r/Progforum

By Will Howard

In 2010, a real estate listing appeared for 95 Ensenada Drive in Woodland Hills, California. The listing described the bijou house, tucked away near the West Mulholland Trailhead, as “a charming Girard cabin with a famous rock ‘n’ roll history.”
To be fair, that isn’t inaccurate. However, it has a “famous rock ‘n’ roll history” in much the same way that Jonestown had a “famous powdered beverage history.”
So let’s talk about the album that was written there half a century ago. The soundtrack to the dying hippie dream and a sacred text for the likes of Tom Waits, David Lynch, and Jack White. An album that, depending on who you ask, is either the most exciting avant-garde record of the 1960s or 78 minutes and 51 seconds of unlistenable, ugly garbage. An album whose creative process involved the mental and physical torment of everyone who recorded it at the hands of the man whose name appeared on its cover.
Let’s talk about Captain Beefheart.
Don Van Vliet gives a whole new meaning to the term “cult act.” A childhood sculpting prodigy from Glendale, California, Vliet traded the chisel for a microphone and began singing the blues at the insistence of his childhood friend, Frank Zappa—a friendship that, in hindsight, explains a great deal about both men. After releasing his first few albums of skewed but relatively straightforward blues rock as Captain Beefheart, Vliet decided that being praised by the likes of John Peel and The Beatles simply wasn’t enough. He was… an artiste.

How did Captain Beefheart become an artiste?
Apparently, it also meant becoming a bullying, abusive asshole toward everyone he worked with, from his record label to his own band. According to some accounts, one early collaborator became so fed up with Vliet’s constant insults that he stormed out of the studio and returned brandishing a crossbow at his frontman’s head. Without even looking at him, and with a loaded weapon pointed at his face, Vliet replied, “Get that fucking thing out of here, get out of here, and get back in your room.” And that’s exactly what happened.
By 1969, all the members of what was now Captain Beefheart and His Magic Band who had been on Vliet’s musical level had either quit or been driven away. They were replaced with new musicians who were talented, young, and, most importantly, impressionable. Guitarist Bill Harkleroad and bassist Mark Boston were only 19 years old when they joined the band in 1968, just in time for Vliet to begin planning his masterpiece, Trout Mask Replica.
And by “planning,” I mean deciding that it wasn’t enough to record the album—his band had to live the album. That humble cabin from earlier became much more than a rehearsal space; it also became the band’s communal home. “Communal” is doing a lot of heavy lifting here, as one of the two bedrooms was reserved exclusively for Captain Beefheart, while the other housed the remaining five members of the Magic Band. This all-consuming approach to making the record extended to the songwriting process as well.
Vliet’s method of composing was to sit at a piano—an instrument he couldn’t actually play—and pound away at it for hours while forcing his drummer and right-hand man, John “Drumbo” French, to transcribe the resulting cacophony into sheet music, something Vliet himself was never able to do throughout his career. Once that was finished, Drumbo would take the hastily scribbled charts to the rest of the band, and they would begin marathon rehearsals lasting 12 to 14 hours a day, slowly shaping the chaos into actual songs.

Could those sessions get any worse?
They could.
Rehearsals began the moment the band woke up each morning and didn’t end until they were physically incapable of playing any longer. There were no breaks and virtually no time off. Apart from one weekly trip to collect their welfare checks and buy a few meagre groceries, the band was forbidden from leaving the house under any circumstances. Drumbo later recalled surviving for an entire month on little more than a single cup of soybeans a day. One visitor described the musicians as looking “cadaverous.”
Shockingly, it gets worse. As Vliet tightened his control over the group, the abuse became increasingly severe. Band members later spoke about being put “in the barrel” whenever Vliet was dissatisfied with their work. In practice, this meant being locked in a closet while Vliet berated them for hours—or even days—until they either broke down in tears or, more disturbingly, surrendered completely to his demands.
Those demands are perhaps best summed up by Drumbo himself. He said the final straw came after the album had been recorded, during rehearsals for the upcoming tour, when he was unable to, in Vliet’s words, “play a strawberry.” Vliet responded to this perceived failure by throwing Drumbo down a flight of stairs.
Yes, Vliet’s abuse eventually became physical. And, in true cult-leader fashion, it wasn’t enough for him to attack his bandmates himself—he also manipulated the other members into turning against anyone who had displeased him. This continued for six months before Vliet finally declared the album complete and took the band into the studio, where 20 of the album’s 28 tracks were recorded in a single six-hour session.
The rest, as they say, is history.

https://www.loudersound.com/features/how-a-tragic-accident-united-kate-bush-and-peter-gabriel-in-grief-and-led-to-one-of-progs-most-inspired-partnerships

Shulman also drew an interesting parallel between the Canadian band and Gentle Giant. He explained that while Gentle Giant always took its music very seriously, the band never took itself too seriously, and he sees that same spirit reflected in Angine de Poitrine.
“We took the music very seriously, but we never took ourselves too seriously. On stage, we had a lot of fun and wanted the audience to smile. I think Angine de Poitrine has that same attitude, even though they play exceptionally well.”
During the interview, the former Gentle Giant frontman said he first discovered the band through their performance on KEXP and was impressed from the very beginning.
He also noted that he wasn’t surprised to learn that the members of Angine de Poitrine are fans of Gentle Giant.
“They can really play. The drummer is incredible. The guitarist, of course, is amazing.”
Finally, Shulman reflected on the current music scene. In his view, bands like Angine de Poitrine represent a reaction against the growing reliance on technology and digital tools in music production.
“I think this is the beginning of a backlash against artists who use technology and computers to produce their music. This is a band that really knows how to play their instruments.”

