The opener, Killer seems to be about both sharks and love, is to be the most straight up rocker of the album, and has a really nice piano break. Here’s a slightly distorted 1972 version from French TV. And here’s a very clean live version from 2005. Crazy double saxophone playing! This is the first indication of what I’ve missed not having gotten into them earlier. I really wish I’d been at that show.
The opener, Killer seems to be about both sharks and love, is to be the most straight up rocker of the album, and has a really nice piano break. Here’s a slightly distorted 1972 version from French TV. And here’s a very clean live version from 2005. Crazy double saxophone playing! This is the first indication of what I’ve missed not having gotten into them earlier. I really wish I’d been at that show.
The horn sound on this album moves VDGG closer to what King Crimson were doing during the Lizard/Islands period while the classical keyboards pull the sound towards early Genesis (with whom they toured the following year). I love the confluence of gorgeous vocals and rhythm guitar work that goes head to head with free-jazz saxophone on tracks like What Ever Would Robert Have Said? Hammill had a lovely voice (and possibly still does) and he uses it to great effect, from a croon to a growl and often in the same song.
After the deluge of Darkness (11/11), Refugees is a beautiful interlude with some nice harmonies before White Hammer, another example of proper early prog histrionics. Lyrically the latter owes too much to its source material (the 15th century treatise on witchcraft, Malleus Maleficarum). That said, the interplay of the sax and keyboards can occasionally make you forget the words. I hope I can find a live version, because the fadeout (given that this song closes side A) is annoying. Honestly not sure where I got my hatred for the fade, but in general I think the shows that the producer was sleeping on the job.
Side B starts with Whatever Would Robert Have Said? For being only about six minutes long, it goes through several sections, some with vocals, some without. The opening wailing saxophone shows off some interesting production – the sax in the left channel is different than the sax in the right. They definitely knew what stereo was for.
Out Of My Book is another musically gentle track. Primarily flute-driven, it’s another first-person not-quite-love-song.
After The Flood has a section with some great flute/drum interplay. Lyrically it’s half biblical flood and half apocalypse. The horn work in the middle of the song has the free jazz feel of contemporaneous King Crimson. I like the Dalek effect on the word ‘annihilation’. Alas, the refrain of And when the water falls again / All is dead and nobody lives doesn’t really do justice to the majesty of the music.
The version on Spotify is the 2005 remaster with two extra tracks: The Boat of Millions of Years and the single version of Refugees. Wikipedia says that these are the B and A sides of single released two months after the LP. The latter still isn’t exactly radio friendly at 5 minutes 18 (versus the 6:25 of the album version), but radio was a different beast in 1970.
Having finished A Dylan A Day a few weeks ago, there was a request to take on A Van Der Graaf Generator A Day.
Here’s the first: AVDGGAD 01 – The Aeresol Grey Machine (1969)
Main man Peter Hammill made much of his reputation as a guitarist, so it’s a little odd that this first VDGG album is so keyboard heavy.
Lyrically, the whole album is something of a mindfuck. Here’s an almost but not quite track-by-track…
Orthenian St. is ostensibly about an averted accident on an icy road. Part I closes with a nice Neu-like repetition (yes – I know that Neu! came later) before slipping back into folk-prog. The same motorik feel comes back around at the end of part II
Running Back has some nice flute going on and studio echo that reminds me of what Jonathan King did on some of the tracks on the first Genesis recordings. Its lyrics seem to be about a relationship the narrator has returned to after trying to leave.
The much harder Into A Game has the narrator pushing a partner away who is trying to return (Now we’re into a game / And it’s all a bit strange / But familiar too / The rules never change / I know it, but do you?). Its closing features some nicely improvised jazz piano.
Now this is the place where listening to a continuous medium such as a CD (or single track video) shows up how different it was to listen to a recording with two sides. Side B opens with the title track, a 47-second music-hall takeoff reminiscent of I Want To Marry A Lighthouse Keeper (used in A Clockwork Orange, but probably not an influence on the later VDGG track A Plague of Lighthouse Keepers). It just sounds really weird coming after Into A Game. The jarring is similar to that produced by Sergeant Peppers’ side 2 inner groove and the alarm at that follows The Wanderer on U2’s Zooropa.
Side two is otherwise dedicated to the kind of lyrical mythology that prog and sub-par fantasy novels became famous/infamous for. Aquarians and Necromancer both have silliness like ‘My form is mystic, but my heart is pure / You’d better believe what I say / I am the Necromancer’, but particularly on the latter, the drumming and synth work are quite intriguing.
Octopus is a little less like that, but is still an interesting example of early prog rock.
The version of the album I found on Vevo is taken (I think) from the German reissue which closes with The People You Were Going To and Firebrand. The first of these is an odd address to another person much like Running Back. It’s more of a straight up folk rock piece than what otherwise populated side two. On the other hand, Firebrand is most definitely another one of those heavy keyboard, heavy mythology pieces of fantasy rock. The vocals are histrionic and the lyrics…well, the chorus goes like so:
“I ride an icy stallion, fire at each end
and poison at the centre;
you won’t hear my words as I scream into the darkness:
his plans are like a firebrand,
his plans are like a firebrand.”
