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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, Oct 23 2016 05:48PM

Pink Floyd appear to be getting everywhere, setting themselves up as a cultural touchstone with a set of Royal Mail postage stamps commemorating their albums and live performances, and while there’s currently an exhibition at the Victoria & Albert museum You Say You Want A Revolution, Records and Rebels 1966 – 1970 which features the Floyd, there’s a dedicated Floyd exhibition at the museum planned for early next year. Despite their mass appeal and huge commercial success, Pink Floyd have been praised and derided in equal measure and though 2014’s The Endless River is likely to be their last release of ‘new’ material (the bulk of the record was from sessions with Rick Wright, who died in 2008) it’s only relatively recently that the surviving band members have shaken off their relative anonymity. Their sonic legacy stretches back an amazing 50 years so it’s neither unexpected nor unreasonable that their mark on the cultural landscape has acquired an establishment-like acceptance. The Guardian may not be the mouthpiece of the establishment but it’s as close to a voice of reason we’re going to get in the world of media and apart from the stories about the current and planned V&A exhibitions, it also put out a more politically relevant article about Gilmour, Waters and Mason at the beginning of the month. This explained their support for the Women’s Boat to Gaza, a group of women from all around the world who set off by sea from Barcelona to Gaza in October to highlight the virtual siege of Gaza, only to be intercepted by the Israeli navy resulting in the crew being arrested.




The Floyd machine ticks over nicely, revealing some astute business strategy planning. This has not only tied in with a fair number of the original generation of progressive rock fans of being of an age where they have a reasonable amount of disposable income with time to plug into the nostalgia business, but is also related to our appetite for youthful reflection with the upsurge in popularity of vinyl. I’m not ashamed to say that I’ve succumbed to the lure of freshly-pressed 180g discs; I’m more ashamed of having sold off my original LPs in the first place when I thought that remastered and repackaged CDs were the future. I treated myself to a new copy of Dark Side of the Moon just after Christmas, an edition that included the stickers and posters which had adorned my bedroom walls since 1973, and Atom Heart Mother and Meddle only a couple of weeks ago. My early Pink Floyd albums were bought between 1973 and 1975 and, apart from Wish You Were Here which I had to replace a couple of times due to its popularity amongst friends at my university hall of residence, were in what second-hand record shops refer to as ‘very good condition’, having been kept in plastic sleeves for much of their life and always handled with loving care. I don’t regret the remarkable rise in resale price of quality vinyl over the following twenty years but it is true to say that at the time I offloaded a large chunk of my collection to Beanos the Floyd were hardly valued currency, yet now you might pay £15 for a Dark Side or Meddle in good condition.

The just aired BBC4 documentary Pink Floyd Beginnings 1967 – 1972 was timed to coincide with the imminent release of the 27 disc box set The Early Years 1965 – 1972 and utilised some previously unreleased material from that collection, recently unearthed and enhanced. I really enjoyed this hour long film, mainly because it included some surprising footage such as the improvised piece Show Roland Petit, recorded in 1970 and shown on French TV in 1971 that presaged the Roland Petit Pink Floyd Ballet. There were also clips from two different performances of Atom Heart Mother, one with choir and orchestra filmed in Germany, one a band-only performance in France, both of which I found fascinating. The selection of film used also included the Syd Barrett-era band miming Jugband Blues in 1967 for London Line, a series commissioned by the government to promote London as a place for overseas investment. Jugband Blues is one of the tracks I tend to skip if I’m listening to A Saucerful of Secrets but watching the clip triggered an odd association. There are a couple of bars at around 1’56 into the track where the improvised brass reminds me of opening section Father’s Shout from the Atom Heart Mother suite. Atom Heart was one of my early Pink Floyd album purchases and is still one of my favourite Floyd albums, whatever criticism it has attracted from those involved in its gestation or from fans.




