was the promise of sides one and four of Tales from Topographic Oceans so I thought it appropriate that the introductory music was a few bars from The Firebird Suite, as I strongly associate Tales with Stravinsky. It’s always been my favoured introduction, more so than Britten’s Young Person’s Guide to the Orchestra or the theme from Close Encounters of the Third Kind.



The first set included material spanning from Time and a Word (an excellent version of Sweet Dreams) up to Tormato (Onward, the tribute to Chris Squire), what I’d consider a ‘fan’s favourite’ choice, and the second set was comprised of The Revealing Science of God, the Leaves of Green section of The Ancients and Ritual. Up to this point, back surgery had prevented Alan White from spending too long sitting on a drum stool and his role had been dutifully carried out by the excellent Jay Schellen, with a style more reminiscent of Bruford. White entered the fray for the percussion movement on Ritual while Schellen descended from the drum rostrum to help out with percussion, staying for the three-part encore of Tempus Fugit (with vocals by another special guest, Trevor Horn), Roundabout, and Starship Trooper.


The sound in the theatre was exceptionally good and well balanced. I liked the fact that as a celebration of 50 years of Yes it was kind of a ‘best of’ performance, plus a hint of the idea of the ‘album series’ of concerts and the inclusion of two and a half sides of Tales. I don’t believe Tales divides the fan base anymore and however difficult it was for audiences to take in around the time of the album’s release in 1973, with insufficient time to assimilate the complexity and scale of the piece as a whole, the shift from 70s boundary-pushing compositions to the slick AOR of the 90125 line-up caused a greater rift.


A few of my friends have commented on how the dynamic has changed within the group since the death of Chris Squire (Trevor Horn humorously hinted at this when he came on to sing Tempus Fugit). Having been in Yes since 1970 Steve Howe is the de facto leader although Alan White has been involved in the group for a longer period of time; Howe was responsible for most of the cues and retains an amazing energy although I’m not sure if he struggled a little on some of the more demanding guitar parts, which would be totally excusable considering the complexity of Yes music. Jon Davison does an admirable, if unenviable job of performing lines originally sung by Jon Anderson and Billy Sherwood is without any doubt the best stand-in for Squire the band could have chosen, in playing, in mannerisms and in presence. The one minor disappointment was Geoff Downes’ soloing; the bulk of his keyboard work was fine but the runs and arpeggios lacked fluidity and even, during certain passages, seemed to lag behind time.

It’s difficult to imagine quite where the band will go from here. Detractors will suggest that continuing without any original band members is just a tribute band, though the Yes family tree shows the pedigree of the players still on stage. I can’t say if they’re capable of producing any new, classic Yes material but without a return to the ideals of the early 70s and a willingness to re-embrace challenging, symphonic long-form compositions, I doubt that they will. Still, 50 years in the business of making and playing Yes music isn’t bad; I’m pleased I went.



ii) New king of pop - Steven Wilson 27/3/18


Another 48 hours later and I’d made my way to the Royal Albert Hall for the first of three nights of Steven Wilson. My good friend Neil had organised tickets back in May 2017, a couple of days after Wilson had begun to put out videos of his new music but before I’d got a hint of the direction the music from the forthcoming album was taking. Thinking back now, Pariah, one of the first tracks I heard, forms a kind of a sonic link between Hand.Cannot.Erase and To the Bone and I don’t think it’s a bad song; it just doesn’t challenge me. At the end of June 2017 he released the video for Permanating and I wasn’t impressed.

On the walk up to the Albert Hall doors I was still optimistic that the set would include sufficient Raven and Hand material to provide a worthwhile evening of entertainment, having seen him play on a number of occasions before and apart from the show I attended at the RAH in September 2015, where I was unfamiliar with a fair proportion of the material, I’ve enjoyed his performances. However, the shift from the full-on prog of Raven to the post-rock blend of electronica, industrial with a decent dose of prog on Hand should have indicated, especially when backed-up by Wilson’s own words regarding his influences, together with his immutable right as an artist to make whatever music he wants, that the music on To the Bone and subsequently the tour of that album, was not going to be wall-to-wall progressive rock.