The closing of the song makes reference to a couple of folks named Njal and Hildiglum. I had to look them up – they come out of an 10th century Icelandic saga. Much like Peter Gabriel did with The Fountain of Salmacis a couple of years later, Hammill seems to have lifted the lyrics nearly wholesale from the older text.
All in all, quite a satisfying album, though I think I’d prefer to have heard just the album either as it was released or as it was sequenced by the band. I give it ****.

So after the announcement that Bob Dylan had been awarded the Nobel Prize for literature, I decided to listen to his entire studio catalogue. 37 albums. I made it most of the way through. His last album is not on Spotify (Nederland) yet, but here are the pithy comments I posted to the Music Obscurica group of my progress. And links to (usually) related videos.
1. Usually I try to read something, a poem or a short story at least, but each new recipient of the Nobel in literature. My new goal is to listen to one Dylan album per day for the next few weeks. I listened this morning to Dylan’s first album for the first time. I love lots of Dylan, but was never a completist, and knew most of the songs only from other people’s versions. Back in ’91 or so (follow me here), I saw Diamanda Galas on her solo piano tour. Her intro to this song made mention of the original and to Dylan’s ‘awful’ version of it, and that she was there to reclaim it. I quite like her version, but that night was my introduction to…
Blind Lemon Jefferson: See That My Grave Is Kept Clean: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pX3mxjtpyBc
2. Trying to listen to Bob Dylan’s discography. I know there’s brilliance in the lyrics, but Another Side of Bob Dylan is nearly unlistenable. I listen to some difficult music – I crank up Swans’ Public Castration Is A Good Idea for pleasure, but wow, there’s a hole in the bucket Dylan’s carrying his tunes in. [NB: I apparently didn’t post consistently for the first few]
3. A Dylan A Day #(Buick) 6:
This might be the first in his discography that I actually like. This is partly true because it’s the album of his I probably know best. Have owned more than one copy. These weren’t songs written for someone else to improve/do correctly. These were done well in the first place. The presence of other musicians meant that Dylan actually had to sing in key. And yeah, it’s all good stuff/no filler.
I don’t think I prefer the Dead’s version of Queen Jane, but when I think of the song, I always hear Bob Weir’s vocal: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0xA-_51DCKM
Tom Robinson is best known in some circles as a DJ on BBC 6, in others as the leader of the Tom Robinson Band in the 70s which produced such great tracks as Up Against the Wall, Sing If You’re Glad To Be Gay, and Grey Cortina. He had a couple more hits in the 80s (War Baby, Atmospherics, a cover of Steely Dan’s Rikki Don’t Lose That Number), and continued to record in the 90s, including a gorgeous collaboration with Jakko Jaczsyk called We Never Had It So Good. Only The Now, his first album of new musical material since 1999’s Home From Home, is in many ways an album about mortality, and (as the title suggests) about living in this moment because we don’t know what we’ll lose in the next.
The first piece I heard was Don’t Jump Don’t Fall, a very personal address to a boy Robinson knew intimately who committed suicide. As it’s half spoken, I was quite worried that this album might be more Shatner-esque than one wants from someone of Robinson’s talent. I shouldn’t have feared, the album is as musical as one could wish for.
Most of Only The Now is comprised of meditations or addresses to mortality. In this category is a duet with Martin Carthy on the Beatles’ In My Life. Bringing something new to any Beatles title at this late date is hard work, but the two singers pull it off. They let their halting voices carry the pain of the lyrics over a sparse arrangement. At 65, Robinson and Carthy (74) have a greater share of people who have come in and out of their lives than Lennon had at 25, and they don’t make any effort to let it be otherwise.
Merciful God is a rocker about soldiers ‘doing the job that God put me here for’ that in arrangement wouldn’t have been out of place on Power in the Darkness or TRB 2, though it’s lyrically much more ambiguous than those early punk tracks. In contrast, The Mighty Sword of Justice is great old-fashioned hootenanny protest song in which Robinson, Billy Bragg, and folk singer Lisa Knapp address the topic of ‘one law for the rich and another one for the poor’.
The album’s one moment of sheer weirdness is Holy Smoke, a heavily produced song about using pages of the bible for rolling paper on which Ian McKellan provides the voice of God and a rap from Swami Baracus the dissenting view. McKellan also appears on One Way Street, another song about dying young, intoned with a certain Noel Coward-ish irony.
Cry Out, Home In The Morning, and the title track all speak to mortality in different ways. Home in the Morning is in the voice of someone planning to commit suicide and hoping his best friend will tie up the loose ends. It brings to mind Isherwood’s A Single Man. Cry Out is the other side, the pain of those whose friends must remember the names of those who have left. Both are in the first person. The title track, which closes the album is an entreaty to his children and listeners to live in the moment and not take any moment for granted.
I give it four stars. http://www.amazon.co.uk/Only-The-Now-Tom-Robinson/dp/B012ZFAP1G
