PETER GABRIEL 1 [AKA: CAR]

The solo career of a rock artist is a peculiar concept. Too often an artist is given complete creative freedom, becomes arrogant and produces an inconsistent mess; yet still other times they consolidate their strengths and produce a timeless masterpiece. Gabriel has done both on this 1977 LP. As is painfully obvious from emerging seconds of the opener, 'Moribund the Burgermeister', Gabriel shows us he hasn't fully found his niche or stride as a solo performer. Robert Fripp seems largely unused on this LP, however the licks that are audible in the mix are elegant and sophisticated, as only Fripp could muster. The rest of the band, save for bassist Tony Levin and guitarist Steve Hunter, aren't performing anything memorable most of the time, coming off as typical 'session' musician's working for a check rather than artist inspiration.

Odd, dissonant and entirely irrelevant, 'Moribund' is the single most bloated piece Gabriel has ever penned. Weird, uninspired rhythms pop in and out, Gabriel sings off-key, the band is incapable of gelling correctly, superstar producer Bob Ezrin seems for once to be out of ideas of what to do with Gabriel's quirky demos, sometimes painting a sympathetic dreamer hoping for love ('Modern Love'), other times portraying Gabriel as a genius following his muse to unexplored areas of artistic intrigue (the masterpiece 'Solsbury Hill', and the delicate beauty of 'Here Comes the Sun'). At various other points the bloated monster of debut albums rears its head though, to prove us that Gabriel isn't a god of rock, at least not just yet (the silly and embarrassing barbershop of 'Excuse Me' and the boring delicatessen 'Humdrum' that actually might have been Gabriel's mood when composing that song).

However, Gabriel's ambitions and unyielding experimentation don't go unrewarded on this LP (as the epic qualities of 'Waiting fo the Big One' and the quirky treasure of 'Down the Dolce Vita' prove Gabriel can master any style of music if he so wishes). Unfortunately, by this point in the LP the listener may be fed up with the abundance of filler connecting the beginning to the end of the LP, and as such, is no masterpiece, yet is no dud either. Rating: C+