The show started on a promising note with another clever though slightly disturbing video, announced by a rather stern voice as if narrating a public service broadcast, based on the themes of the current album, but I couldn't really engage. Ninet Tayeb was introduced for Pariah but even her excellent voice didn’t really do anything for me; I did enjoy Home Invasion which segued into Regret #9 which I thought were the highlights of the evening. It’s possible that the behaviour of a pair of loudmouths behind me, talking for the entire first set and a couple in front, behaving as though they were very, very drunk throughout the whole show, affected my ability to enjoy the music but in the second set, just before the rendition of Permanating, Wilson delivered a speech about making the music he wanted to, including an unbridled, joyous pop song and hoped that the tattooed and bearded gents in their Opeth T-shirts would stand up and submit to the euphoria and maybe dance a few steps. To be fair to a large portion of the audience they did get on their feet but I, bearded but not being interested in either Opeth or tattoos, remained seated, unmoved by what is indisputably a potentially infectious pop structure.

For much of the rest of the gig I found the sound a bit blurred and indistinguishable; it wasn’t that it was over-loud but it was quite heavy and it wasn’t until the third encore of The Raven that Refused to Sing that my gloom lifted a little.

I can’t fault the musicianship or the presentation and I certainly can’t criticise a Wilson for changing the form of music he writes. That the songs played on that Tuesday night weren’t to my satisfaction is no one’s fault but a matter of personal taste and I’m not going to burn the CDs that I own because I didn’t like this show. I’m simply not going to commit to buying a ticket for the tour of his next album until I’ve heard the next album.

Maybe gig fatigue is setting in...










By ProgBlog, Feb 26 2018 09:12PM

A new, one-off live Old Grey Whistle Test appeared on our TVs at the end of last week and though largely unremarkable from a prog point of view, one of the sofa guests was Ian Anderson. The Jethro Tull front man had also recently appeared on BBC Four’s Hits, Hype & Hustle series of films, offering some insightful recollections on the music business, and now he’s appearing on the front cover of the current Prog magazine (Prog 85), with a fairly large proportion of the publication talking about Tull’s 50th anniversary and the 40th anniversary edition of Heavy Horses, due out in a few days’ time.


Ian Anderson, Prog 85
Ian Anderson, Prog 85

The vast bulk of the article below was published in June 2014 but it’s been updated and edited to reflect the ProgBlog experience during the intervening (almost) four years:


For someone who was into prog in 1972, my appreciation of the music of Jethro Tull came fairly late, even though my father used to whistle Living in the Past, which had been covered in 1971 by Canadian trumpeter Maynard Ferguson. From someone who would not infrequently refer to prog as ‘racket’, this was something of a revelation. He’d also whistle Light My Fire after José Feliciano's cover version won a Grammy in 1969.

Tull were originally a blues band but the proto-prog of Stand Up (1969) hinted at the direction they were about to embark upon. I think that this album, more than any other of the Tull canon, was responsible for influencing Italian prog bands. Though it represents the first of their albums that I like, the period between 1969 and 1982 is littered with hits and misses. Bill Burford was the first of my friends to buy any Tull albums, and he bought into them in a fairly big way. I appreciated the more lofty concepts, tongue-in-cheek or otherwise: Thick as a Brick (1972), A Passion Play (1973), Minstrel in the Gallery (1975) and from there got into the prog-folk trio of albums beginning with Songs from the Wood (1977). The first Tull album I bought was Heavy Horses, shortly after it came out in 1978. I’d actually gone into local store Blackshaw’s and bought a copy of King Crimson’s Earthbound but, finding the raw and bluesy 1972 version of Crimson just a little too raw and bluesy, I took it back and swapped it for the Tull; as a mooching teenager I wrote naff poetry and, along with the rocking title track and No Lullaby, I kind of liked the sentiment of Rover.


