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Regarded as a prog metal classic, Dream Theater's Metropolis pt.2: Scenes from a Memory is now 20 years old

ProgBlog reflects on the current state of prog metal

By ProgBlog, Jul 3 2016 09:20PM

I’ve just taken receipt of the Anderson/Stolt LP Invention of Knowledge and, sitting in my Barcelona chair with the gatefold sleeve open in my hands, I’m transported back to the mid 70s.


TV plays a balanced part in my life although the ability to call up 24 hour news or watch catch-up programmes on mobile devices means that breaking news or doing something else the same night that Brian Pern is scheduled means I never miss anything I want to see. In reality, programmes I’m missing in real time are conveniently recorded on a TiVo box and I get pretty sick of 24 hour news streaming where the anchors frequently have to ad-lib as some sort of live action reaches an impasse and the scrolling red ribbon runs on an ever quicker cycle, complete with uncorrected spelling errors. I think there are too many channels, most of which peddle meaningless nonsense, cheap programming and repeats. I may have watched a little too much TV in the 70s but at least broadcasting was restricted to three terrestrial channels where, despite the airing of tired, formulaic situation comedies and crass game shows, it appeared that on the BBC at least there was some thought about what was shown.

I was at the BFI on London’s Southbank on Thursday, attending a very enjoyable presentation called Transport as Architecture: Ballard to Banham that featured three short films: Crash! directed by Harley Cokeliss from 1970 that featured JG Ballard himself along with Gabrielle Drake (who I remember as Lieutenant Gay Ellis from Gerry Anderson’s UFO which ran from 1970-1973); The Thing Is... Motorways, part of a 1992 Channel 4 ‘talk show’ series by Paul Morley which also included short contributions from JG Ballard; and Reyner Banham Loves Los Angeles from 1972, in which the writer, critic and Professor of Architectural History drove around LA in search of interesting features to show to tourists. Both Cokeliss and Morley were present to introduce their pieces and, despite his writing for the NME from the mid 70s to the mid 80s, I hold a sneaking admiration for Morley, not because he’s a northerner (he was born in Farnham, Surrey), but because he has some interesting things to say and his taste in music is pretty eclectic; I thought that some of the music that accompanied his documentary, a short piece of electronica, was like a Mancunian take on Kraftwerk’s Autobahn only inspired by the Preston by-pass section of the M6. Before the films I flicked through a somewhat small collection of soundtracks on re-released vinyl in the BFI gift shop and, alongside Mike Oldfield’s soundtrack to the harrowing The Killing Fields, was an LP from the BBC Radiophonic Workshop.


The Radiophonic Workshop was a revolutionary sound effects unit created in 1958, originally to provide sound effects for radio programmes which became most famous for recording Ron Grainer’s Dr Who theme in 1963. The creators and contributors included trained musicians with an appreciation of musique concrète and tape manipulation and their rooms at Maida Vale are reported to have looked more like an electronics laboratory than a routine recording studio. The pioneering work was carried out by some memorable names including Daphne Oram and Delia Derbyshire. A synthesizer designed by Oram, where sounds and compositions were produced by drawings, featured in BBC Technology news last week and forms the centrepiece of an exhibition Oram to Electronica at the Science Museum in London. A mini-Oramics machine, based on original plans but never completed during her lifetime, has just been completed by a PhD student from Goldsmiths College and though there are now apps that mimic the principle it predated sequencing software and, if the machine had been available in 1973, it could have changed the way music was taught and performed.

Strange electronic noises are very suited to science fiction and the inception of the Radiophonic Workshop coincided with the rise in popularity of SF, from radio serials Quatermass and the Pit to Douglas Adams’ immensely popular Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy which later translated to television, as well as shows like Dr Who.

One area where the BBC excelled was in its children’s programming. I distinctly remember a drama series, based on a trilogy of novels by Peter Dickinson and first broadcast in 1975 called The Changes. This near-apocalyptic vision was notable for its pro-integration message, being one of the first programmes to feature Sikhs, making it genuinely progressive. The excellent theme music was by Paddy Kingsland of the BBC Radiophonic Workshop which I seem to recall was available as a 45rpm single, but which wasn’t stocked by any of the record stores in Barrow. The long-running Blue Peter which at one time featured Barrovian Peter Purves (I used to deliver papers for his parent’s newsagents on the corner of Oxford Street and Furness Park Road) included an updated theme tune performed by Mike Oldfield that was available as a single, reaching no. 19 in the charts in 1979 and raising money for the Blue Peter Cambodia appeal. Another BBC children’s programme was Horses Galore, presented by Susan King which had a relatively short run, from 1977 to 1979. I’ve got no idea why I would watch a programme about horses, not being interested in equestrian pursuits and having once been bitten on the shoulder by Nicola Richardson’s horse, but the theme music was Pulstar by Vangelis from Albedo 0.39 (1976).

