‘Memories of a White Magician’ and ‘Lady Macbeth’ by Jon Symon’s Warlock

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Jon Symon’s Warlock proved over three criminally under-appreciated early-’80s albums that Claude Debussy was right when he said that “music is the space between notes.” Their songs erupted in the eternity of Uriah Heep’s “Rainbow Demon,” at 2:56 (to be exact!) when Lee Kerslake’s percussion punctuates a superlative pause and Mick Box sends his (beloved!) solo into the fantasy of several rock ‘n’ rock science-fiction universes.

Warlock released Memories of a White Magician in 1981, then reworked the project for an all-new release in 1983. Lady Macbeth served as the 1984 follow up. Along the way, the results employ the personages of “Beelzebub,” the occasional “Warlock,” an important “Magician” (of the white persuasion!) and the “Angel of Death” – and, I might add, the cover art is really cool, too!



The first-ever compact disc edition of these albums, courtesy of Cherry Red Records, will appeal to all prog fans of Nektar’s Remember the Future with its “bluebird and blind boy” saga. Also to those who’ve traveled to Grobschnitt’s Rockpommel’s Land, where Ernie and a bird named Maraboo travel to Severity Town and meet up with Mr. Glee, who’s being punished by the Black Shirts because he’s been really nice to all the kids there. Then there was Le Orme’s Felona & Sorona, which (and as I have been told because my Italian is non-existent!) tells some sort of cosmic tale about two planets both of whom somehow get destroyed.

Memories of a White Magician and Lady Macbeth draw a straight line back to concept albums like those, where profundity could so easily be found while reading the lyrics printed on the inside of a really cool gatefold record sleeve. In fact, the whole conceptional performance of Memories begins with the proggy proclamation, “Listen to me and learn the secrets of the universe.” So, count me in!

The original seven-song recording of Memories of a White Magician, which has been remastered and paired with the revamped 11-tune 1983 edition, continues with “Pagan Memory.” Jon Symon’s Warlock soars into the outer limits of time and space with more spoken words, a choral chant, swirling galactic keyboards, propulsive percussion and bass guitar, a really cool Star Trek vibe, perhaps a bit of Keith Emerson, and a nice ride into the always interesting cosmos.

Oh my, then “Spirits of Hell” gets all acid folky, with devious vocal, dark mysterious echo, sinister violin, flute, and an eerie psych infected electric guitar solo, all of which conjure the memory of (the great!) Comus. This is eight minutes of sublime stuff! And there’s more classic rock-prog: Up beat drums usher in “Angels of Death.” And then the keyboards swirl, as and vocals continue to touch some sort Jungian warm dream melody, much like the title tune from Uriah Heep’s Magician’s Birthday (sans the kazoo and big jam). It’s a brief and welcome respite.

“Four Seasons of the Soul,” again, sounds like a dramatic ’70s song with revelation to burn, while the melodic strings inhabit a classical intent, and they are set against soulful backing vocals. Yeah, count me in, once more.
The final songs conclude the journey. “The Magician” has a pop prog pulse, with infectious laughter, keyboard wizardry, a joyous melody, and more soulful backing voices.

“Into Eternity” concludes Memories of a White Magician by (sort of) speaking for its own intent, with more dramatic words, and a keyboard and guitar saga that encapsulates the very best of those old prog vinyl records that are now sold for ridiculous prices. The tune simply oozes into the final chamber grooves of a sipped late-night classic progressive rock introspective glass of “winter wine.”



By the way, members of the German heavy prog band Jane (of Here We Are, Heaven and Hell, and Age of Madness fame!) provide the backing-band support. That’s a big deal!

The expanded 1983 re-recording of Memories of a White Magician by Jon Symon and his Warlock band is a bit of a genetic, perhaps more urgent, mutation. Some of the original songs are still here. The fifth song, “Saucers,” rocks hard, with an added rock ‘n’ roll sax. “Karma” has a soft warm mitten keyboard cosmic woven stitch. Nice, once again! But “Morgan Le Fey” introduces an Arthurian element that’s given a really decent “Shakin’ All Over” (with cool sax!) make over.

“Pendragon” continues the mythological (with a Merlin mention!) story saga. The tune gets deep into the dramatic electric guitar-solo ethos and then adds even more delicious sax. A tough electric guitar introduces “Visions of the Wizard,” while the rest of the song continues with anthemic power. Thankfully, “Neutron Fire” slows the pulse with dramatic vocal with electric guitar and percussive patience. The more lovely ebbed side of (the great!) Edgar Broughton Band comes to mind.

“Wizard King” exits with acoustic grace, electric drama, and a really nice vocal melodic thought that expresses hope, wisdom, joy, and some sort of apocalyptic mythical redemption – all of which rekindle the simple wisdom of so many years ago of record-buying innocence, when (to quote Uriah Heep), “me and my magic man” were “kinda feelin’ fine.”
And by the way (again!), this whole thing is actually a “ROCKBALLETT” as seen on the wonderful time vault, YouTube.

But, as Gary Brooker and Procol Harum once sang, “still there will be more”: Lady Macbeth from Jon Symon’s Warlock has also been remastered on a separate disc, upping the melodic ante with requisite bagpipes, more rock, sublime melodies, a hint of reggae, and the glam of David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust. The LP follows the tragedy of Shakespeare’s tale, but it rocks with color, great tunes, electric guitar, magical keyboard sounds, and even more delightful sax all of which stir that witches’ prophetic cauldron into a very fine conceptual over-blown progressive rock brew that is, indeed, a “charm” that is both “firm and good.”

So, there’s lions, tigers, and bears! Well, not quite. But there are witches, a wizard king, a magician (or two), a casual angel of death, a bit of Arthurian legend, Shakespearean tragic psychology, and a soul with all its seasons. It’s all condensed into an eternity – just before any Big Bang – that exists between percussion that punctuates with a superlative pause and a prog-rocking electric guitar solo that “skipped the light fandango,” and then lights the stars into the fantasy of several rock ‘n’ rock science-fiction universes.


Bill Golembeski