Porch

Standing in the porch
Sheltering from the rainfall 
Searching for the key

Selling England By the Pound by Genesis

It might not be immediately obvious, but this was a transitional album for Genesis. The classic lineup of Banks, Collins, Gabriel, Hackett and Rutherford was in a good place, coming off a successful album and associated live tour, and the recording process sounds like it was happy and relaxed. They had a reputation as one of the most inventive prog bands of the 70s with all of the frills and flourishes and fantasy that entails.

However, this album is much more concerned with the real world - Dancing Out With The Moonlit Knight talks about Wimpy Bars and Greenshield stamps, and The Battle of Epping Forest is not about warring elves and goblins, but is actually about violent London street gangs. The rest of the songs touch on the tension between a nostalgic vision of the England of the past and the reality of strikes and social changes in the 70s, as well as punning references to classic supermarkets like Tesco, Co-Op, Finefare and Safeways.

Musically, this has all of the proggy goodness that you might want, but going back to it, it’s the quieter moments that shine for me, especially when that funny little bald drummer chap steps up to the mic for a simple and heartfelt love song in More Fool Me.

In hindsight this pointed the way to what would follow the epic supernova flameout of their next album The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway when Peter Gabriel would spin off into his own orbit and the remaining band members would coalesce into a new incarnation and head into the brave new 80s.

Prog-tastic!

Blow Up

An Italian art house movie set in the London of the swinging 60s is an intriguing prospect. The premise is simple - a fashion photographer who obsessively snaps everything around him spots a small detail in a photo that he has secretly taken of two lovers in a public park and enlarges the picture over and over, revealing what could be a dead body and evidence of a murder if you squint hard enough. Surrounding this story are numerous baffling and obtuse scenes of him haranguing the various fashion models he is taking photos of into ever more uncomfortable poses or participating in voyeuristic sexualised horseplay with said dolly birds.

One sequence sees him visiting a nightclub where the Yardbirds (yes, the actual band) are playing to a stoney faced crowd until Jeff Beck (yes, the actual Jeff Beck) gets annoyed with a faulty amplifier and smashes his guitar up, provoking a near riot. There are also several bizarrely inexplicable scenes of mimes who wander into the film and out again, with no explanation.

On the plus side, the cinematography is impeccable with shots being framed like photographs and the detail of the photographic enlargement process shown as a long continuous sequence. The score by Herbie Hancock (credited here as 'Herbert Hancock') is similarly good, being 60s avant garde jazz.

However, the central mystery is never really resolved and I imagine that the only reason that most people went to see this back in the day was for a fleeting glimpse of a woman's pubes - apparently the first time in British mainstream cinema. Lawks a mercy!

Rust

Dungeon delvers dread
The loss of their shiny stuff
To the rust monster

Grief, Raven

A single tear falls

From the All-father's one eye
Muninn is no more

Chick, Fallen Leaves

Foraging for food 

Blackbird pecks through fallen leaves

Hungry chicks to feed

Rage Against the Machine by Rage Against the Machine

Possibly one of the most wilfully misunderstood bands of all time, there really is no response to right wingers adopting tracks like Killing in the Name Of as anthems other than to sigh heavily and then punch them in the face until they get it. It really couldn’t be any clearer in its condemnation of violent racist cops if it tried, and even if the album closer Freedom is a little more elliptical (hint - “Diamonds using Clubs to beat Spades” is not a reference to the game of Bridge) there is no arguing with the sentiment here.

This album is still as depressingly relevant now as it was on its release in 1992 in the wake of Rodney King being beaten by cops, sparking protests in response. In fact, there is even more urgency now in the need for resistance to fascism, even if that means violence or ultimate self sacrifice as shown in the chilling picture of the death of the Tibetan monk Thich Quang Duc on the cover.

Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me-tastic!