Stand Up (1969)
Stand Up (1969)

I’m not particularly a fan of Aqualung (1971) which may have been the first of their albums I heard, played at my friend Bill’s house. He also owned the compilation Living in the Past (1972) but I found most of the music uninspiring. I wasn’t the only one of my coterie to lack an appreciation of the full Tull catalogue and according to the music industry, I was partly responsible for killing music as I recorded tapes for my brother Tony to listen to while he was away at university. The following is an extract from a letter he wrote to me in September 1979:


There now follows a critique of “Thick as a Brick” which is based on numerous listenings and the rigid thought process of a closed mind. Show it to Bill as well. I don’t expect either of you to agree, as will become obvious!

In my opinion Tull have not progressed very far beyond this album with their later works (“Vocal recitals from the lignified angiosperm” and “Equine mammals of large mass” being the ones I have heard.) However, I shall not pursue that argument here, but may be induced to do so at a later date.

The vocals are a very important feature of this album and I suspect that they are present on about half the playing time. Unfortunately, I find them rather irritating. “Feeheeheeheeheeheeheels” or a similar variant ending many of the lines is not very imaginative and indeed becomes tedious quite rapidly. Mr Anderson’s aquistic [sic] guitar is undeniably jinky-jink, although his lack of inspiration here is redeemed to a certain extent by some excellent flute. The other musicians in the band are not really given many opportunities to demonstrate great virtuosity, because it is not that sort of an album. They are obviously competent, however. The drummer does get a solo – but then I’m not very enthusiastic about drum solos and anyway Bill would deny me the right to comment on his technique.

I feel that the strength of the composition throughout the album can be questioned. Much of the album consists of a few basic melodies, which are developed to a limited extent but not enough to maintain my interest. Other passages rely on rhythmic, almost mono-aural / monotonous (one sound!) thumps.

Both sides are a little disjointed, the second side possibly more than the first e.g. the progression on the second side through free-form jazziness, a quasi-choral passage, and classical guitar, direction eventually being established with a repetitive guitar riff and organ and vocal accompaniment. This leads on to the best part of the album – undiluted technorock, including a few unexpected bars of orchestral style – and played on strings – just before the end.

** (2 stars) Mike the Mod, NME

Mike says he doesn’t know whether or not to recommend his readers to “No Pussyfooting” instead. After all, it is much cheaper


I have to admit that Tony had a valid point about the ‘jinky–jink’ guitar, something we looked on with derision, and the "Feeheeheeheeheeheeheels” but, noting his use of the term ‘technorock’, a word we used to describe keyboard-led music before we actually heard the term ‘prog’, I think the use of organ makes the album. Tony also didn’t have the advantage of sitting with the St Cleve Chronicle in front of him, something that makes the album a genuine immersive experience. The subsequent A Passion Play was quite difficult going but worth the effort. Perhaps my favourite Tull album is the relatively unsung Minstrel in the Gallery. The title track has all the hallmark qualities of a prog anthem and the Ian Anderson-dominated acoustic tracks feel somewhat more mature than previous material, possibly because of its reflective nature; on a recent play of the album I was reminded of how good David Palmer was at string arrangements. Baker Street Muse is an almost side-long epic with its four subsections, and harkens back to both Thick as a Brick and A Passion Play territory. Spoken sections at the beginning and end of the album show that the band has not lost its sense of humour.


The folk-laden sounds of Songs from the Wood, Heavy Horses and Stormwatch include a more divergent keyboard set-up, as David Palmer joins the band as a second keyboard player but it’s the bouncy, up-front bass of John Glascock that is most different from preceding Tull (I don’t think he was really allowed to shine on Too Old to Rock ‘n’ Roll.) The pre-Christian references and ecological concerns of Songs from the Wood give way to political matters on Stormwatch (North Sea Oil, Dark Ages) and these in turn give way to more mundane matters such as 4WD on A (1980) as the band moved further away from prog along with prevailing musical tastes. Originally intended as an Ian Anderson solo album, hence the title, the line-up for A was a very different Jethro Tull which, with the recruitment of Eddie Jobson who had been supporting Tull on tour with UK, failed to deliver anything like the music which made up the back catalogue. 1982’s Broadsword and the Beast was a partial move back towards the late 70s prog-folk but the Anderson solo album Walk into Light (1983) and Tull’s Under Wraps (1984) embraced a much more contemporary sound that felt more akin to pop than prog. I saw Tull at the Royal Albert Hall during the A tour and again at the Hammersmith Odeon for Under Wraps and was disappointed with both performances; the last album from that period remaining in my collection is Broadsword, having given Under Wraps to my brother as my main medium switched from vinyl to CD.


