Reviews

They don't only study in Oxford, you know?

Karthago was destroyed but the memory of the city lives on - in the music, too.

Maybe it's because Ukraine isn't so well represented on the prog rock map of the world that this band sound fresh and clever without the over-the-top sophistication associated with the genre. It's a labor of love as the ensemble's leader, keyboard player Antony Kalugin, funded the recording of this album with the dough he'd earned by playing on more than 40 albums in the last three years. But there's no trace of fatigue - and can there be when the record's shot through with new age atmospherics that wrap themselves around your ears in the opening "Winter's Tale" which combines classical piano runs with guitar-painted folk motifs?

No sense to be dropping the keys wizards' names here but Kalugin and the second ivory tinkler, Sergei Kovalev, share with them the secret of channeling emotions through the fingers without overplaying. It's the same kind of two keyboards combination that GREENSLADE have, and KARFAGEN's music is as fine if a bit more tense in places, like in Rachmaninov-styled elegiac piece "All That I Think About" and dramatic "Old Legends". The more unexpected, then, come guitar fusion part and the vocalising of "Amused Fair". But there's a fully fledged song, the closing "Close To Heaven", where acoustic guitar weaves around the poignant blend of male and female voices. Wonderful, melancholic and lingering - just like the memory of that ancient city.

*****

One of the heavy rock's lost gems comes up trumps - at last!.

Polish legends bring it on home stage one more time.

After 35 years of rockin' and a-rollin', it's no surprise SBB are big in their native Poland; more surprising is that tours in Europe with worldwide-big names they're still not well-known outside the former Eastern bloc. This disc, hot on the heels of 2004's live album, comes not from the band's regular concert but from their support slot with DEEP PURPLE. An interesting position for the popular collective, it gave SBB the freedom to relax, as they didn't have to ignite the audience - only please the punters. Which the foursome did. Yet on record, it sounds not as pleasing.

The beginning of "Memento z balalnym tryptykiem" sounds very welcoming, with a pull of "Crazy Diamond", but when Jozef Skrzek's voice comes in everything starts to fall apart - it's just not whole sonically: not the band's mistake, perhaps, but the producer's, as there's no right balance in the mix, and that almost totally ruins the beauty of Slavomir Piwowar and Apostolis Anthimos' twin guitar work. It's delicate in a jazzy way, in "New Century" the group come off uncannily like TRAFFIC at their best, but the veterans don't excel that much with funky groove of "Rainbow Man", which surely was fantastic for those in attendance. Still, nothing compares with SBB's classic "Walkin' Around The Stormy Bay", one hell of a prog instrumental. After that, the public couldn't be cold and unprepared for some "Smoke On The Water".

***

Grand concept plus eloquence equals grandiloquence. Or not?

Those who reckon progressive rock a derivative of self-indulgence will be appalled to see a double studio album made in these day and age. It seems too much even before once gives the CDs a spin which takes some courage. And that's what it took for Norwegian Mattis Sorum whose debut album "A Sleeper's Awakening" is and who plays guitars and keyboards on it. Three years of work on the music expression of a concept that tackles moral issues in a similar way to "The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway" yet less surreal, the album could have been boiled down to a single disc and benefited from it - but who would massacre own's first work?

The music's good, though, "Prologue" sounding as classical as it gets, the piece is gentle - and, thankfully, Sorum's almost managed to avoid the genre's typical bombast throughout by bringing flute and cellos into his potion alongside some banal riffs. If only spoken word intermissions had been left to exlusively to the thick and nice booklet! All seven deadly sins pictured in detail, there's one more being committed, that of pathos set against too many not so bright a melody, but pay not attention to what's going on and let it just play, and the brooding receives a fine soundtrack. And the more acoustic it is the finer it wraps around the ears, as sitar and flute intro to "Greed pt. II - Warning not Heard" suggest, while "Pride - The Path of Thorns" beautifully combines soft textures with blistering attack. Some tracks could do better with no vocals, but female bel canto of "Wrath pt. II - The Beast Within" greatly complements its orchestral swath contrasted with spare piano lines that are the base of majestic "Sloth pt. II - Red Sunset & a Drowning Fly" which references some classic prog moves. Faithful to tradition, in time "A Sleeper's Awakening" can become a classic, too.

****

Another rhythm, another place, the YES man's new path leads to a different space.