The recent vinyl reissue coincided with a large piece in the last edition of Prog magazine (Prog 70) and this suggests to me that the piece is having something of a favourable critical reappraisal. I think that Atom Heart Mother sits very nicely on the progressive span of the Pink Floyd timeline, with elements clearly linked to what had come before (think The Man and The Journey performances from the previous year and Alan’s Psychedelic Breakfast, and the structure of the title suite and Echoes. The track A Saucerful of Secrets demonstrates a sonic lineage from the spacey, psychedelic improvisations of the Barrett era and forward to the solo tracks, most obviously the multi-part Sysyphus on Ummagumma; This was exploratory stuff which in turn set the scene for the band to work with an orchestra. I’d come into prog accepting the fusion of rock and classical, having been exposed to The Nice in 1972, and I remain in favour of the symbiosis of group and orchestra, though the use of the choir on Atom Heart Mother may have been the first time I’d knowingly come across a wordless choral piece, giving the track a cinematic scope which conjures images of prehistoric peoples and landscapes, quite the opposite to the rather futuristic sounding title. Whereas my original LP excluded Ron Geesin from the credits for the track Atom Heart Mother, this was corrected by the time of my 1994 CD. Composer and musician Geesin seems to have been an inspired choice for a collaborator, known to Roger Waters through a shared love of golf and having worked together on the film soundtrack Music from The Body (1970), because his orchestration is sympathetic to the band’s ideas and creates a remarkably cohesive whole, from overture, through development to reprise and denouement. I have to admit that I’m not over enamoured by side two. Psychedelic Breakfast is mildly amusing; a very Floydian experiment in sound effects punctuated by some decent ensemble playing, but If, Summer ’68 and Fat Old Sun all fall into a category I’d class as straightforward rock, uninspired and unchallenging, joined by all of side one of Meddle bar One of These Days, and the La Vallée soundtrack Obscured by Clouds.

I think the qualitative difference between compositions on the two sides of both Atom Heart Mother and Meddle reflect the differences between individual song writing and group collaboration. I have recently reappraised Piper at the Gates of Dawn and as much as I love the whimsy and the psychedelic nature of the songs with Barrett’s unconventional guitar and Wright’s dreamy organ tones, these songs don’t pretend to want to change the world or set themselves up as genre defining. That’s not intended to be a wounding criticism because I do like the first Floyd album, but it is of a certain time and place. It seems to me that the immediate post-Barrett period was somewhat difficult for the group, with Rick Wright initially taking on song writing duties, followed by Roger Waters. The route to success appeared when the band began exploring different sounds and alternative studio techniques, something that was easier to do as a group rather than as individuals, collaborations resulting in the first side of Atom Heart, the second side of Meddle, Dark Side of the Moon and Wish You Were Here. As ideas dried up, Waters shouldered responsibility for the bulk of writing but, though his ideas were undeniably grand, the lack of group input reflected on the quality of the output. The Atom Heart Mother suite was the first time the band collaborated on a side-long piece and it remains a classic 46 years later.






Atom Heart Mother was originally released in October 1970





By ProgBlog, Feb 7 2016 11:30PM

Television is not my primary leisure medium. The broadening of choice in a post-analogue world has resulted in an overall decline in televisual standards. I am old enough to remember the early days of three terrestrial channels, when BBC Two was the first channel in Europe to regularly broadcast in colour; it appeared on air in April 1964 and colour transmissions began in July 1967. I remember sitting in my grandmother’s front room on a Saturday afternoon watching Trade Test Transmissions on her black and white rental TV, changing channels using a knob on the wall, intrigued by these short infomercials and being awestruck by the optimistic and futuristic pieces of programming, especially the film of the Evoluon science museum in Eindhoven, the Netherlands, with its soundtrack of electronica and jazz which somehow fitted with the images of this beautiful UFO-like piece of modernist architecture; I’m pretty sure this introduced me to Take Five by Dave Brubeck but I may be mistaken.

I first became aware of the commercialisation of sporting events when Kerry Packer founded World Series Cricket in 1977, in a move to secure broadcasting rights for Australian cricket. Ripples from this move have since spread far and wide. With parallels to prog, cricket is a long-form sport. As a youth my summer breaks were punctuated by periods in front of the TV to watch Test Matches, played over 5 days and unadulterated by wall-to-wall sponsorship (the 65-over-a-side Gillette Cup which became the Nat West Trophy in 1981 came across as being unsullied by corporate interference; this had changed by the time it had become the C&G Trophy in 2001.) It was the tactical approach to the game with its changing conditions that kept me enthralled. I was watching a lot of cricket at the same time that I was getting into progressive rock and reading Tolkien, Alan Garner and Ursula Le Guin; another piece of the cultural landscape that helped form what I’ve become. The Infield Park Gang would play cricket, too, on a local playing field attached to a convent school and, despite being pretty bad at the sport I was drafted in to play 11th man for two Goldsmiths’ College first XI matches which were held in the grounds of Loring Hall, my hall of residence at university.