There was a lot of instrumental progressive rock around at the time and I thought that some of this should be used for items on BBC TV’s regional news and current affairs programme Nationwide that was shown immediately after the early evening so I wrote to them in December 1976, prompted to put pen to paper because I’d detected a snatch of Echoes on Jacob Bronowski’s seminal series The Ascent of Man, providing them with a list of suggestions. I don’t believe they took any notice but I did get a standard postcard in reply.


I was reminded of this when I read Rick Wakeman’s programme notes for his recent appearance at the Stone Free Festival; the Arthur theme was used by the BBC for Election Night specials on a number of occasions, a very fitting use of the music.

Yorkshire TV, one of the Independent Television company franchise holders ran a science-based show called Don’t Ask Me from 1974 to 1978 which used House of the King by Focus as a theme tune and exposed panellists David Bellamy (botany), Miriam Stoppard (medicine) and Magnus Pyke (natural sciences) to a wide audience. Pyke came across as the archetypal mad scientist and it was his unforgettable manner that was largely responsible for the success of the series, such that a large proportion of my generation will think of Don’t Ask Me rather than Focus when they hear the song.

Holiday was a long-running BBC programme that began in 1969, featuring reports from holiday destinations around the world. I think it was broadcast on a Sunday in the early evening and it was therefore something that could be watched while eating an informal Sunday tea. I’d bought Gordon Giltrap’s Visionary shortly after it was released in 1976 and bought the subsequent album, Perilous Journey when that came out in 1977. It was a bit of a surprise to hear Heartsong used as the theme tune for Holiday ’78 and it continued to be used until replaced by an unpopular piece by Simon May in 1985. Interestingly, the ITV holiday reviews show Wish You Were Here? (essentially a rip-off of Holiday) used Giltrap’s The Carnival as a theme tune.

One of the best original theme tunes was by Greenslade for the gritty BBC crime drama Gangsters (appearing on Time and Tide, 1975.) I think I saw the programme before hearing the album, immediately recognising the twin keyboard work of Daves Greenslade and Lawson. Set around Birmingham and originally a one-off Play for Today in 1975, this was the most lifelike screen violence I’d seen and was genuinely gripping.

Like The Changes, it’s a lost gem with excellent title music.







By ProgBlog, Oct 25 2015 09:45PM

My Walkman is blinking at me, cycling between the home screen and the music I was last listening to on my journey home from work last Thursday, shutting myself off from the noise and the crush on the London Overground (aka the Ginger Line), Tormato by Yes. The Option and Back buttons don’t respond yet I can scroll through the different tracks on the album but when it stays on the home screen for long enough, the left, up, right and down functions don’t work. It won’t even turn off! It’s broken. At 16GB it’s not big enough to hold anywhere near my entire music collection and my life involves constant updating of the material on the player each time I acquire more music and shuffle things around. In the last couple of months I’ve been to Italy and bought more CDs than I probably should have done; bought CDs at gigs; I’ve had a birthday, which inevitably resulted in multiple CDs; and I’ve been picking up new vinyl from the internet (the English version of Felona and Sorona by Le Orme and the yet to be despatched La Curva di Lesmo by Fabio Zuffanti) plus second hand vinyl (Edgar Froese’s Aqua, 1974) from an antique shop in Crystal Palace. My last batch of CD burning was a sequence of Tangerine Dream releases, Encore (1977), the last of the Peter Baumann-era TD, Cyclone (1978) featuring Steve Jolliffe, Force Majeure (1979) which featured Klaus Krieger on drums, Tangram (1980), the first album of the Johannes Schmoelling-era, and Hyperborea (1983); the vinyl won’t be converted to mp3 until I get a new turntable. Oh, I almost forgot. BTF put out a couple of discounted CDs every week and after reading a short review of the only and eponymous LP by Paese dei Balocchi (Land of Toys) from 1972, presented in a mini gatefold sleeve for €5.99, I put in my order and I’m waiting for it to be delivered. I bought a new MP3 player yesterday, just an updated version of my old Sony, because I was happy with the balance of portability (it’s very small) and sound quality, when played through Sennheiser earphones. I find it a little strange that the new device has a time display and as BST switched to GMT in the early hours of this morning; I found it stranger that this was an electronic device that required a manual adjustment to the time.

Time is something of an abstract concept that covers both immense (astronomical) measurement and the quantum level; the second was originally defined as the fraction 1/86400 of the mean solar day but uncertainty over the exact definition of a mean solar day and irregularities in the rotation of the earth resulted in deviations from the required accuracy. In order to define the unit of time more precisely, in 1967 the 13th CGPM (Conférence générale des poids et measures – General Conference on Weights and Measures) decided to replace the definition of the second with the following: The second is the duration of 9192631770 periods of the radiation corresponding to the transition between the two hyperfine levels of the ground state of the caesium 133 atom at a temperature of 0 Kelvin.

