DFA
Work in Progress: Live at Nearfest 2000
2001
MoonJune Records
promotional CD from MoonJune

"We are DFA. We come Verona, Italy, the town of "Romeo & Juliet, but we're not going to play any love song now." These are the first words spoken by the band on DFA's new live album Work in Progress, and they will surely be comforting words to most who hear this CD. DFA are Italian and they don't play love songs. Sounds promising, and it is.

DFA is a relatively new band that has released three albums in four years. Work in Progress is a document of their appearance at NEARFest 2000 and is sure to further elevate the band's status within progressive rock circles. DFA is a part of the same revitalized Italian prog scene that has brought us bands like Deus Ex Machina, Finisterre and Odessa in recent years, and as such they some things in common with these bands. However, while it's tempting to compare DFA with one band or another, the fact is that DFA shows a very wide variety of influences. This is evidenced in the variation of syles found among the various tracks on Work in Progress.

"Escher" is the first piece on the album. Due to its reliance upon spiraling virtual analog synth sequences and soaring guitar solos, it may trick first-time listeners into believeing they've stumbled upon an Italian Ozric Tentacles. By the next track, however, the band adopts a relaxed symphonic mode laced with jazz fusion tinges. The third track is different still. It is a shorter piece called "Trip on Metro" that mingles quirky melodies and rhythms with heavy-handed riffing. Such unpredictability keeps this album interesting and makes it hard to categorize. The overall feel of the album could best be described as symphonic fusion, as the band veers back and forth over the line between symphonic prog rock and jazz fusion. Keyboardist Alberto Bonomi definitely has a feel for jazz, and he manages to dot the landscape of the whole album with numerous jazzy solos. Soloing for guitar and keyboards is pretty much the name of the game on Work in Progress, but self-indulgence is kept to a minimum.

What's most unusual about DFA is their laid-back style. DFA's penchant for tight musicianship and complex written scores (available on their website) is balanced out by their deceptively casual delivery. DFA don't seem to be in any hurry to impress anyone with showy, bombastic music or dynamic stage personnas. These are just four T-shirt-and-jeans guys who happen to be really good musicians.

The majority of Work in Progress is instrumental. Even tracks that do include vocals usually are dominated by very lengthy instrumental passages. Most of the pieces on Work in Progress hover around the 10-minute mark or and cover a wide variety of musical territory. These factors combined with DFA's relatively unagressive style may make this CD somewhat difficult for the average progger to digest quickly, but it seems likely that most will find it very rewarding upon repeated listening.

Work in Progress reveals DFA as being remarkably mature for such a young band. They are derivative of no one and totally eschew so many of the clichés of past and present prog rock. It's a good bet that Work in Progress will appeal a wide variety of progressive rock enthusiasts, including those who are familiar with their earlier work as well as those who aren't. – SH

Visit the DFA website.
Listen to an excerpt of "Escher" from DFA's Work in Progress.
MP3 format. 53 seconds/438k

Divine In Sight
Sorrow & Promise
2001
private release
promotional CD from MoonJune

One of the common themes among progressive rock lyrics is the concept of the spiritual journey. More often than not, this theme is dealt with in the context of some type of new age, existential or Eastern philosophy. But how often has it been done in a Christian context? Rarely, if ever. Here's proof that it can be done and done well. Enter Divine In Sight, a group of prog heads who came to Christ, but saw no reason to abandon asymmetrical time signatures and extended song forms. The result is an ambitious debut album which attempts to speak to believers as well as non-believers.

This CD essentially contains three songs, the last of which is a nearly hour long rock opera from which the album gets its name.

"Black River" is the first piece on the CD. This nearly 13-minute song is probably the most well-rounded composition on the album. It mixes long instrumental passages with vocal sections, and heavy, slightly metallic guitar workouts with more delicate acoustic sections. Of particular interest here is the middle section, which employs some nifty acoustic rhythm guitar and a tasteful bass guitar solo.

"By Leaps & Bounds" is an instrumental that shows the band cutting lose a bit. The influence of Rush is quite apparent here. Like that band in its early days, Divine in Sight excells at making interesting, complex music that goes far beyond what most rock bands can achieve with the limited instrumentation of a power trio. Keyboard usage and rhythm guitar overdubs are kept to a minimum on this piece, but the members of Divine in Sight manage to keep things interesting with lots of changes and complex parts for each instrument. While it's not quite on the level of a "La Villa Stragiato" or a "YYZ," it's still an engaging listen.