It seems crazy to me that betting firms should be allowed to sponsor sports and I fully agree with Andy Murray’s recent outburst against sponsorship of tennis by betting companies, just when allegations of match fixing were flying around. I find it outrageous that the deregulation of the gambling industry has created a huge increase in the number of betting shops in poor and deprived areas of the country and that commercial TV is permitted to bombard us with adverts for online gaming. I blame deregulation for both the downturn in quality of programming and the knock on effects of commercialisation of sport; competition in the service industries always ends up as a race to the bottom. The walk out by Liverpool fans at their game against Sunderland yesterday, angry at the £70 price tag on away tickets, was meant to highlight the separation of the beautiful game from the true fans but sadly it’s not going to influence football’s governing body, as corruption appears to run through the veins of world football (and world athletics.) I don’t blame the players for their often ridiculously excessive pay, the responsibility lies with the broadcasters. With ever greater choice of channels it’s become more and more difficult to find anything of quality to watch. If I do sit in front of the TV it’s more likely to be for a film on DVD/Blu-ray or a music DVD than a piece of scheduled programming, mostly because what is aired seems to involve some form of voyeurism or schadenfreude: wannabe celebrity non-entities after their five minutes of fame; former celebrities clinging on to their five minutes of fame; police dogs in helicopters with cameras filming surgery that’s gone wrong... what occupation hasn’t been covered?

My first music videos were Yessongs (from the 1975 film) and Pink Floyd’s Live at Pompeii (the 1974 version), both on VHS format. Yessongs was disappointing because the sound quality wasn’t very good and the synching of music and video was poor. I’d not managed to see the film when it played in UK cinemas so it’s hard to know if the cinematic experience was any better. I was given the Blu-ray version as a present a couple of Christmases ago but the curse of Yessongs struck again: the disc could not be recognised in my Blu-ray player and was returned to the shop, sans the Roger Dean postcards that featured in the revised packaging. Live at Pompeii, on the other hand, remains a firm favourite. I’d been to see the film when it toured the UK and I’ve also visited Pompeii on a couple of occasions where the silhouette of Vesuvius continues to dominate the atmosphere of the site. I always thought it a shame that Echoes was used to bookend the film but it doesn’t detract from the performance, in effect a swan song to the space rock material (which I really like), issuing in the prog of the Dark Side era. The Directors Cut version that I now own on DVD isn’t really any improvement, the space graphics have not aged as well as the music!


I think I first saw the film version of Emerson Lake and Palmer performing Pictures at an Exhibition on TV, a performance from the Lyceum in London in 1970 released in the cinema in 1973. I wasn’t aware that the soundtrack was different from the album (recorded at Newcastle City Hall) until I bought a double-sided CD/DVD in 2003 as it had been so long since I’d watched the film, but I think it remains an important documentary of early prog, attempting a reworking of a classical piece in a rock context.

White Rock, the film documentary of the Innsbruck 1976 Winter Olympics, was another cinema release, opening in 1977 and touring as a double bill with concert footage of Genesis playing live. I don’t remember too much about the Genesis portion of the programme, partly because I’ve never owned a copy of Seconds Out (1977), being far more interested in Rick Wakeman’s return to form with the soundtrack for White Rock. I bought the album shortly after its release, from Boots in Barrow, impressed by the interpretation of speed and grace over snow and ice. I’ve got a couple of other Wakeman videos: Out There (2004), described as a ‘concept DVD’ and a performance of The Six Wives of Henry VIII (2009) at Hampton Court Palace on Blu-ray. Six Wives includes the original album plus three new tracks and, as it’s my favourite Wakeman solo album, I rate it quite highly. I was tempted to get a ticket for the gig but ended up at The Lumiere for Mellofest 2009 instead. The music on Out There isn’t bad and no doubt at the time the graphics were cutting edge, but when viewed ten years after it was released, some of them haven’t really stood the test of time. I saw Wakeman and the English Rock Ensemble promote the album live in Croydon in April 2003, where a major technical hitch with the keyboards forced an early intermission.