It’s hardly surprising that an examination of the concept of time should feature in prog, from time travel (Beggar Julia’s Time Trip by Ekseption, 1969) to the condition of mankind (Time, from Dark Side of the Moon, 1973.) It may be a stretch of the imagination to suggest that a fascination with time goes back to before the beginning of the genre when psychedelia was in ascendency: the ingestion of LSD may have been used by some to expand consciousness but one of the alleged effects of the drug was to alter the perception of time, such that minutes seemed to stretch into hours. An early psychedelic-progressive crossover was the Moody Blues Days of Future Passed (1967), a song cycle about a day in the life of an everyman.

Roger Waters took an interesting approach to time on The Pros and Cons of Hitchhiking (1984) where the track titles all incorporate a specific time, from 4.30 am to 5.11 am with the track length corresponding to the times indicated by the titles; a parallel with Dark Side is that Pros and Cons is a reflection on issues contributing to a mid-life crisis. I went to see Waters perform the show live in London in June 1984; I’ve never owned the album because it resembles The Wall too much for my taste and though the concept may be prog, the music (and musicians) belonged to a straightforward rock idiom. I’m not suggesting that writing songs about time are unique to progressive rock or even that time isn’t only referred to by progressive rock bands in a manner other than the prosaic (think of Counting Out Time from The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway,1974) or even without any context (the very short harpsichord-drenched instrumental Time from Time and Tide (1975) by Greenslade, a collection of short pieces without any over-reaching concept. Within prog, some aspect of time often forms an integral part of a piece: the iconic chiming clocks that precede the Floyd’s Time or Vangelis’ use of the speaking clock at the end of Pulstar from Albedo 0.39 (1976) - a pulsar (an abbreviation for pulsating radio star) emits electromagnetic radiation as it spins so that there is a set period between pulses at a particular observation point. This precise period means that some pulsars are as accurate as an atomic clock.

Tempus Fugit by Yes (Drama, 1980) is more narrative-descriptive than a particular concept; the music was primarily supplied by Howe, Squire and White before Trevor Horn provided the lyrics which seem to suggest, in a somewhat convoluted way, that despite the lack of Anderson and Wakeman, Drama is a Yes album. It’s interesting that Horn reprises one of my favourite pieces from Tormato, the line in RejoiceTime flies, on and on it goes” and Rejoice is in essence the second part of opening track Future Times. Though Tempus Fugit may have influenced Roger Dean’s cover art (or the other way round) there seem to be references in the song words to the inside sleeve of Tormato. Time Table from Foxtrot (1972) is a classic Genesis pun but it’s really a short reflection on the failure of mankind to learn from the mistakes of the past, a slightly less naive take on the subject than Stagnation from Trespass (1970.) I prefer the earlier song. There’s another agonising pun on Zero Time (1971) by T.O.N.T.O’s Expanding Headband where the third track is titled Timewhys. I can’t detect any cohesive theme on this particular release, though in accord with their synthesizer instrumentation, a couple of the song titles hint at futurism: Cybernaut and Jetsex.

There’s more to the relationship between prog and time, including a perceived obsession with length of track and unusual time signatures. King Crimson might be regarded as one of the leading exponents of very odd times but most prog acts have strayed from 4/4; Waters’ bass and cash-register sounds on Money are in 7/8 and flow seamlessly. Critics regard this as being clever for the sake of it, pretentious self indulgence, whereas I think that uncommon meters allow a band to incorporate interesting rhythmical ideas, rather than conforming to the chug-chug-chug-chug of four beats to the bar. Furthermore, the extended length of tracks allows for development, eschewing the somewhat narrow constraints of the three minute single, which may be a challenge of the attention span of some critics.



By ProgBlog, Aug 5 2015 09:10PM

The skies over Croydon last Friday night (31/7/15) were cloud-free and, despite the light pollution from the streets, the ‘blue moon’ was really clear. I’m something of a fan of astronomy and as a youth members of the Infield Park Gang (IPG) would venture off to watch meteor showers from the vantage point of a local school playground, lying down so that the town’s sodium streetlights were obscured by the surrounding trees, or heading off to the ruins of nearby Furness Abbey, nestled in the Vale of the Deadly Nightshade where the night skies were so dark it could be quite hazardous walking up Manor Road in the direction of Yarlside; we used to frequent The New Commercial in Newton (now The Village Inn) at the top end of the derelict iron ore mine workings, a free house where the beer was excellent and the juke box contained a reasonable selection of prog and prog-lite, possibly where I first heard Wuthering Heights by Kate Bush.