Calculating the side projects of the YES' members is a hard task - but not due to the band's drummer's efforts. He might play with the likes of John Lennon and providing the most notorious of progressive rock ensembles with a fantastic beat, yet there's only one solo album to Alan White's name, 1976's "Ramshackled". 30 years on, he decided to give it another try, and around the main man ideas grew a group of friends that, when it came to recording the song-cycle under WHITE moniker, included Alan's bandmate from the "Drama" era, the ASIA leader Geoff Downes on keyboards. With such a pedigree, one would bet it must be a good dose of prog rock on offer. Yet it's not.

It just defies style definitions, "New Day" showing that instrumental showing-off has no place here, where the composition's axis is the tune. It's the harmonies that rule, be it in the splicing of White's drums and Steve Boyce's thick bass or Karl Haug's liquid guitar and Downes' organ with Kevin Currie's voice raging over. It's the melody that dictates the arrangement, not ambition - well, alright, going for a mighty reggae vibe in "Mighty Love" could be thought of as ambition, if it wasn't that humorous. More so, "Give Up, Giving Up" has an irresistible chorus which wouldn't feel strange on the dancefloor. All in all, the record's a fine example of modern, soul-tinged rock with a timeless quality about it: there's enough sophistication for it to link with the '70s and enough synthetic bombast to hook up with the '80s. And there's a lot of pop hooks, like in almost acoustic ballad "Dream Away", balanced with a boogie solo of "Once And For All" and topped with folky textures of closing epic "Waterhole".

Tasty beyond expectations. Hopefully, there will be another album before YES reconvene.

*****

Veins bulging, four-string beast trembling, guts twisting - get pathological.

There's blood on the tracks, as the title suggests. William Kopecky spills it all over, so the gory glory seekers will like this record. Some others, too. But it's unlikely "Blood" was made to be loved. The opener, "Garden Of Immolation", treads the Geezer Butler-trodden ground with the diplodocus-heavy yet shortly chopped riffs that twirl around the magma-deep bass but never develop to get resolved. Until the thunder strikes again, the Eastern gitar motif of "Infernal Desire Machine" which Joe Kopecky weaves is mesmerising. The music flows nicely but a train of thoughs it pulls up has too little emotions in its carriages; even whatever rage there is feels a bit histrionic, and had "Windows" been a bit shorter than its 11-plus minutes it would have ranked with the best of progressive rock: a lot of space makes the piece breathe, not spit blood by way of what sounds like practising scales for all to hear as it is in "Eden's Flow". Scary!

***

Playing with colors means going to the end of the rainbow where miracles await.

The second release from the Montreal four-piece find them, unlike many others, in unpretentious mood, starting off with a wonderful piano line of "Hypothese A" with underlying acoustic guitar which, unexpectedly, gives way to the heavy, bass-driven funk that's a warning there'll be more surprises. And there are. "Maintenant" grooves gently and at the same time passionate in the best Hancocky way, and "Destination" is a master-class in delicate and delicious, when unplugged, fusion attack cloaked in edgy riffage. Sometimes, though, heaviness feels a needless extra in the arrangements, yet it always jolts out before the pounding gets on the nerves, like in "A-O-14". And when it comes to light figures, Simon L'Esperence's six-string lace and Mingan Sauriol's ivory tinkling in "Epilogue" take a listener straight to heaven. Spin the colors on and on, and there's more delights to be revealed.

****1/3

Another two years of the ride: pit stop - report time.

Consistency is the one-horn horse that the Canadian label gallops on. These days it may amount to the label releases collecting, as with some classic rosters. If the modern progressive rock - as opposed to neo-prog that leans heavily on the genre golden era - is one's cuppa tea, they will feel quite comfortable with Unicorn, even though its music isn't so comfortable. And here's the place to start.

The Machine demands a sacrifice. The vehicle raves on, but someone's left behind.

Since SOFT MACHINE went on a limb from their Canterbury tree and started ripping the rich fusion seam, they've become menacing - mostly due to Elton Dean's furious saxophone, the only instrument of the wild bunch that couldn't be tamed to be really soft, even when the band's legacy keeper, Hugh Hopper's bass headed for a drifting serenity. This, a fully-fledged studio album of the new MACHINE, is the great Elton's last and is different.

A grand opening of the guitarslinger's quest for glory. Heavy coolness, goodness gracious.

