THE LEAST WE CAN DO IS WAVE TO EACH OTHER

"The Tangerine Dream Police knocked on my door in the middle of the Knight Area, waking me from a comfortably numb Wakeman reverie and as I opened the Gates of Delerium, I was brutally propelled to the Pallas floor by a Starship Trooper who promptly read me my Wrights and Rushed me back to the Prog Colosseum on Sinister Street for further interrogation. The not so Gentle Giant promptly took my Passport so that I Can never Return to Forever. They had received a Weather Report concerning my IQ's inability to enjoy Van Der Graaf Generator and were curious to Focus on what kind of Triumvirat of Ekseptions I had committed. Yes, there was a Trace of Synergy in my lack of Sense of Solution to this horrible void in my massive Prog collection but I could never penetrate the Discipline of the Hammill Collage and found it to be Brand X. Not amused, The Rocket Scientists tied me to the Soft Machine with its huge Gong, hoping to Inquire about my Crime of the Century. The Druid even used a Glass Hammer on me hoping for a confession. The Khan wanted me to see the Clearlight. After Crying, I was released the next morning and ordered to begin my Renaissance Saga by listening to this album until I fall in love with it". This is what my favorite Prog Store owner did, in obviously less theatrical tones, to influence my continuing prog education. "You have a gigantic collection but no VdGG? That's not acceptable", was his comment on handing me this disc.

I see why it is not that obvious for me as VDGG requires a certain mindset, the stark almost gothic spirit that runs through its grooves weave a somewhat somber atmosphere that is light years removed from the more child-like Genesis fare. The lack of your standard electric guitar, here replaced by the austere saxophone style of David Jackson, the monolithic spooky organ that rejects any synthesized sound, the intense drumming of Guy Evans, all combined to scare me away from admittedly a Prog necessity. "Darkness (11/11)" is exactly that, a howling breeze introduces the piano/organ onslaught, sax blaring noisily and nastily, with the ghostly voice of Peter Hammill crueler than the wind at times, not an easy listen by any stretch. Very British in feel and tone, the Banton organ solo certainly evokes an aura of schizophrenic and psychedelic hysteria. "White Hammer" swells with a certain foreboding doom, swirling in nightmarish imagery, Potter's ballistic bass ponging all over the place, jousting with the surly organ ripples, while the raging vocals hurl bile at the sax's sardonic almost trumpet like refrains. Certainly way more intense than the parallel Genesis fare of the time, even when slowing down to a crawl only to blister back into sheer turbulent gloom, frigid keys fending off sweltering sax forays with impudence. "Whatever Would Robert Have Said" is also skewed with a contrasting cocktail of weird and soft passages, quite lurid and uneasy with cacophonic exhortations by all musicians, a trippy Nic Potter electric guitar laced jam gone berserk. On the other side of the spectrum , "Refugees" masquerades as a gentler lament, with Peter's higher pitched voice urging the lyrical despair of leaving one's homeland in a contrast of hope and pain , dancing an almost medieval dance around the sprightly Jackson flute and the almost Whiter Shade of Pale-like organ sluice. Admittedly a beautifully fragile song with a massive choir crescendo that certainly elicits goose bumps. "Out of My Book" is another typical whimsical british musical tale, spiraling in all directions, controlled frenzy where simple melody intercourses with dissonance, grandiloquent flutes fluttering "sans souci". Not exactly commercial or ear- friendly. "After the Flood" is probably where Gentle Giant got some inspiration, a bubbling brew of initially sweeter environments that slowly evolve into a more debilitating sound, almost severely disturbing, where flute and sax vie for supremacy, the bombastic swells of the hurled chorus maintaining this sense of dissonant manic imbalance that will certainly spook your local vampire. Hammill sounds almost like a mentally deranged Donovan, less mellow yellow and more raging gray, relying on that stinging, insistent chorus to keep grinding the theme into oblivion. Chilling soundtrack music for the Apocalypse. The bonus tracks are interesting , the short "Boat of Millions of Years" is a chilling ghostly exaltation, pent up fury and discord put into a pot pourri of sound, like psychedelic heavy free jazz fest. A single and slightly shorter version of the gorgeous "Refugees" puts this once controversial album to rest and I am forced to admit that there is certainly a lot to discover and admire, just never really looked in that direction. For some it's Giant or Embryo, for others its Henry Cow or Magma, my hard nut to crack is Van der Graaf. It's never too late to realize that "the least we can do is wave to each other". 4.5 mea culpas