The term ‘blue moon’ is a bit of a misnomer and a bit confusing. The moon reflects the sun and appears yellow-white as normal but the name, which had been documented well over 100 years before the popular definition ascribed by amateur astronomer James Hugh Pruett in 1946 was simplified to indicate the second full moon in a calendar month. The lunar cycle of 29.5 days means that Pruett’s blue moons occur seven times every 19 years; the original name derives from the Native American Algonquin, who gave names to all full moons throughout the year and introduced the Blue Moon, the fourth full moon in a single season, as a way of maintaining their lunar-calendar month alignment. So is an event described as ‘once in a blue moon’ rare? With an occurrence of once every 2.7 years they are certainly infrequent...

The moon is highly symbolic with multiple meanings and interpretations, primarily based on observations of its regular cycle; the brightness of the full moon waning to complete darkness at the new moon and waxing again to the full moon. At a very basic level the constant regular appearance, growth and subsequent disappearance can be interpreted as a symbol of life, death and rebirth. The reflectivity of the moon – the albedo (as in Albedo 0.39 by Vangelis, the reflectivity of the earth in 1976 when the album was released) – averages at 0.12 due to the changes of brightness linked to different lunar phases and gives rise to the notion of the moon as a mirror that reflects the mystery and fear within our souls.

The common association of the moon with femininity comes about because lunar cycles were thought to mirror the life of a woman, a representative of the Triple Goddess; her three incarnations of maiden, mother, and crone were matched with the lunar phases of new, full, and old so that the complete triad of goddesses is symbolised in the changing face of the moon. Another reason that the changing moon is particularly associated with women is because the regular lunar cycle closely matches the menstrual cycle. The English word month is derived from the Anglo-Saxon monath, from mona, the moon; menses is from the Latin mensis, meaning month. This once more brings to mind Kate Bush who not only injected literacy into the pop world but featured a song about menstruation, Strange Phenomena, on her debut album The Kick Inside (1978). The space rock of early Gong, most notably Camembert Electrique (1971) which features the so-called space whisper of Gilli Smyth strikes me as feminine, if we’re allowed to attach gender to music, an opinion possibly influenced by the inclusion of the track Selene - the Greek goddess of the moon; also, the influence of Gong on Steve Hillage, even after he’d left the band in December 1975 along with girlfriend Miquette Giraudy, may have been partially responsible for Lunar Musick Suite (from L, 1976.)

With the plethora of possible interpretations, the moon makes a number of appearances in the prog canon, from the straightforward interpretation of the moon landings on Brian Eno’s Apollo: Atmospheres and Soundtracks (1983), a documentary film that was originally shown without narration, simply featuring footage of the Apollo space missions with Eno’s predominantly dark ambient soundtrack, to the moon as a symbol of reflected self in Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon where every day pressures can lead to madness. Eno has indicated his album is intended to be an exploration of space travel, not some kind of adventure film soundtrack and I think the moods he successfully creates somehow tap into the idea of expanding the human experience, something that has acted as an inspiration for some of my own ambient music (Lunar Surface Magnetic Anomalies, 2013.)

Camel’s Moonmadness (1976) might not seem to be a conceptual piece of work on first hearing, certainly not in the Dark Side mould, but moon references recur throughout the album. The short first track Aristillus is named after a prominent lunar impact crater that lies in the eastern Mare Imbrium and features drummer Andy Ward reciting the names ‘Aristillus’ and ‘Autolycus’, the latter being a slightly smaller crater due south of Aristillus. The obvious moon reference is the track Lunar Sea (hence Moonmadness) which is one of my favourite instrumental tracks of all time. The alternating guitar and keyboard leads are understated and beautifully melodic, giving the track a great balance; the Moog tones evoke the ebb and flow of a cosmic ocean and Ward’s drumming is neat and crisp while Doug Ferguson’s bass bounces and bubbles. Even the heavy Another Night gets in a lunar reference: “Dark Clouds before my eyes / Can’t face the morning skies / Day comes a day too soon / I’m waiting for that silver moon” but Camel had set out to avoid a concept album in the style of Snow Goose after pressure from their record companies; if Moonmadness has a loose concept it’s that four of the tracks are said to represent the members of the band: Chord Change is Pete Bardens; Another Night is Doug Ferguson; Air Born is Andy Latimer; and Lunar Sea is Andy Ward.

Another moon link is on Mad Man Moon from Genesis’ A Trick of the Tail (1976) though I don’t think it’s really about madness or the moon, just an obsession with what others have: envy. I’ve racked my brains trying to find some link between the lyrics and the title of the song, other than in the line of the chorus, but Tony Banks sticks pretty much to drought/flood imagery. I recall Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet Act 2 scene 2: “Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon” but, despite the allusion to lost love, I suspect I’m way off the mark.

The moon represents mystery but the moon landings, coinciding with the rise of progressive rock, may have resolved some of the unknowns. This has encouraged prog to delve deeper into the cosmos.



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