I neglected all new releases for many years, though I continued to play the records I did own and supplement my collection with CDs of early material I didn’t possess, but my interest in TAAB2, released as an Anderson solo album forty years after Thick as a Brick, kindled by articles in Prog magazine, was realised in 2014 when I bought a second-hand deluxe edition CD from Si’s Sounds in Lewes. I’m not sure about some of the lyrics but the music was good and the concept of ‘whatever happened to Gerald Bostock?’ was quite entertaining. I file my CD of TAAB2 under 'J' for Jethro Tull rather than 'A' for Ian Anderson. The appearance of Anderson, playing a ‘best of Jethro Tull’ set at HRH Prog 4 in 2016 was one of the main attractions of the event and didn’t disappoint. His vocals may not be as strong as they once were but his flute, the other musicians and the set list were all excellent.



His recent TV appearances seem to have conferred something of an elderly statesman persona, though the Jethro Tull brand still persists with a UK tour commencing in April. During their 50 years, Anderson has always had the ability to express everyday things in a poetic way, whether it’s the ‘battlefield allotments’ next to railway lines or ‘newspaper warriors changing the names they advertise from the station stand’ and there are a number of themes that run throughout his work (he does seem to have a thing about trains.) However, it’s not only his lyrics that stand out for me. Perhaps out of all the prog bands that use flute, and there are a fair number from Moody Blues to early Crimson to Gabriel-era Genesis to Focus to Camel to Van der Graaf Generator and countless Italian bands, the first group you associate with flute is Jethro Tull.








By ProgBlog, Nov 20 2016 08:22PM

I’m currently dipping in and out of Time and a Word – The Yes Story by Martin Popoff and thought that this latest piece of writing about the band, which includes thoughts on Heaven and Earth from 2014 and covers Chris Squire’s death from leukaemia last year, might help me work out where I stand on an issue that’s been raging for some time, spilling over on to the letters and comments pages of Prog magazine, concerning the validity of calling Yes ‘Yes’ and whether or not it is time to call an end to the venerable institution. In keeping with the progressive rock genre, debate on this particular subject has attracted opinion from all parts of the spectrum.

I’m not over-impressed by the book because it seems to me as though it’s been put together with minimum effort. I don’t doubt Popoff’s appreciation of the music and it can’t be denied that he’s a successful music writer but, not being a fan of the particular idiom he’s most closely associated with, I’ve not knowingly read anything else that he’s penned and I’m therefore not really qualified to comment on how much work was involved. What I can say is that you can’t compare Time and a Word to something almost academic like Bill Martin’s Music of Yes – Structure and Vision in Progressive Rock or even Chris Welch’s more mainstream journalist/fan account Close to the Edge – The Story of Yes, both of which I did enjoy. Perhaps the closest work to Time and a Word is The Extraordinary World of Yes by Alan Farley because of the concise coverage of each album, information that could as easily be obtained from the album sleeve notes, rather than any in-depth musicological, sociological or philosophical analysis, though Farley does add a soupçon of personal perspective. Popoff includes some odd little asides to his Yes timeline which is primarily comprised of portions of his interviews with the main protagonists; I’m not at all sure why the release of Rush’s 2112 on April 1st 1976 warrants a mention, other than to indicate it’s a poor joke, though there’s slightly more rationale to announcing the eponymous debut from The Clash on 8th April 1977, three months before the end of the self-imposed studio Yes album hiatus, highlighting a radical shift in the musical landscape over the intervening two and a bit years.




