Re-issues Reviews

Does he quack? Yes, and there are much more fabulous sounds on a record whose quality matches its rarity.

Being progressive doesn't imply a "start-and-stop" approach but that's how it went for this English band that cut a sole LP that in pre-digital era could set you back a fortune but make you one of those fortunate enough to hear it, not only own it. Formed by experienced musicians who'd graduate later to greater ranks, their joint album is a fine example of organ-dominated heavy rock which could challenge the likes of URIAH HEEP yet hadn't appropriate backing and infectious tunes to compete. Thus, on "Mrs. Prout" their instrumental prowess is in full swing, and it could be a live killer, while as a song per se it fails to register, as does less serious single "Just Look Around You" where keyboardist Roy Sharland's classical bent pops up.

The quartet tried rather hard to sculpt a hit, although everything here sounds effortless, the riffy playfulness smeared all over "More Than I Am" that proudly rolls its panache before delegating the weight to bluesy "Country Boy" that grows into an artsy, lightning-stricken tapestry of grand ambition. Still, "Time Will Be Your Doctor" was brought by drummer Paul Francis from his previous fold, TUCKY BUZZARD, for FUZZY DUCK to upgrade and open the record with: it's a perfect salvo - funky, frisky, demonstrating the relentless fingerwork of ex-ANDROMEDA bassist Mick Hawksworth - if ultimately underground due to simple vocal melody which pales in comparison to Graham White's guitar vignettes. His acoustic strum adds contrast to the monolithic "In Our Time" wherein percussion pitch an impressive drama, yet it's another axeman, Garth Watt-Roy, who colors a brace of bonus '45s of wonderful sway, but even the soulfully rocking "One More Hour" or "Big Brass Band", with its real glorious brass, failed to make a splash. This new direction pointed to a bright future the quackers didn't have. A pity.

****1/3

Subtitled, "Or How I Became Guitar Boy ", the BE-BOP DELUXE stringer's mostly instrumental album casts a glance back to play a pocket symphony.

Being a painter as well as musician, Bill Nelson know all the power of an aural picture yet the veteran takes an abstract approach too often. "Practically Wired", though, has a theme to it as these 14 pieces, composed on the fly in a studio, see him go down the memory lane in a sort of radio program that is announced in the sharp riff mash of "Roses And Rocket Ships" to be channeled later on in the energetic rock collage "Royal Ghosts". Scattered among them is a string of bluesy cuts such as the heavy beats-bearing "Big Noise In Twangtown", while the other facet of the guitarist's talent which is highlighted here is his way with fusion in the likes of glimmering "Pink Buddha Blues". The latter is haunted with the same vocal ghost as the tellingly titled, Satie-styled "Piano 45" from where guitar is banned for good. Keyboards also play a prominent role in the light of "Every Moment Infinite" and "Spinning Planet", behind the muscular twang which carries the polyrhythmic groove, whereas from the prog-country well of "Wild Blue Cycle" rainbow harmonies are pulled out to shine in the air. But the album's zenith comes with the bright Oriental painting of "Friends From Heaven" only to stress all the eclecticism of this record - strangely satisfying, though, it is.

***

A dromedary rider resumes his individual trek towards a hazy vision.

Betting on the luck of three, ZOMBIES' ivories driver tightens the reins and wins.

Three years into their existence, Rod Argent's band seemed to be gaining no momentum charts-wise until their third LP changed their status once and for all. The paradox is, their finest hour came not via Russ Ballard's pop nous that would bring the guitarist an envious string of covers later, but thanks to the leader exerting his creative authority. From the get-go it's obvious that this is the keyboard player's record, and if the 13-minute close "Pure Love" dies on the vine when Argent's mighty fugue makes room for Ballard's acid guitar blues, which would have been nice in 1969 not in 1972, the riff of opener "Hold Your Head Up" rendered it a heavy hit. Its single version lacked the considered Bach-chanalia of organ workout in the middle, yet the classical bent created only a dark lining for a fine collections of rockers that includes the smiley piano-driven boogie of "He's A Dynamo" and "Keep On Rollin'".