"Sorrow & Promise" is the aforementioned rock opera. It tells the story of a man who has a terrifying dream that serves as a catalyst that draws him nearer to God. It is important to the appreciation of this piece that one understands that it is, in fact, a rock opera which is essentially composed of nine different songs. It is not quite a giant, unified piece of music in the sense to which most prog fans may be accustomed. The transitions between the sections each contain some sound effects or incidental music that are relevant to the story for the sake of continuity. These transitions can get a little old after a while, but this is a minor flaw, as the songs themselves are quite good. Like the rest of the album, Bartholomew Bogue's Brian May-ish guitar playing is the dominant feature, though there is also plenty of room for busy, up-front bass playing which is very much in the Geddy Lee/Chris Squire mold. Some of the best sections of the opera are the triumphant "Sorrow & Promise Overture;" the eight-minute "Sleep," which provides plenty of variety between driving riffs and mellower themes; and the tragic, marshal-sounding "Into the Abyss."

Lest non-Christians be wary of purchasing an album by an openly Christian band for fear of listening to "preachy" or "judgemental" lyrics, take solace in the fact that much of the opera's lyrics are actually critical of weak Christians, rather than non-believers. Those who would wear the name of Christ, but who are complacent in their faith, or divisive of the body of Christ are warned right alongside those who don't accept Christ at all. The lyrics on this album should be tolerable to all but the most vigorously anti-religious. They aren't cheesy or overly emotional, but tell an interesting story in the grand tradition of the concept album, but with an undeniably Christian message.

Throughout the album, the musicianship is top-notch, as is the production and sound quality. Divine-in-Sight manage to sound technologically neutral by not relying on instrumentation that sounds either too modern or too retro. The only real nod to the old days is some very convincing sampled Mellotron, though it is used sparingly. Thankfully, digital effects and extremely modern guitar tones are also kept to a minimum. It's tempting to wish Divine-in-Sight could incorporate a talented, full-time keyboard player (or some other instrumentalist) to round out their sound and provide more opportunities for musical embellishment, but this band is one that certainly manages to do a lot with what they've got, so nothing is really lacking.

Divine In Sight's official motto might as well be "no compromise." They haven't abandoned their prog rock roots in favor of a more conventional style acceptable to adherents of the largely artistically bland contmporary Christian scene. They also resist the temptation to water down or hide their profession of faith in order to appeal to the typical prog rocker. Such conviction is almost certainly a recipe for obscurity, but with this debut, Divine In Sight seem willing and well-prepared to meet the needs of the niche-within-a-niche market they seem to be after. – SH

Emerson Lake & Palmer
Brain Salad Surgery
1973
Atlantic

Visit the Land of Chocolate website.


Paranoise
Ishq
Ancient Records
promotional CD from the band

David Byrne once made a statement that he hated the term "World Music" when applied to musicians who made music that was not Western-style, because it implied an "us vs. them" mentality. While His Quirkiness may have a point there, it seems that there may be some exceptions to that thinking, and Paranoise may very well be one of them.

Ishq is the fourth album by this group already on its third label (earlier offerings were released first on Island records and then Ozone records) and is titled after a Sufi word that means transcendence. Transcendence can be defined as "extending or lying beyond the limits of ordinary experience," and without a doubt that is a fitting word for this album. The music of Ishq is set beyond the limits of what is considered normal or ordinary, even in the realm of progressive rock. While it is not unusual for musicians to draw some or even a lot of their influences from such diverse areas of music as the Middle East or India it is unusual for one group to
draw so much from so many places. Most of the music consists of original ideas based around traditional music from such places as Morocco, Bulgaria, and Kenya, and this is just the tip of the iceberg.

The music on this album is complex, fast, and full of energy. Most of the songs begin with or are based around a traditional song from some part of the globe, with the band playing original ideas around this traditional music. Sometimes the original ideas are western in style and scope, sometimes not. You may hear a drum kit, but you may just as well hear traditional percussion like djembes or shakers. In many cases there may be elements from different ethnic music playing together, creating something
entirely new.