I think I understand they're quite over the top but is that the point of prog? But, their music mixed classical's bombastic personality with Greg Lake's beautiful voice and then Carl Palmer's jazzy touches. All together glued with Keith Emerson's erratic keyboard warrior behavior.

Styx – The Grand Illusion (1977)
Tool – Lateralus (2001)
Frank Zappa – Zoot Allures (1976)
Dream Theater – Metropolis Pt. 2: Scenes from a Memory (1999)
Return to Forever – Romantic Warrior (1976)
Utopia – Oops! Wrong Planet (1977)
Kansas – Leftoverture (1976)
Happy the Man – Crafty Hands (1978)
Billy Cobham – Spectrum (1973)

The controversial incident stemmed from Townsend’s frustration with performing lyrics he couldn’t relate to.
“I was only 19 or 20 years old when I met Steve, so that immature part of my personality was in full swing,” Townsend commented.
The singer explained that Vai asked him to perform deeply personal songs based on intimate experiences from his own life, something Townsend found impossible to convey honestly.
“I don’t think it was wrong; it was just the opposite of how I had learned to write music. My reaction was simply to say, ‘No!’ And when you can’t express your discontent in a way that the other person can understand through conversation, I guess you’re left with no option but to screw things up.”
The Canadian musician acknowledged that, in retrospect, he acted out of immaturity.
“I was too young to rationally express what I was feeling. There was arrogance, fame, confusion, and a lot of personal issues. Today I can forgive myself because I was simply lost.”
According to Townsend, that crisis ultimately led him to form Strapping Young Lad, a project through which he channeled all of that creative frustration.
Despite the tensions of that period, Townsend and Vai have maintained a good relationship over the years. The current guitarist for BEAT appeared on Townsend’s album Empath (2019) and also collaborated on his latest work, The Moth, the ambitious multimedia symphonic metal opera that Townsend released in May of this year after nearly a decade in development.

Jon Anderson celebrates ‘Olias of Sunhillow’ 50th anniversary with Mobile Fidelity reissue

https://themusicuniverse.com/author/buddyiahn/

Following the 1975 Relayer tour, the members of Yes took a hiatus, allowing each of the band’s five members to produce a solo album. For lead vocalist Jon Anderson, that meant bringing a mobile recording unit to his home in Buckinghamshire, UK, to create a self-produced album on which he played every instrument, assisted by Yes sound engineer Mike Dunne. The result was Olias of Sunhillow, released by Atlantic Records on July 9, 1976. The album debuted at No. 8 on the UK Albums Chart and No. 47 on the Billboard 200.
Reissued to celebrate its 50th anniversary, and strictly limited to 2,000 numbered copies, Mobile Fidelity’s 180-gram 33 RPM LP marks only the second domestic vinyl edition of the album since its original 1976 release. It also presents Olias of Sunhillow in audiophile sound for the first time. The complexities of Anderson’s rich ambient soundscapes, new-age synthesizers, and signature vocals are presented with exceptional clarity against an ultra-quiet background, creating an immersive listening experience. The British legend’s remarkable collection of exotic and familiar instruments—he famously played every note on the album—now sounds even more astonishing.
The super deluxe packaging faithfully replicates the original gatefold jacket, complete with the inner hinged panel and embossed textures. The vinyl is sourced from the original quarter-inch, 15 IPS Dolby A analog master, transferred to DSD 256, then mastered through an analog console to the cutting lathe.
“The dream of Olias was to spend time learning how to play the numerous instruments I had collected over a period of time… which I kept in my garage… ranging from guitars, koto, and ethnic flutes to harp, percussion, and modern electronic keyboards,” Anderson says. “I had sketched out the framework of a story relating to the power of music and connected to the Seven Sisters star system, the Pleiades. All very simple, really. The evolution of the idea took me on an everlasting mission, driving me a bit crazy but nonetheless a satisfying experience which has stood the test of time… hoping you enjoy the journey!”
With longtime Yes artist Roger Dean unavailable, Anderson enlisted artist David Fairbrother-Roe, who had been recommended by a friend, to create the album’s elaborate artwork and packaging.