The ensemble's progressive depth fathomed with the rousing bluesy storm that is "I Am The Dance Of Ages", its chorus alone worth the price of admission to the eye of hurricane, the hardest hitting piece of the puzzle fits in with the punchy funk of "Tragedy" which demonstrates the quartet's soulful underbelly and the tight groove of Jim Rodford and Bob Henrit's rhythm team. Still, it's "Be My Lover, Be My Friend" that houses the perfect marriage of baroque jive and Philly glitz and wraps it all in a finely tuned catchiness, while the bonus "Closer To Heaven" taking the communal message of the album to the pop waters with much panache. A bit loose but pleasant work.

***2/3

Celtic pied piper calls his tunes and leads us to reason and realms of heavenly beauty.

His discography credits abound, Troy Donockley's most merited stripes are for making Uilleann pipes a rock instrument. In Donockley's hands, its melodious drones run from English folk avatar Maddy Prior through Roy Harper and STATUS QUO to Finnish metallers NIGHTWISH, but in between the many sessions the master cut three highly rated solo albums the best moments of which are gathered here. Their span is fantastic in both scope and delivery. If a new, previously unreleased cut "For Him Who Will Never Return" sees his weapons, two sets of pipes actually, sing a heartbreaking traditional dirge largely on their own, "Finlandia", a string quartet-elevated Sibelius piece from 1998 debut "The Unseen Stream", shows Troy's deft skills as arranger. Yet the genuine depth is revealed in Joanne Hogg-led choral of "Fragment", as well as in another freshly sculpted swell, "Dunmail Rising", where the solemn vocalise paves the road for the electronically shimmering dance of pipes and fiddle.

All of the strains combine in immaculate way for "Orkahaugr" off 2009's "The Madness of Crowds" in which Troy weaves a lace with his acoustic guitars and strikes it with whistles before the epic unfurls all its cinematic vistas and welcomes heavy guitar riffs into its ever-expanding fold. And while the trance-like folksy moment jitters in the light of "Tunnels", it's in the title track of 2003's "The Pursuit of Illusion" that Donockley's soft voice joins Hogg's crystalline flight to soar on a transparent orchestral cloud to celestial heights and bring the paradise closer to the crowds.

*****

Blue Years blooming, the disintegrating troika go around the world for a set of aural landscape paintings.

A riveting celebration of the cult hero's 50-year career. Surprises are abound.

The subject matter getting heavier, the music getting thinner as the TRAFFIC warden embarks on a personal crusade.

The second, and last, effort from the Canterbury supergroup that still feels contemporary in its loose array of ideas.

Honeyed wonders out Gloucestershire plague the folk rock scene for good and plough it in style.

Of many an English homespun group bitten by a West Coast bug, only a few didn't succumb to their native rain-mindedness but glorified the sunshine that makes a foggy day in Blighty a miracle. One of those rare ensembles were DECAMERON, a collective whose force lay in their four-part vocal harmonies wrapped in silky acoustics yet, fortunately, lacking the CSNY's laid-back sound. Birthed in an art college, the quartet produced four albums, this being their first and, arguably, most interesting for its songs of innocence and experience.

Thus, the title track circles the main writers Dave Bell and Johnny Coppin's voices in a country way and poises the drift between BUFFALO SPRINGFIELD and early FAIRPORT CONVENTION, the rhythm section being Sandy Denny's sidemen Pat McDonald and Timi Donald, while the dryer "Byard's Leap" paints the witch-haunted picture on a 7-minute medieval canvas wherein the golden thread is Al Fenn's guitar and mandolin, with Geoff March's cello for a silver lining. After that, a deluge of delights where the plaintive Gothic "The Moon In 'A'" rides its harmonica-paved road into the hazy sunset and single "Stoat's Grope" gallops joyfully to a village fair. Elsewhere, the celestial, transparent, almost chamber "Innocent Sylvester Prime" rubs its fringed shoulders with the playful "Judith" which gets spiced with violin and BJ Cole's dobro, and "Ride A Lame Pony" spins the band's own tale into a glimmering Sunday cloth.