From a vocal standpoint the album is a little less involved, at least to Western ears. There is a lot of singing but much of it is not in English at all, but words or phrases from different languages. A few of the songs contain lyrics not of singing but of spoken word, recordings of speeches and lectures given by such distinguished thinkers as Noam Chomsky or Terrence McKenna.

You might get the idea from these facts that there is a purpose to Paranoise that is more than simply making good music, and that is true. If you aren't a big fan of political and economic themes running rampant through your music than you might want to stay away from Ishq. Paranoise itself is a group that stands behind a philosophical ideal that is very much prevalent throughout every aspect of this album, and presumably the albums made prior to this. A quick jaunt to their website will give you an ample idea, if not an overload, of their ideas and perspectives about the evils of modern life, etc.

Even if you don't care for their beliefs, the music of "ISHQ" warrants a listen. Original and fresh, this album should appeal to the senses of any "world music" enthusiast, while offering plenty to the progger as well. It's not often you hear something so different that it's impossible to pigeon-hole into some kind of convenient category, but Paranoise might be just the group that can escape that kind of judgment. – CH

Visit the Paranoise website.

The debut opens with what is basically a three-song suite: “In the Dead of Night,” “By the Light of Day,” and “Presto Vivace and Reprise.” From the outset the listening audience is placed firmly within the tradition and conventions of classic progressive rock. “In the Dead of Night” begins in 7/4, and is based on Eddie Jobson’s bright (maybe overly so) keyboard rhythm. Wetton and Bruford complement that rhythm well with some nifty accompaniment: subdued but hardly simplistic. Holdsworth’s guitar is fluidly present after the first verse, but the playing is largely understated, allowing Bruford and Wetton to propel the tune. The guitar solo in the bridge is exquisite: if this is the listener’s first exposure to Holdsworth’s playing, the response will be appreciation, and, depending upon that listener’s age, familiarity, as the swift runs and unbroken leads are the prototype for what will later be Edward Van Halen’s trademark style. One may wish the drums were a bit more forward in the mix, but overall the sound is full and the balance between the instruments and vocals is even.

The opening track segues without lacuna into “By the Light of Day,” a softer, more evocative counterpoint to the driving force of “In the Dead of Night.” Wetton’s vocals are plaintive, calm and very smooth, much like an uninterrupted day of routine existence. The keyboards wash over the closing instrumental section, and keep the song sullen, but only momentarily, because the suite transitions into the funk-beated groove of “Presto Vivace and Reprise.” Here Jobson’s key work dominates and moves with a grace and a gyre, and finally descends back into the reprised introductory riff of “In the Dead of Night.” The band fully honors the motifs of progressive rock in its initial offering, but there is a hint of the new: the entire suite has a slick, highly processed sound, and for that, feels a bit too sterile – first-rate musicianship slightly undone by a too-clinical production. (As an aside, one might recommend the slightly abridged version of this three-song suite on the Prog Day ‘98 CD, featuring the John Wetton Band: a more muscular, less tinny presentation with a welcome rawness and brawn.)

“Thirty Years” is the fourth track, and features Jobson’s lush but tempered keyboard atmospherics and Holdsworth’s touching acoustic guitar fills as the tone is set for the song: regretfulness, resignation, helplessness, futility. A pronounced chord change announces the start of Wetton’s lyrics – a very clean, very sad rendering of the words. Again, Bruford is somewhat buried in the mix, until the tune jumps into its second phase. Here the band moves with a renewed energy, riding a short passage into an almost sinister, threatening beat – Bruford’s playing is now quite evident in its suitability and controlled flair – and Holdsworth’s slippery, almost Steely Dan-like serpent-leads. This tune highlights what is appealing to prog fans throughout the album: tight, focused playing with highly melodic passages which never veer toward any sort of arena pomp – respectable and finessed music. Wetton also contributes to this by singing the complicated lyrical sections with skill and without bombast.

“Alaska” follows, with what is perhaps one of the more convincing introductions in progressive rock: the playing is sparse and barren, especially due to Jobson’s clever, poetic use of keyboard tone. He paints with sound the desolation of a formidable landscape which discourages survival. The introduction meanders but holds attention, and then erupts into a frenzied beat and Holdsworth’s jagged solo, abrupt in its EKG-like pattern. The vocals of “Time to Kill” come after a short delay, and are impassioned but without hysteria. In many ways, U.K. is Wetton’s supreme singing performance, if only for his fine control over some extremely irregular vocal deliveries and phrasings. Jobson lets loose in “Time to Kill” with his first significant violin solo: it is impressive especially with its final wind-swirl into the returning vocals. In fact, it is in the violin passages that one best sees the band’s mastery of the material, and those passages often are preferable to the keyboard work.

