Psychozoic Hymnal 10 - 70's Not
Richard Thompson
A Brit equivalent to Midwestern rock, Richard Thompson held bands for forty years. The attraction latterly is the guitar work, about which a book could be written—the reverse bends, inverted phrases and so forth. The bands are often the same personnel, expert‐beyond‐you, with an inevitable backbeat and cute moves. No wonder the bands are not credited and have no identity—this professional clockwork is about as unadventurous as it gets. How English, for everyone to respect a class hierarchy. Records and tours are issued like magazines—a legitimate base for artistic production, except implies they may have powder, which they don’t. I am waiting… until Brits stop believing in Empire.
Deep Purple
Whose rock was more of an angular jag, and whose roll was light and accurate tension across a phrase. Which was at first used within a covers band to shape shards of church organ noodle and zig‐zag lead guitar. After three albums that was ditched for hammerhead rock. They were never metal. Rithm was rave by millimetres. They were a clean band, no pop frills. Even if this is a collective hard rock their instruments, through all band changes, were distinctive. What can you expect from journalists working with minimal lyrics? Must be one of the biggest groups ever, but officially claimed as underrated. Lasted fifty years retaining only the drummer.
Yes
Instead of leaning on a bend, Yes interjections were likely to be a scale or arpeggio at double speed. And rithm will drop out at or near a chorus. Song melody often has large leaps and is made of two bar ripples. They soon figured snippets of electric drive and/or burbling bass could carry verse‐sections. Aside from song arrangement, everyone plays at once. So far, so Jazz, except Yes pre‐figured parts against each other, or in unison—solos were for album‐fills. And any time signature offers them linear space. Also, the pre‐figuring allowed attention to timing flexibility. So why are they not primary? Because they’re a rock group that captured the exuberance of a string quartet, but so abandoned the use of drums to explore timing. That’s why, to fan disappointment, they were as useful with the supportive Alan White as, say, Bill Bruford. Formal.
Budgie
Dig through any metal collection and five from the end you’d find a black hole spun from these guys. Budgie were a three‐piece, stayed that way—a music director would have strung these songs but Budgie would have none of that. Prog art‐work and non‐prog humour further dislocated them. No sooner had one of the riffs or tunes, informed by Hendrix pedals, got a grip, than the composition would swing over a note and into something that was half‐length or up‐not‐down. No 7/8s, bone chords, yet tricky as a spilled toolbox. Comfortable in the hard rock, so maybe not for the hymnal, everything they issued burned. J.C. I recall called them ‘cut up’. Rare music that can wail ‘I can’t see my feelings’ while it shows you how bad that is.
Roxy Music
Rarely noted as rock, except to scrounge credit, Roxy Music had a wired drummer throughout their career, and a sucession of bass players likely pleased to be given something to do. Even on the has‐it‐a‐pulse last shot, something lurked, though by then the impulse may have become just another style reference. On top of this Roxy talked about love as a sucession of art concepts, through simple melody referencing various sources. This brought them a string of hit singles, carried by some of the oddest arrangements ever heard in a hit parade. In terms of pop, original and unnderrated due to their followers ditching the commitment for Bowie rather than the thrill of it all. As rock, shakey and inconsistent, but adventurous always.
Wire
Wire did something that would seem impossible—they created a new form of music composition. Being an arty band, they told us what it was, how it worked—‘Dot Dash’. Though the tunes are great, they were not going to breach the charts often, but musicians listened—you’ll often catch an echo of Wire‐work. The art showed in lyric and melody, as they sang expressionistically about panic or dislocation. J.C. marked their drummer as effective—unusual for an English punk band but, like their world‐interaction, the band passed messages between boxes. By the time of the return (for maybe the fifth time) of ‘Read It and Burn’ they’d conceptualised themselves into musical shape. But still had much to fret about.