DECAMERON deserved their place in the Pantheon of British folk-rockers - the band's B-side "Friday Night At The Regal", a bonus here, is a bridge between "Meet On The Ledge" and "Fog On The Tyne" - and, recently, the band's legend started to rise anew, the process to which this reissue contributes immensely. Long overdue!

****

Also known as "Quichotte", a historical document of the most influential band from West Germany's stint behind the Wall. Some glory!

It's easy to imagine the East Berliners' excitement at the prospect of having the first Western band play in their communist-ruled country: with majority of tickets given to the party suits, two concerts performed by the DREAM on January 31st, 1980 at Palast der Republik were sold out in five minutes. Because it was all about feeling a rock freedom, the electronic savants veered away from their regular computer-minded framework onto the more human pastures with this two-part suite originally issued only in GDR. Titled "Quichotte" after the Don Quixote movie which was screened at the nearby cinema, it might as well be an aural version of the Cervantes classic as the trio, exchanging experimentalism for new age, fill the space with romanticism, desolation and (treadmill) revolution here.

Johannes Schmoelling who joined shortly before the gig needn't have to worry about his readiness to work on such a large scale, as his reverberating piano lines set the melancholy scene in a classical, Rachmaninoff-inspired way before the synthesizers provide a scintillating background to the melody and gradually bring their own slant to it. A transparent kind of progressive rock which emerges once Edgar Froese's keyboards step in is infused with folk motifs that conjure up a troubled Arcadia, its electro-lining as light as Jean Michel Jarre's opuses. Christopher Franke's percussion adds drama to the flow and quicken its pace, yet the vibrant cosmic domain the ensemble enter toward the end of "Part One" to touch on white noise and celestial organ opens the door into more traditional DREAM territory, until Froese's fantastic guitar introduces a genuine, so rare for this group, rock 'n' roll element - and another dimension - to the ever-expanding piece that gets sharper and sharper. When the ivories are pushed again, the result is a state of emotional equilibrium which makes "Pergamon" one of the German ensemble's most rewarding works.

****1/2

The Hermit of Mink Hollow's humorous anabasis from 1976 gets a proper release it's always deserved. But it's a mind's dance rather than a footy one.

Back in the action after 13 years in limbo, and with a new album in the can, the Wiltshire bunch track their past with a reissue programme, starting at square one.

There's only one common letter in "punk" and "prog" yet it also opens the word "push" as in "push the envelope". And that was exactly what this English band did through the '90s or at least on their debut that's permeated with rebellious spirit and combines scornful attack with a reverence to Celtic tradition. The grand opener "Faceless People" might be too theatrical to fully register, what with Davey Dodds' stentorian yelp, but it sets the vibrant sonic canvas whereon Dave Clifford's drums provide the thunder for Robin Harrison's guitar lightning to strike, and puts all the band's strains to the fore. On the base of sneery common denominator, from there beam "I Can Hew" and "Magpie", in which an a cappella harmonic prayer rides the bass line into the battle march that keeps an eye on JETHRO TULL, as well as reckless "Guy Fawkes" that bears a RAMONES' stamp on its pulsing palm.

In places, FAIRPORTS' Ric Sanders gives the results an air an authenticity with his fiddle's diddle, yet elsewhere, the sax-oiled "Company Director" posits its critique much seriously, revealing all the depth of JASPER's psyche, as does the funereal march of "Second Coming", sprinkled with mandolin and whistles. Still, it's the EP track "England’s Green And Pleasant Land", one of the bonuses here, that provides the ensemble with an epic, while "Flagpole" is a "Sting In The Tale" in miniature. The bigger they get the better, though, and that's a blistering start of a rise.

****

An academician companion to the stars takes a stellar trip of his own making - commissioned by the Royal Philharmonic and joined by Mike Oldfield.