“Nevermore” starts with more of Holdsworth’s flamenco-speed acoustic runs, beautiful and haunting (in a fashion similar to Howe’s acoustic style in Yes, at times, but less angular), but moves again into a pseudo-Steely Dan sound, featuring some very nice cymbal work from Bruford. The vocals again are tricky but well-sung. Jobson’s keyboard fills aren’t well-fitted to the song, especially as counterpoint to Holdsworth’s soloing; the keys again sound too synthetic. “Nevermore” is the weakest song of the recording, and (perhaps not coincidentally) seems most to foreshadow the emergence of Asia. The eerie keyboard at tune’s end is uncomfortable and unsettling – slightly psychedelic and paranoid – but soon converts into an easier cadence.

The closing track is “Mental Medication,” which opens with lounge-lizard lyrics and a minor Vegas vocal feel: a pleasant but unusual Wetton delivery that flows into some harder verses which again evoke Steely Dan, especially in the chord progression. The middle rhythmic break features a hallmark Wetton bass line holding the bottom while Jobson and Holdsworth trade solos. A bit later, Jobson unleashes his best violin solo of the recording, while Wetton lays down a tight, popping bass part. The violin seems to be unweighted of electronic effects here, and the near-acoustic sound fits into the overall blend decently. The song rounds out with a return to the lounge, and closes with a sleepy mildness and resolution, and some Brian May-sounding guitar overlays.

Overall, a grand offering. Interestingly, although this is hardly a commercial recording in the sense of an Asia or even a 90125, it is full of catchy but difficult musicianship, and commands attention with its complexity and forays out into the world of fusion and staccato beats. Wetton sings well throughout, Jobson and Holdsworth each impress, and Bruford once again displays the efficacy of selective percussion placement. The recording suffers marginally from the passage of time: the keyboards no longer sound novel or fresh, and perhaps annoy more than anything else at times, but in certain spots (e.g., the opening to “By the Light of Day”), the keys pull the listener straight into the track. A live presentation of this material, with a little less subtlety and a little more force, must have been worth the price of admission.

I would recommend this recording to all progressive rock fans fond of Wetton-Bruford era King Crimson, fans of fusion and Mahavishnu Orchestra, fans of the Van Halen-Malmsteen-Satriani-Vai style shredding, and even fans of Asia when they are inclined toward a more adventurous experience. Fans of Rush might perhaps enjoy this album, as well as fans of Tormato-Drama era Yes. U.K. is possibly one piece of the progressive rock bookend, with something like Days of Future Passed or In the Court of the Crimson King as its mate: it stands not only as the conclusion of an era, but as representative of the intensity, willingness to experiment, and sheer musicality of that great period in the annals of rock and roll. – JS

I will confess without hesitation: I have a nostalgic attachment to Yes’ 1980 release Drama. The year was 1981, and I was a sophomore in high school, when a classmate persuaded me to borrow a copy of M.U.: The Best of Jethro Tull. I took that cassette (there were no Jethro Tull CDs then) home and played it numerous times, and was hooked with an as-yet unsubsiding passion for the progressive rock genre. I spent many hours with this same classmate, picking through his (and his older brother’s) collection of classic prog: mainly Jethro Tull, Rush, Uriah Heep and Yes. I did a bit of sporadic listening, and soon I purchased my very own prog recording: Drama. I was mesmerized by the strangeness of the sounds and the intricate arrangements. I still am, and you are forewarned.

Is it Yes without Jon Anderson and Rick Wakeman? Well, not to detract from the excellence of their respective contributions to the band’s legacy, but I can only admit: I didn’t care in 1981, and I do not now care. Drama may or may not be a pure Yes recording: the logo is there, but the psychedelic, Asian philosophy-influenced lyrics are gone; Roger Dean is back with more exquisite artwork, but no song is longer than 10:30. Maybe it’s Yes, maybe not, but finally, it’s a moot point: Drama outshines any Yes recording after Relayer, and that is no minor achievement – albeit the truth.