Though the advancement of time since the beginning of the progressive rock era affects all bands that fall under this umbrella, a span lasting on for almost 50 years, there have only been two deaths within the Yes camp and it’s only the loss of Chris Squire, however much Peter Banks originally helped to craft the early Yes style, that has really had an impact on the group. This is largely because Squire was the only original member remaining at the time of his death and the only member to have contributed to every studio album but he was as much integral to the Yes sound as any other musician who hopped on or off the Yes roundabout, for his vocal harmony work as well as the punchy, treble-rich bass work. Yet, when I saw the Yes performance at the Royal Albert Hall earlier this year, I was more than pleasantly surprised by the way Billy Sherwood reproduced Squire’s lines and stunned by the way Sherwood had adopted his mentor’s stage mannerisms, from his footwork to the handling of his instrument.




This highlights one of the major issues. There’s no doubt that there are other musicians of an appropriate calibre to play the music, as the whole album performances show. The last two tours, one with Squire and one without, have been about the recreation of recorded music in a fairly true-to-original fashion, down to the detail of the track running order, which coincidentally allows us to measure individual member’s performance against the original release. On the 2016 tour, featuring Fragile and Drama, it was only Steve Howe who had been represented on the earlier studio album. Howe, Alan White and Geoff Downes had all played on Drama; on the 2014 tour of The Yes Album, Close to the Edge and Going for the One, it was only Howe and Squire representing the line-up of the first two albums, and Howe, Squire and White from the personnel responsible for Going for the One.




So, despite my enjoyment of the gig I went to see in London, the latest tour was carried out without any original members; does that make them some kind of tribute act? Well no, not in my opinion. There are two strands to my thinking: Firstly, that Howe was one of the individuals making up the first of two ‘classic’ line-ups which starred Bill Bruford on drums and Rick Wakeman on keyboards and was responsible for Fragile and Close to the Edge. His appearance on The Yes Album marked a qualitative improvement in group composition and his playing style opened up a more symphonic sound but I think it was possibly his personal outlook and the way he fitted in to (what was going to become) the Yes philosophy added something unquantifiable but positive to the group. Furthermore, the replacement of Bruford by Alan White created the second classic line-up which lasted four incarnations but the revolving door of personnel changes was accepted by fans, at least on record, even including the Drama-Yes of Geoff Downes and Trevor Horn which only revealed a degree of disillusionment amongst those who went to see them play live when the tour hit the UK. This suggests to me that as long as there is the spirit of Yes in a group of players, it can still be called ‘Yes’.

That the cracks in support were appearing as the genre reached the end its golden era is in part down to changes within the music business itself but Yes had showed that they could change guitarists and keyboard players without adversely affecting their appeal; unfortunately when they replaced Jon Anderson, who many even now regard as the voice of Yes, support was less forthcoming. It’s of note is that following his departure from Yes, Anderson embarked upon a successful collaboration with Vangelis and it was, arguably, Anderson’s involvement with the Squire, White and Trevor Rabin Cinema project which guaranteed that band success as the 1980s Yes.

That particular version of the group was hugely successful but they alienated some of the original core support, including me. I blame the industry, manipulating output to maximise commercial gain, curtailing artist creativity and resulting in music which hasn’t aged very well, compared to the timelessness of Close to the Edge and the reappraisal of Tales from Topographic Oceans as a major piece of recorded work by a rock band. This brings me to the second major issue: The quality of the new material.

I’ve previously argued that the substance of the 80s material was more mainstream, hence the greater commercial appeal in a world that was becoming more self-centred with less time and inclination to think expansively. Any attempt to recapture the cosmic nature of early 70s Yes music, by an ever expanding Yes family which had itself become more fractious and cut-throat, was never likely to amount to much, though the keyboard-light Magnification came quite close for me. I’ve never been too happy with the long-form studio pieces on Keys to Ascension and part of this is down to what I feel is the unsuccessful blend of cosmic and worthy social commentary; part is down to the unsatisfactory keyboard sounds. I believe the best modern material is the Fly From Here suite which was actually composed during the Drama years, such that the concept of Yes music has to conform to certain structural and thematic forms, many of which have been abandoned along the way.