From CAMEL to MADNESS, David Bedford wrote orchestrations for the best British rockers and played in Kevin Ayers' band but, in his eyes, it was symphonic serving pop, and the composer strove to turn the tide. His chance came in 1974 when, having elevated Mike Oldfield's "Hergest Ridge" to the skies, Bedford switched from John Peel's Dandelion to Virgin and asked the "Tubular Bells" master to help him cut through the atmosphere to deliver a piece for the orchestra, an Asimov-inspired "Star's End", packed in two parts to fit an LP. The grand concept turned out rather strange as the music takes palpable shape only when the electric guitar leads the cosmic way, while the string's fare feels too nebulous. Still, the journey's enjoyable.

In its core, David Bedford placed a symphonic fantasy laid out in the vein of musical avant-garde typical for the 20th century's second half. Here, he's taking further Xenakis' experiments with sonorous orchestral sound closer to the electronic realm which, in its turn, enters traditional polyphonic texture. As the piece progresses, classical instruments mimic synthetic creations, so the aleatoric with its ostinato rhythms smoothly gives way to almost hard rock riffs and then to more conventional tonal flow colored by prominent melody. The second half is starker and sparser than the first, yet somehow warmer, as the woodwind dominates the drift, whereas the start of "Star's End" nicely illustrates the chaos that entropy brings. Still, the brass-led dramatic dynamics little by little unfurl into broader strokes of strings and guitar and bass chords that engage in a short but alluring dialogue: it keeps on intensifying until the thunder strikes and more pastoral grace pacifies the solar wind. That's where the abstract forms a clear picture, Oldfield steering a blissed-out course trough space and time to pick his way along the stormy strings after the break, but once HENRY COW's Chris Cutler's percussion spices the flight an alchemical marriage of all the elements gets the nearest - and remains elusive even when the electric wave swells up and falls leaving only stardust in its wake.

Not a classic by any means, "Star's End" is an interesting curio with a stronger pull for the prog fans rather than symphonic circles. Sadly, David Bedford passed away a few months prior to his opus reissue.

***

A stepping stone of a modern music and the haphazard beginning of a beautiful journey. The Kosmische rock starts here.

It wasn't planned to be an album: when Edgar Froese, Klaus Schulze and Conrad Schnitzler stabilized into an experimental band, they gigged and jammed until the recording of one of their rehearsal found its way to the fledgling Ohr label who would preserve that fleeting moment in time for posterity. Of course, the original tape, laid down on a two-track machine, had to be augmented with overdubs, and thus a legend was born. Much rockier than its follow-up albums, the DREAM's debut is a foundation for the ensemble's pioneering course in electronic music and, yet, a product of its era, of time and place, a reflection of Germany in the post-war throes with just a blink of light in the end of a tunnel.

For all its thickness and noir sonics, the drum thunder of "Cold Smoke" rolls in quite regular jazzy manner, while Froese's guitar clearly inherits its channel-fluttering wings from Hendrix, and "Ashes To Ashes" is a deliciously raw proto-Kraut piece. But the opening "Genesis" sounds exactly like that tunnel. Here, Schulze's metallic percussion dissipate into organ drone from which the sci-fi effects shoot out, flute and piano the only living creatures in this netherworld wherein the unseen terror throbs and halt just when the conventional rhythm looms. Then, the mind-boggling 12-minute "Journey Through A Burning Brain" lets its musique concrete wildlings of the leash, as the spaces between the found and church-bound sounds take on the equal role with melodic shards that hint on blues which manifest themselves in a distant duel of the six-string axe with Schnitzler's violin until the Bach-styled chords drown the madness in solemnity. "Resurrection" closes the alien meditation with more restrained madness, yet holds no grandness in its heart.

Perhaps, that was the reason for Klaus to look for it elsewhere, and for Edgar to project his long-playing vision to another dimension where TANGERINE DREAM reign to this day.

***1/2

One part of a winning songwriting team pitches his most vibrant songs high - up with the best female voices in his reach.

The start of Mr. Fantasy's amazing, if sadly downplayed, solo career. The spark flies high, though.