Not surprisingly I have quite a range of Yes DVDs, from The Gates of QPR (1993, recorded 1975) to Songs from Tsongas (2005, recorded 2004) via Keys to Ascension (2000, recorded 1996), House of Yes (2000), Symphonic Live (2002, recorded 2001), Yesspeak (2003) and Live at Montreux (2008, recorded 2003). My other Floyd DVDs consist of documentaries about the making of Atom Heart Mother (2007), Dark Side of the Moon (2003) and Wish You Were Here (2005), plus The Pink Floyd and Syd Barrett Story (2006), Roger Waters’ post-fall of the Berlin Wall The Wall Live in Berlin (2004, recorded 1990) and the 1982 Alan Parker film of The Wall, despite me not classifying it as prog; I was fortunate enough to see a preview of the film, filling in a questionnaire on the way out. I look upon critical reviews as being worthwhile. BBC4 produces some excellent music programmes but I was pleased to get hold of Inside King Crimson 1972 – 1975 (2005) to go with my Deja Vrooom (2009) and Neal and Jack and Me (2004).
Not surprisingly I have quite a range of Yes DVDs, from The Gates of QPR (1993, recorded 1975) to Songs from Tsongas (2005, recorded 2004) via Keys to Ascension (2000, recorded 1996), House of Yes (2000), Symphonic Live (2002, recorded 2001), Yesspeak (2003) and Live at Montreux (2008, recorded 2003). My other Floyd DVDs consist of documentaries about the making of Atom Heart Mother (2007), Dark Side of the Moon (2003) and Wish You Were Here (2005), plus The Pink Floyd and Syd Barrett Story (2006), Roger Waters’ post-fall of the Berlin Wall The Wall Live in Berlin (2004, recorded 1990) and the 1982 Alan Parker film of The Wall, despite me not classifying it as prog; I was fortunate enough to see a preview of the film, filling in a questionnaire on the way out. I look upon critical reviews as being worthwhile. BBC4 produces some excellent music programmes but I was pleased to get hold of Inside King Crimson 1972 – 1975 (2005) to go with my Deja Vrooom (2009) and Neal and Jack and Me (2004).

We were made aware that the Camel concert at the Barbican in 2013 was being recorded for DVD release, In from the Cold (2014) which is a superb reminder of a brilliant gig; I also have the two live set collection Moondances (2007.) I have more melodic symphonic prog on DVD in the form of Steve Hackett’s Genesis Revisited: Live at Hammersmith (2013) a 3CD+2DVD package of one of the musical highlights of 2013. The second DVD contains behind the scenes footage and interviews with collaborators, a theme that continues on another recent acquisition, the documentary-like Steve Hackett The Man, The Music (2015.)





Another gig that I should have gone to but didn’t, but which I had to buy on DVD is the Classic Rock Legends Van der Graaf Generator live at Metropolis Studios (2011, recorded 2010) which sits alongside Inside Van der Graaf Generator (2005) and Godbluff Live 1975 (2003.) Earlier this weekend I indulged in some PFM (Live in Japan 2002) featuring four members of the classic line-up.

One good thing about television in the 70s were series like Rock Goes to College and Sight and Sound in Concert. The Bruford gig from Oxford Polytechnic (now Oxford Brookes University) which I remember watching at the time, has become part of my DVD collection and though the camera direction is poor, it’s great to be able to see this footage again. There’s better camerawork on GG at the GG, (2006, filmed 1978, 1976 and 1974) which captures Gentle Giant at the tail end of their career. The earlier material is fantastic but Missing Piece tracks Two Weeks in Spain and Betcha Thought We Couldn’t Do It are relatively poor fare. There was a more recent programme which showed Sylvian and Fripp live in Japan in 1993, during the Road to Graceland tour – it would be terrific if that was released on DVD...







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