GOING SOUTH

We all should start thinking of going south! Dave Greenslade is a strange fella' , somehow always one ingredient away from prog immortality. With his namesake band, his overall brilliance was diminished by poor sound production and some tough vocals from second keysman Dave Lawson, a definite candidate for high honors in the toughest prog vocalist polls. But this is a solo disc and it has some rather bizarre aspects to it that may preclude it being a necessary addition to a prog collection. Dave states rather hopefully tongue in cheek (not really, the man is dead serious) "An album initially inspired by the evocative sight of migrating birds. I always experience a mysterious thrill when observing these determined creatures on their way to who knows where". Nice, and oh so English! Now, do you do that sipping tea, munching on crumpets, colonial hat firmly screwed on and using fine Zeiss-Jena binoculars, comfortably numbed in your manicured garden? Well a few decades earlier, Dave orchestrated the music for the colossal "Pentateuch", a much grander and worthier cause than bird watching for sure but he botched that with a rather weak soundtrack, full of inappropriate noodlings. The music here is prog ultra-lite, not a speck of cereal in this dog, ideal for background music in a fine elegant restaurant tired of peddling the usual Torme/Sinatra/ Bennett/Dion sludge lounge music. The sound is respectfully tepid, very synthetic and almost sterile, swerving into new age territory in a rather comfortable manner. The title track is sweet, tranquil and totally chloroformed, programmed percussion adds a whimsical innocence that breeds slumber. Music to fall sleep on, very impressive melody though. "Chasing the Wind" has a brief glimpse of hope, dashed by the marshmallow keyboard patches that sadly emulate the Kenny G. sound we all love to hate. Snoozerama! Greenslade's sanitary piano would make the minimalist Eno cringe with rightly upturned nose! "Slipstream" offers a slight mystery at the outset but it nose dives languorously into a very "kitsch" synthesizer solo, heavy on the trumpet patch that plainly sucks instead of blowing. This is followed by a jazzy piano romp that has the virtue of being at least technically proficient and even "daring" in expressive terms. But it's sooooo soporific, so lacking some spine (some might even say balls). Oh well! "Flying V" is forlornly not about the celebrated guitar but rather about avian formations as they streak across the horizon. Here, Dave the bird watcher cages his delirious organ and actually lets it chirp for a while but its missing feeling, guts, passion and sweat. All the while the programmed percussion shuffles along like some hungry pigeon in search of a spineless ledge to drop his load. "Miles Away" sounds like terrible pap, more of that Kenny G style and hence lifeless, really "miles away" from a progressive album, in fact it would probably win the most regressive album category. "Crane Dance" starts somewhat inspiringly, a weaving tropical pattern divulging some Middle Eastern inspirations but like a deserting Foreign Legionnaire, it gets quickly lost in the desert. "Night Flight" is 6 and a half minutes of meditative slumber, instantly incapacitating any prog listener into fifty smiling winks, no danger of an imminent Iron Maiden 3 guitar barrage here! Sorry but I need to migrate away from this before we get to the end. At least with a talented bassist and monster drummer , there was some fire! 2 very tired and lame ducks.