With precocious talents of Stevie Winwood in the focus of attention drawn to TRAFFIC, the British band's genius gravitas lay with Jim Capaldi, their drummer and primary lyricist. More than capable singer, as proved by the group's 1971's "The Low Spark of High Heeled Boys", next year's layoff gave Jim an opportunity to go it alone. Starting with that album's outtake, the translucent, tribal "Open Your Heart", which features the full line-up of the ensemble, Capaldi on piano, most of the songs were recorded with the Muscle Shoals Rhythm Section, and Island Record's elite team, in Alabama: such a move let Jim soak the Southern freedom and relinquish the stool to step forward. Not that this roughly cut man with a big heart strived so much for the center position - in the eye of his solo debut rests a delicate yet convincing plea "Don't Be A Hero", given additional weight by the author's former bandmate Dave Mason's bluesy guitar - it's just his muse needed a space to fly, and here it's cut loose.

Save for the boogie of "Love Is All You Can Try" and the carnival stage of the title track, aka "Anniversary Song" which, in fact, is a famous waltz "Waves Of The Danube" that Jim with the help from Paul Kossoff's incendiary six-string solo takes from Romania to Argentina - thus introducing South American groove, a would-be integral part of his music, to the mix here and in the buzz of "Last Day Of Dawn" - Capaldi tackles matters of the soul in an upbeat, if hushed, way. Still, ever-bold, the master doesn't shies away from exposing his feelings, so there's no trace of either bravado or banality in "How Much Can a Man Really Take?" where Chris Wood's folksy flute winds around the sensitive rhythm section of THE MOVE's Trevor Burton and SPOOKY TOOTH's Mike Kellie. And while "Eve" opens the ivory-encrusted gates into the author's world in a delicate manner, Jim's croon sliding on Winwood's Hammond before the horns kick the gear several notches up, the gentle but gospel-infused "Big Thirst" is hot enough to melt the snows of Kilimanjaro, especially when Mason's harmonica and Koss' strum over the orchestral sweep unfurl the arrangement into the Morricone-like panorama.

"Going Down Slow All The Way", a B-side that rounds off this definitive reissue, sees Capaldi on his own, yet it's a rare case of a man's solitude making others' lives warmer - which can be said of "Oh How We Danced" as a whole. A classic of highest caliber.

*****

The lasting Canterbury classic spreads its wings again to dig out of the underground tuneful toil.

It was all down to Robert Wyatt's wayward spirit: freeflowing as SOFT MACHINE were, the drummer felt constricted by being in only one band and got fired for his extraneous work. But, with a solo LP under his belt, the artist still couldn't dare be on his own - cue MATCHING MOLE, a pun on "machine molle", French for Wyatt's old group's name. Wordplay, an integral part of this album tracklist, reveal the process of its gestation which was long jams with kindred souls Phil Miller, Bill MacCormick and David Sinclair from, respectively, DELIVERY, QUIET SUN and CARAVAN. Those sessions, looked into in a smattering of previously unreleased bonus cuts here, including a blistering, brimful of ideas 21-minute version of the jazzy "Part Of The Dance", yielded a brilliant set of melodies that are broken, for convenience in consumption, to make a blinding whole.

As a result, closer "Immediate Curtain" links its foggy harmony back to the heartbreaking piano roll of "Signed Curtain" - where, instead of lyrics, Wyatt ingeniously sings the piece's structure - and is a close relative of "Instant Kitten" which in full, ever more palpable flesh tiptoes, not too closely but steadily, in the wake of "Instant Pussy" with its dewy wordless vocals and MacCormick's elastic bass. Throw into the mix the Miller's guitar-charged fusion of "Dedicated to Hugh, But You Weren't Listening", Robert's percussive response to Hopper's creation for SOFTS, and romantic opener "O Caroline", an update of the song from Wyatt's debut outing, now led by Sinclair's keyboards, and the real sense of the "instant-immediate" tag becomes obvious: experimental inclinations of all involved - most obvious in the aforementioned "Part Of The Dance", that is boiled down to riff as an axis for fantastic instrumental shooting at all angles - are sacrificed to arresting tunes. In order to redress the balance and ruin the order, "Beer As In Braindeer" featuring Dave MacRae, soon to join the band, on electric piano, introduces a certain madness to their method.

The PROCOL HARUM organ-grinder gets back into the action in a less stormy mood.

A short-lived supergroup kick their blistering blues away and down the years. Don't blame it on the drums.