When discussing the philosophical importance of “The Rhodora,” Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote, “On Being Asked, Whence Is the Flower?” – which loosely translates into “Where the hell did this come from?”
Well, big unexpected news from the prog front: Rick Wakeman and his English Rock Ensemble have pumped new life into the progressive rock ethos of the mid ’70s. Yeah, Lazarus sort of comes back from the grave with this one, and to (almost) quote yet another on-and-off-again fellow Yes guy, Jon Anderson, “Tell the moon dog, tell the march hare, we have progressive rock heaven.” Ah — the ’70s. And, as Jethro Tull’s Ian Anderson’s alter-ego Gerald “Little Milton” Bostock wrote, “Spin me back down the years and the days of my youth.” Trust me, this was a time with a wide-open throttle for records, books, and ideas.
Given all that spinning (and this album’s delightful sci-fi cover), please suffer, perhaps, a necessary digression and flashback that encapsulates those heady (and halcyon) days in which music such as this made us glance to the stars, demand progressive vibrations over ever-increasing vinyl sides, adore clever thought, sometimes laugh at our risible “Thick as a Brick” pretensions, and play in time signatures that somehow explain the nebulous connection between Quantum Physics and the (always-interesting) Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle.
The iconic Kurt Vonnegut (whose well-thumbed novels were piled on the crates that housed all my favorite vinyl albums) has an equally interesting alter-ego Kilgore Trout persona, who once wrote a short story, entitled, “The Dancing Fool.” It was summarized in the novel The Breakfast of Champions or Goodbye Blue Monday:
“A flying saucer creature named Zog arrived on Earth to explain how wars could be prevented and how cancer could be cured. He brought the information from Margo, a planet where the natives conversed by means of farts and tap dancing.
“Zog landed at night in Connecticut. He had no sooner touched down than he saw a house on fire. He rushed into the house, farting and tap dancing, warning the people about the terrible danger they were in. The head of the house brained Zog with a golf club.”
Well, “so it goes.” And in a very fictitious sense, Zog from Margo ain’t “farting and tap dancing” anymore. So, I’m taking up the space alien themed (planet Mars, in particular) motif of Wakeman’s The Red Planet to simply say, “I am farting and tap dancing,” to declare the absolute progressive-rock revelation of this album – because, yeah, this music conjures dead biblical Lazarus back, with tunes from the clever underground cerebral world.
Now, to be certain, there’s a lot of stellar prog history here. Rick Wakeman played on Magna Carta’s Seasons album. That’s aces in my book. Then it was on to the Strawbs’ Just a Collection of Antiques and Curios. Of course, there’s that keyboard solo in “Roundabout,” and his stellar contribution to 1972’s Close to the Edge. His organ on “Awaken” isn’t too shabby, either.
But then Journey to the Centre of the Earth had some guy in a wicker chair narrating the dramatic literary passages, and people skated on ice during his Myths and Legends of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. It all seemed more spectacle than, say, rock music.
It was time to throw the unwanted to(r)mato at the cover of the next indulgent prog-rock album. The punk stuff just rocked. Bands like Wire, XTC, the Cure, and the Talking Heads were arty enough to justify my college degree in literature. I think Rick recorded at least one Christmas album. And, as Dorothy of The Wizard of Oz fame once said, “Oh my.”
However, just to be fair, Wakeman’s album with Jon Anderson, The Living Tree is very nice. Ditto for his record Hummingbird with Strawbs’ main man Dave Cousins. But trust me, prog lovers, The Red Planet is the real (and very analog) deal.
“Aseraeus Moon” throbs with church organ and percussion. It unfolds like a bolero (which is a word I learned from an Emerson Lake and Palmer track) as a basic pulse is layered with more and more instruments. A synthesizer dances a bit. Rick plays his piano. This is a transfusion for those of us who still enjoy a prog rock thrill in our veins. And then Dave Colquhoun’s guitar soars over a stately vibe. This isn’t an overture, but it’s certainly a letter of intent to bring rock back to college and say this is no new-age soundtrack to senility.
“Tharsis Tholus” is epic stuff. And, it does conjure the Tony Banks’ instrumental vibe, circa 1973’s Selling England by the Pound. This music wanders all over the vast Aegean universe. This instrumental, in particular, runs a strong river current against any accusation of technique over melody. It’s a beautiful piece of music.
“Arsia Mons” is more direct. The music rushes into a near-cosmic collision, until a David Gilmour acoustic-like guitar that conjures the thought of “two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year.” But then it’s slash-and-burn prog rock, with slash-and-burn vitality and a big organ and epic guitar sound. “Olympus Mons” swirls with prog keyboards. And then it becomes a tribute to Keith Emerson’s Pictures at an Exposition and its “Great Gates of Kiev” classical crusade.
Now, to get all metaphoric about The Red Planet, my friend Kilda Defunt said: “This record is like going back to my hometown of Green Bay and having a cheeseburger at Kroll’s East, and finding, not only that the gum I stuck under the table 46 years ago is still there, but the cheeseburger still sizzles and melts like it did in 1974.” And speaking of food, just in case there’s any doubt, yeah, while reviewing this Rick Wakeman album, I did send out for a curry to be delivered!
But on to the B side of the album: “The Noble Plain,” again evokes the spirit of Keith Emerson, and there’s a really nice wobbly bit to boot. The tune dives deeply into the pensive thoughts of a ghost who still really likes prog rock. And then the organ riff returns, and the whole thing gets rock ‘n’ wobbly again, until yet another guitar solo adds fusion salt to the prog soup. “Pavonis Mons” lurches with a melody that would not be out of place on Robin Lumley’s clever jazz-rock Marscape album. Then, “South Pole,” again, sings with melodic clarity, worthy of the instrumental parts of many prog rock records, like Italy’s the Trip, Germany’s Triumphant, or one-time Yes guy Patrick Moraz’s Refugee.
The final song, “Valles Marineris,” ends The Red Planet as it began, with a tough core pulse that continues throughout the ten minute tour de force, as each member of the English Rock Ensemble – Dave Colquhoun (guitar), Lee Pomeroy (bass), and Ash Soan (drums) – thunders through the maze, while Rick Wakeman hovers over the prog battlefield with hallowed mellotron, tranquil piano, dancing synthesizers, and triumphant organ.
It’s all a grand musical gesture that descends slowly on analog winds and is buoyed by a progressive rock ‘n’ roll parachute. It’s an album worthy of the very best Kurt Vonnegut “fart and tap dance.” And, just like my friend Kilda Defnut’s favorite hamburger from her favorite hometown restaurant, this record “sizzles” and “melts” with old-time vinyl prog passion.
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