Mostly known as a hired gun previously - for such diverse taskmasters as T'PAU, Ian Gillan and BAD CO - now Dean Howard strikes on his own. Well, in fact that's not a solo album, that's a band effort, even though it's Howard's guitar that leads on. "The Hardest Way" is as edgy as it's gets with a modern hard rock steeped in tradition, but don't let David Dominney's hoarse vocals fool you: there's a great attention to detail in the playing, just catch subtle lyrical threads behind the riffs, and there should be a great attention on a listener's part to experience the album in full. Sure, this attention might be diverted - or attracted if you will - by "Smokescreen" where the DEEP PURPLE voice delivers, yet that's the song not the singers - and except Big Ian, there are THUNDER's Danny Bowes and LITTLE ANGELS' Toby Jepson guesting - that makes one's finger pop and a head bang. Groove "Poles Apart" and "Big Drum" are up there with the greatest, and when a good slice of Hammond and, on funky "Cacophony", brass put more meat to the bone, the heavy heaven comes closer than ever. Near the end, acoustic ring of "Thoughtless" makes you anxious rather than pacifies: quite a reason to wait for "Volume Two".

****1/2

Coming from the edge to be standing on the rock. Again and again.

The singer not the song, it's all about Frankie Miller, one of the best Scottish warblers ever who was cheered and adored but never got the fame he deserved. His voice is sadly missed and has not been heard since 1994 when, while working on a project with Joe Walsh and Nicky Hopkins, Miller suffered a massive brain haemorrhage that left him not in the best shape to be singing. Still, twenty years after Frankie's last studio record, there's a new one made of those unreleased recordings. And, boy, they're good!

Life has a tune to it, and a tune has a player who's larger than life.

It seems to be the past thing for guitarists to combine a filigree technique with a top-notch melodiousness, but Chicago's best kept secret, Eric Mantel, proves such a blend can still be a modern thing. Calling Eric a legend may be too loud even if he does his thing for more than two decades yet in terms of sheer virtuosity of hand and mind Mantel deserves the labeling. "The Unstruck Melody" takes a listener on some fantastic journey - there's a concept thread lurking amidst the notes - that is, in all its colorful variety, a rumination on life. And like in real life, it's little things that bring joy: sitar ringing here, slider lingering there, bluegrass ding-a-linging elsewhere. Stylistically rich, Mantel's music has a tasteful jazzy verve to it whether it comes to heavy funky riffs of "Wings Of Fire" or sparse swing of "The Simple Things" where Eric's soft vocals work out a fine harmony with his guitar. He knows a value of space between the sounds too well and explores this space with a real gusto, just listen to the "Affectionately Yours" classical acoustic lace or "Tai-Chi", and he's no stranger to clever pop, too, as witnessed by "Merry Go Round". A lot of feelings went into the album to spill out from the songs like "Only Want You Love" that's hard not to hum along to all the shredding notwithstanding. And it's hard not to love the record which ends with a hidden track of funny Buddy Holly impresonation. The chord is struck.

****1/2

Out of the woods, the Russian band comes with some grace.

The killing machine at its softest. The fusion reigns.

It might be Mike Ratledge's organ starting off this recording done in January, 1975 in Germany, but with Ratledge the sole original member of the band in the line-up, the SOFT MACHINE featured here is a different beast to what it used to be before. Bebop angularity was all gone after reedsman Karl Jenkins and guitarist Allan Holdsworth joined the fold and became the main composers. Not that the music lost its tension - the raging "Bundles", the title track of the album already committed to tape but at the time unreleased yet, suggests otherwise - it's just changed to reflect both the personnel shift and the musical tendency of the day.

While Roy Babbington's bass and John Marshall's drums keep the groove that's close to trad jazz, guitar lines entwine into a radiant tapestry that pulls the strings of imagination, and "Land Of The Bag Snake" is as great a title for Holdsworth's showcase as "Ealing Comedy" for six-minute four-sting extravaganza. Still, elegiac mood was never far away from the collective's sea of emotions, with Allan's violin shaping "The Man Who Waved At Trains" all serene - well, for a while, as the performance constantly shows unexpected angles, and each one leads to another magic place like those of the guitar flight which is "Song Of Aeolus" or "J.S.M." drum-feast. Fascinating and hypnotising, "Floating World Live" is much more than a document of its era, it's still ahead of the time.

*****

The name sound good and soild. The music sounds much better and much more solid.