This brings me to the conclusion that it is fine for Yes to continue for the time being, playing material which represents the early phase of the group, as long as there’s someone from that era to carry the torch. I’ve outgrown my belief that Anderson has to be in Yes; I don’t doubt White’s contribution to the sound and equally, I can’t question Sherwood’s fit but I think that if Howe had to drop out for some reason, there would be no purpose in carrying on. I don’t mind if there’s no new material, I’ll continue to go and see the band if there are no more line-up changes and they continue to play the classic early 70s material. Roll on Tales! Roll on Relayer!









By ProgBlog, Aug 21 2016 08:07PM

When I arrived at The Lexington for the David Cross Band gig the week before last, I stopped at the merchandise stand and along with the excellent English Sun (2009) by David Cross and Andrew Keeling, I also procured Re-Collage, a live album by Tony Pagliuca and David Jackson with the Massimo Donà Quintet, progressivo Italiano being my thing and Le Orme’s Collage (1971) being regarded as the first true progressive rock album to be released in Italy. I put the two CDs in my jacket pocket and went off to the bar before the second performance of the evening, Davids Cross and Jackson with a challenging but fun set, It wasn’t until I got home to view my two purchases that I realised the CD was missing from the Re-Collage sleeve. My email to David C was passed on to David J who apologised, gave a plausible explanation and put a disc in the post for me.



The baroque-prog of the original album has been replaced by a much more jazz-inflected feel, imbued by Pagliuca’s fellow Venetian Donà, a jazz trumpeter (and philosopher) and the other members of the quintet. The sound on this recording is incredibly clear, taken from gigs in the north east of Italy in March 2004 and, without knowing how much rehearsing took place, remarkably tight. Apart from the Collage material, the ensemble tackles Theme One and We Go Now from the VdGG back catalogue and Frank Zappa’s G-Spot Tornado. The result is an enjoyable, different take on some classic Italian prog. It is also further demonstration of the prestige in which Van der Graaf Generator were held in Italy; Peter Hammill provided English lyrics for a Charisma (UK) release of Le Orme’s Felona and Sorona and Jackson would go on to play with Osanna, one of the other greats of progressivo Italiano who incorporated Theme One into their live set.

I obviously make an effort to see the bands I follow in a live setting and am willing to go to some lengths to do so. The David Cross Band gig was close to my workplace though a combination of a (justified) strike by rail workers and unannounced engineering work (I have not heard any justification for this, which I suspect may have been a political move by track operator Railtrack to erode sympathy for the rail transport unions) meant that getting home was slightly more problematic than expected. Sometimes getting across London takes more time than (for instance) getting down to a gig in Brighton.

One issue that raises itself at concerts is the use of cameras or camera phones. I’m as guilty as anyone for transgression but I remain conflicted, willing to adhere to any request from the performers not to take pictures, restricting myself to photography of an empty set before the performance and the bow at the end of the show. We should all be there for the music and the experience and should not be concentrating on a small screen held between our faces and the group performing onstage but the importance of social media for promoting a musician’s activity, coupled with an insatiable human desire to share our experience, shifts any ambivalence towards amateur concert photography in the direction of being a necessary evil. Other than at the request of the group (think King Crimson: Keep your phones in your pocket. Have fun. Enjoy the moment. “Please come and *be* with the band and not with your smart phone and other weapons of mass distraction”) I do take photographs, though not incessantly. I’m not sure why my camera was taken away from me at a Yes gig a long, long time ago when equipment for bootlegging would surely have been a more important target. The smart phone is theoretically an easy medium to use for recording a show, along with the uncontrollable volume of crowd sounds but I’d really rather wait for the band, who frequently make their own, high quality, balanced recordings, to officially release the performance. Some venues have a ban on both audio and photographic recording equipment and this is fairly strictly though not necessarily efficiently policed by staff (the Royal Albert Hall, the Barbican, the Fairfield Halls, for instance.) David Cross joked about audience photos before his concert (he welcomed them, in contrast with his erstwhile band mate) and Jon Anderson has also asked people taking photos to share them on social media; for smaller or independent acts it’s free publicity. It’s only polite to listen to the requests of those you’re going to see and hear but with progressive rock, you’re more likely to be required to concentrate on who is doing what. Why would you want to disturb those around you with the glow from your LED screen as you try to focus on the band instead of just watching and listening? Unfortunately, sometimes my memory needs a jog but I do feel pangs of guilt.