By Radio Futuro, Hector Muñoz Tapia | 01/09/2022

Genesis had replaced a frontman before, so Phil Collins’ departure 20 years later didn’t give guitarist Mike Rutherford much pause. However, the band’s only project with Collins’ successor, Ray Wilson, ended up becoming Genesis’ final studio album.
Calling All Stations arrived on September 1, 1997, under the shadow of enormous expectations. Drummer Phil Collins had taken over lead vocals from original frontman Peter Gabriel in 1976, at a time when Genesis was still best known for producing highly respected niche albums tucked away in the progressive rock section of local record stores. He transformed Genesis into a commercial giant: every album released by the core trio of Collins, keyboardist Tony Banks, and Rutherford went at least platinum, beginning with …And Then There Were Three… in 1978. During the following decade, Genesis sold an astonishing 12 million albums in the United States alone, even as Collins became a major solo star in his own right.
“At one point, Phil was the most popular man on the planet, so I’m sure he attracted some fans,” Rutherford told Reuters in 1997. “Up until the last couple of albums, we were really a bigger live band than a record-selling band. I’m sure our audience grew because of Phil’s success, but it was already quite solid even before he took over as singer and became successful on his own.”
The American response to Calling All Stations soon made it clear just how badly Rutherford had misjudged the situation. Wilson, a little-known singer whose only claim to fame was fronting the Scottish grunge-influenced band Stiltskin, never really stood a chance.
“When Peter Gabriel left the band in the ‘70s, people thought, ‘God, what are they going to do now?’” Genesis touring guitarist Daryl Stuermer told Innerviews in 2007. “But I think the difference was that Phil came from within the band, from within the family, and became the singer. That’s why it worked. Phil was already part of the band’s chemistry, and he did a fantastic job.”
Wilson landed the job after impressing the band at an audition where he sang over recordings with Collins’ vocals removed.
“For me, right from the start, even when we had a long list of people to consider, Ray was my first choice,” Banks told Pause & Play in 1997. “He’s lived up to it.”
Even so, Wilson’s vocal style leaned more toward Gabriel’s brooding progressive delivery than Collins’ polished pop approach. Unfortunately for Genesis, Calling All Stations tried to be both at once.
Ironically, the band seemed to find its footing on the album’s longer compositions. “Alien Afternoon,” “The Dividing Line,” and “There Must Be Some Other Way” perfectly suited Wilson’s dark, understated vocal style. Another highlight comes at the end of the album, where the closing track, “One Man’s Fool,” combines a remarkably prescient, pre-9/11 examination of the dangers of indiscriminate retaliation with Spock’s Beard drummer Nick D’Virgilio delivering a highly convincing interpretation of Collins’ angular drumming style.
Had Genesis left it there, the band might have moved forward by releasing a modest transitional album that recalled their early Peter Gabriel era. Instead, problems arose when they tried one more time to conquer the charts. First, Wilson simply wasn’t that kind of singer. Second, songs such as “Congo” just weren’t up to the platinum-era standards that fans expected.
“There are some nice moments on the album,” Rutherford said in another Innerviews interview in 2007. “I look at it as if it could have been the first album of another phase of Genesis. The way forward would have been to make two albums in quick succession. On the first album, we learned a few things, and maybe it fell short in some areas. I think if we’d made three albums with Ray, the first one would have been seen as a beginning—not a great one, but a beginning.”
With more consistently strong songs, Wilson might have succeeded. But Genesis simply couldn’t replace Collins’ instinctive gift for writing radio-friendly hits. Calling All Stations stalled at No. 54 on the Billboard chart. The band canceled its planned U.S. tour and eventually disbanded.
“I see it as unfinished business,” Wilson said in a 2013 interview. “We got off to a good start, and then they gave up—that’s my opinion. Replacing someone as talented and famous as Phil required time and patience. Still, I think we made a good album together, and that’s what really matters to me.”
The news wasn’t entirely bad. Calling All Stations was much better received in the UK, where it reached No. 2. However, only one of its three singles—“Congo,” which peaked at No. 29—managed to crack the British Top 40. The full impact of losing Phil Collins was finally becoming clear.
“Ray did a fantastic job, and he often doesn’t get enough credit. He was great live, and it was a very difficult gig,” Rutherford told Innerviews. “I’m aware of how we could have improved the next album. I would have brought someone else in to co-write with us. I think Calling All Stations was lacking in a few areas, so I believe the second album would have been much better.”
Wilson returned to his solo career, although he has continued performing Genesis songs, as demonstrated by the series of live albums featuring Genesis material that he has released over the years. Banks and Rutherford later reunited with Phil Collins for Genesis’ celebrated reunion tour before Collins eventually stepped away from performing.
In the end, Wilson had every reason to feel he had never been given a fair chance, yet he accepted the situation with remarkable grace.
“I feel the music we created together was good and is an important part of the Genesis catalog. We definitely should have carried on, but that’s life,” Wilson said in 2013. “The name Genesis is one of the main reasons I’m able to do what I do today. I love writing and creating new music and performing those songs, but I also love playing the many great songs from the Genesis catalog. So, for me, life couldn’t be better.”
Meanwhile, Rutherford insisted that this version of Genesis could have moved beyond Calling All Stations, but he simply no longer had the desire to start over.
“Ray and Tony wanted to continue,” Rutherford told Radio.com in 2014. “I thought it was a strange time for radio. Things were changing, and for it to work we would have had to make an album and tour every year for three years. I just didn’t have it in me. I didn’t feel I could do what was required to make it work.”