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The fabled high-flying guitarist's solo debut is an oft-mocked venture. Usually, for good reason, given their propensity to be full of all the crappy ideas the band had previously stifled. But it would be just plain mean-spirited to throw snickers in Steve Hackett's direction for his first effort, even if its songs are titled after...umm...tarot cards, and even if the cover art a little too closely telegraphs the kind of soundworld on offer.
Most folks who hang around this space know that Songblague has lots of good feeling toward even the most tasteless of prog-rock efforts. Partly for nostalgic reasons, and partly because there's actually a lot to like in excess. This track hits all those notes. What charms me most is how it plays like a nice guy trying to get all sinister and prove that Peter Gabriel wasn't the only one in Genesis who had weird ideas (i.e. dark mellotron "choir" move at 1:53). Hackett just wasn't as savvy about assembling them. However awkwardly, it does sound like a respectable nightmare. And it does its genre proud by ignoring just about anything to do with the 1975 of consensus reality.
Good morning! Even on a Monday. Let's start the week with a smile and see how long we can hold it. One ideal I want to establish here at Songblague is an enduring sympathy for the ridiculous cast-off, a warm spot in the heart for the unloved and un-hipable. (Well, two ideals, I guess.) In that spirit, today I subject you to Gentle Giant, one of the most insistently un-ironic propositions thrown up by the kinda-ass-backwards, kinda-starry-eyed-anything-is-possible aesthetic of vintage prog rock.
I have a complicated relationship with this kind of stuff. On the one hand, at thirteen, it took my ears beyond the radio braindeath and helped point me in many exciting directions. On the other hand, have you ever actually sat and listened to Tales From Topographic Oceans?! Sort of shakes your faith in the upward drive of humanity.
It's only in the last few years that I can listen to bands like this again, admiring the ambition without reservation and loving the sheer dorkery. Maybe the times are just more forgiving. I've seen an ocean of lovely looking people pay to see Battles perform. Animal Collective can't buy a bad review. Etc. Inevitably, I'll be returning to this knotty subject in future posts. Till then, let's fugue!
The fabled high-flying guitarist's solo debut is an oft-mocked venture. Usually, for good reason, given their propensity to be full of all the crappy ideas the band had previously stifled. But it would be just plain mean-spirited to throw snickers in Steve Hackett's direction for his first effort, even if its songs are titled after...umm...tarot cards, and even if the cover art a little too closely telegraphs the kind of soundworld on offer. 