I’ve been at a number of concerts from which there’s been an associated official release and, whether I’m one of 1500 or one of 10000 people in the crowd, I feel a stronger bond between myself and the music. What makes a great live album? Of my favourites, there may be only one occasion I’ve attended the show where the release gets in my personal top 10 but this highlights the importance of the relationship between the performers and the audience. I think that recording quality is essential to get across the musical content though the material selected for the release has to be sufficiently representative of the band up to that time; on a few occasions I’ve bought a live album as an introduction to the recorded work of a group and this has encouraged me to become better acquainted with someone’s back catalogue.

I’ve always loved Yessongs (1973) but I’ve never been happy with the sound quality, so when the tapes that made up the source material for that release were discovered and cleaned up for the fourteen discs that make up Progeny: Seven Shows from Seventy-Two (2015) I was blown away. The format of using the exact same set list over the seven pairs of discs may be only slightly stricter than the content of the Crimson box sets but it allows you to trace the sonic evolution of the nine tracks featured from each date; the between-song introductions, the recovery of Anderson’s voice following a bout of influenza, the subtle variations in each piece. All this is possible because of the incredible undertaking by Syd Schwarz, Brian Kehew and a team of engineers to rebalance instruments and voices that were lost in an arena mix. Though the content of Progeny is more limited than Yessongs, Progeny has become my favourite live album because without overdubs, it represents that moment in time when Yes were way ahead of the curve, presented in a sonically true manner.



Roger Dean's paintings for Yessongs
Roger Dean's paintings for Yessongs

Beating the bootleggers, maintaining an income stream and remaining relevant in a cut-throat industry was achieved by Robert Fripp by releasing archive material through official DGM releases and also, for material of less good audio quality, the King Crimson Collectors’ Club. Fripp and David Singleton even applied a form of bootleg amnesty to fill gaps where their tapes were lacking. As impressed as I am with the Road to Red and Starless box sets and the other DGM releases from the different eras of King Crimson, my favourite Crimson live album is USA (1975). I bought this as a student in 1979 and it became something of a treasured possession even after the appearance of the more complete 30th Anniversary Edition on CD. I used to blast this out of my room at university, posing with my bass; it shows how powerful Crimson were as a live act and the track Asbury Park remains a high water mark in terms of improvisation although the full-length version wasn’t available until 2005 as a download from DGM.

Actually, it’s pointless attempting to list my favourite live recordings in any sort of merit-based order. Between Nothingness and Eternity (1973) represents the first incarnation of the Mahavishnu Orchestra at its most muscular and telepathic best and when I bought it in 1975 I had no idea that the tracks were from a shelved studio album; Playing the Fool (1977) is a kind of ‘best of Gentle Giant’ that I first owned on pre-recorded cassette; Camel’s A Live Record (1978) has the sumptuous RAH Snow Goose performance plus a collection of some of their most memorable back catalogue up to that time, and the 2002 remastered and expanded CD was an even better potted history of the band; Genesis Live (1973) was my introduction to the band and I still think it’s the best collection of their early material in a live setting even though it’s only a single LP, because of the presence of Peter Gabriel.

I could go on but I’ll just mention one last release recorded with me in the audience (and possibly featuring, albeit too small to make out, on the sleeve.) Real Time by the reformed Van der Graaf Generator, recorded at the Royal Festival Hall on 6th May 2005 and released in 2007, is documentary evidence of that auspicious occasion. In the sleeve notes Hammill reflects on pondering how it was going to pan out... I can tell him: it was incredible. The band were on top form and the choice of material that made up the set was just right, the audience, gathered together from all over the world, were warm and responsive, and the sound was clean and forceful. Great gig, great live recording of the gig.

Photographs taken at a performance and recordings of live shows allow you, in your own time, to revisit some great moments, frozen (these days, digitally) in time. As real-time memory fades, these aides-memoire can transport us to a time when prog ruled the earth.






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