"Breathe", commands the opening track of the American band's debut, yet there's not much room for breath in the beginning. Attack there is, but the real thing appears once the modern guitar sheen stops blinding the ears with heavy riffing. They're from the South, this bunch, and they have a lot of that rare Southern element called soul in them, it's just with the famous Jimmy Johnson in the producer's chair the foursome are too clever to shoot from the hip. The dust settles down and, little by little, blues roots reveal themselves in the classic hard rock shape. Comparisons of Shaun Williamson's voice with David Coverdale's vocals seem inescapable - just listen to "I'm Listening" - but ain't it the ultimate justice when the style of British singers influenced by soulsters is returned to its native swampy soil? In the beginning, the delivery feels restrained but acoustically-tinged "Revolution Man" opens the gates for the real emotions and the lava flood can't be held back. Sometimes Markus Wolfe's guitar hooks may be cliched, like in "Heaven's Burning"; still, resisting rocking to "Shake My Bones" is impossible, and "Midnight Sunshine" has all the rights to belong to the hard rock masterpieces' pantheon. Weigh the band's good deeds against their bad - be sure their karma's alright.

****

Classical in a wolf's skin. Gloomy but life-affirming.

For many years Phil Walton has perforrned as an orchestral musician and a conductor, but his interest in new forms has led him to explore the progressive rock possibilities - in his own way, though. There's no bombast usually associated with the genre, whereas the meaty organ provides the bedrock for the opening "Passed Me By"; it's the voice, dark and deadpan that's the record's focus. Phil's a poet as well as composer, so the songs find him in a philosopher position. It's the music for thinking ones by the one who thinks. Some may find it's Gothic yet this depth comes from some other source, there's a lot of emotion bubble under the bleak surface, and "Do You Love Me?" is as playful as it gets in such a context. There are more questions, and "What Becomes Of You?" will satisfy the DEPECHE MODE fans, yet then again, Walton's approach is different from techno, it takes more of a heartbeat than of a beatbox. Deeply human the album is - yet it takes a lot of digging to reach its core. Still, the closing title track urges the listener to do so.

**1/3

Call him a future legend, he can quite become it in time to come.

These days' blues are borne with a bad sign too often, with too much thought where the deep feelings used to be. This laddie from Atlanta shapes his blues cleverly but right and, aged 24, he might very well be the most versatile blues singer-guitarist since Rory Gallagher has come of age. Be prepared to be pinching yourself to believe a person who's doing the seemingly seasoned swagger of "No One You'd Know" and fathoms the depth of despair in "Just Defy My Love" is indeed that young and that it's the same person who's musing acoustically about "Dark Before The Dawn", all on his own. Mike's mastered the blues lexicon, and there's no affectation in his songs. The music jives, with organ smoothing the guitar angles - and them's all the right angles Lowry bends his strings into. And his vocal chords, too, as you can mistake "Coming Home To You" with its Stax-like brass and Steve Cropper-esque licks for a lost Otis Redding track. It's red hot but, with a pace like that of "Gettin' Burned", you rather enjoy the temperature than be put off. The album has only one downside: it's too short - yet ain't that a good sign of more to come?

*****

Freefall jump to unfathomable depth with the Japanese shadow chasers. Think twice before holding your breath.

Most of today's progressive rock bands have a giant drawback that makes them stand apart from the genre's giants: they're far removed from pop melodic sensibility, and when they're running free on-stage a listener can lose his head instead of be lost in the music. "Discontinuous Spiral", the opening piece of this album, recorded in Tokyo, is wonderful, though, with Akihisa Tsuboy's mighty violin never going astray from the Celtic jig they play. Then, the overload time for the instruments and the senses, and the tunes are elusive whereas the groove rages hard, so "I'm Not Here" sounds quite ironic as one's forced to delve into what's going on. The first spin might scare some away, but that's what's good about preserving a show for posterity! Silky acoustic textures of "Shironiji" lull down the storm and the Japanese landscape arises from between the notes, while "Nessa no Kioku" shoots out at the fantasy factory, so those looking for adventurous journey might safely go down this road. Or not so safely, as the risk is all yours. Good.

***1/2

Tuck your mind under your wig. Or wigout. Or let it out. And again, and again...

It starts with "Seduction": an infernal but smooth noise with otherwordly voice mumbling something - or is it the serpent's hiss that precedes the fall of man? That's still not music yet you cannot help but be sucked into this vertiginous space. Then, the synthesizers "Pig Giddy" bring on serene salvation pregnant with a salvo of piano anxiety, while children's cries that keep you from salivating if the tune caused a meditation trance. It holds much more, though, as the piece takes on an epic scale of classic progressive rock proportions that it reaches out for. When the doors of conventional perception open with ominous creak, in "Cycle", nobody really cares, as there's another plateau already occupied for the hushed urgency to lodge itself into a listener's lobes. Then again, like an unwiding spring the clockwork joy ticks in and... nothing. That's on open book. That's where infinity starts off.

***