The opening song, “Machine Messiah”, is perhaps the defining track. There is a metallic, industrial quality to the tune (which simultaneously recalls Pink Floyd’s “Welcome to the Machine” and dispels Jon Anderson’s flower-child ethos) which is beautiful, but only as a gun is beautiful: sleek, efficient, deadly. The initial riff is Steve Howe at his most ominous; he will elsewhere on Drama display a style which at once reaches back into the former glory of Yes and ahead to the future pop-fame of Asia (in fact, Drama is somewhat of a successful, prog-respectable Asia, as is now keenly heard). The rhythm section is furiously propulsive (listen to the break at 4:00), and with Howe, the perennial Yes stalwarts play with a vigor and focus absent from much of the late 70’s releases. In replacement of Anderson and Wakeman are Trevor Horn and Geoff Downes of The Buggles: there isn’t any reason to expect that they will stop the gap, but indeed they do by bringing a strong pop-sensibility to the extended Yes style. Downes’ playing is generally more atmospheric than virtuosic (greatly evidenced by the harshly-toned synthesizer fills later in the song), and Trevor Horn excels, moreso because here (and throughout), he and Chris Squire sing harmonized dual-lead: forgive my sinful ways, but Jon Anderson isn’t missed. The acoustic breaks – haunting, isolatory, clean to the point of sterility – fit perfectly the central theme (Tarkus on small-scale, possibly) – and are used effectively as counterpoint to the grinding ensemble interludes. “Machine Messiah” is, unconsciously even, the death-knell for the '60s-'70s peace-dream; it is the soundtrack for the nightmare of a mechanized world as it dies, begging for some deity to bring salvation.

“White Car” is a brief piece, and merits no especial commentary, except to mention that the final, fading keyboard arpeggios contrast well with Chris Squire’s trebly, bouncing bass line as it introduces “Does It Really Happen?” A ‘modern’ offering: a progression away from prog-rock, it could be argued. The song starts off with a near-90125 beat (Alan White drums with taste and nuance, while never sacrificing power), complete with mock-xylophone, but in a drastic, cut-against-the-grain transition – led by White’s abrupt, ferocious fill – the band moves into the major groove of the chorus, one of the better laid down on a Yes track. It is sparse and slightly angular, with a muscularity that commands attention. Geoff Downes comes to the fore, with a pseudo-Zeppelin keyboard craftiness, and the dual-vocalizations continue (the a cappella break is strong). Downes reveals his knowledge of ensemble propriety when he plays with a tactful percussiveness. If you are not swept away by the flow of the chorus, you are deceased.

“Into the Lens” perhaps takes the greatest hit on this recording for its seemingly ridiculous lyric “I am a camera”; however, consideration of the remaining words shows the lyrics to be impressionistic – snap-shots of human existence and tensions – and the ‘camera’ merely sings what it witnesses. This track as well is the most forward-reaching of Drama: it contains hints of new wave, Asia, and Trevor Horn’s '80s production work. Again, a very driven, desperate sound predominates, most clearly in the synchronized playing by Downes and White.

Excepting perhaps Steve Howe’s unusual guitar work, “Run Through the Light” is the weakest song of the set, but hardly intolerable. I suspect the influence of The Police (or just The Buggles). The song features Trevor Horn on fretless bass (full, concise, uncomplicated, catchy lines) and Chris Squire on piano, and begins with a plaintive mandolin piece. Fairly tuneless, “Run Through the Light” is appealing for its unique arrangement: a wide-open, airy song, into which Howe injects some triangular guitar licks, and to which Downes adds some perfect, ambient, near space-rock keyboards.

Rounding out Drama is “Tempus Fugit” (Latin for “time flies” or “time flees”), which incorporates a wicked bass line: Squire is pushing hard. Maybe absolute arena rock, I’m not sure (there are echoes of ELO, Kansas, and even Styx), but when the tempo accelerates – jaguar bass and Howe with his best Andy Summers imitation – you are taken by the motive current.

Fans of Yes only at its longest and most meandering may want to avoid Drama. Fans of Yes who concentrate primarily upon Jon Anderson’s singing may also wish to ignore Drama, although Trevor Horn does well by somewhat mimicking Anderson’s vocals while retaining his own singing identity – a good job walking the razor’s edge. Fans who have enjoyed and still enjoy Yes’ shorter pieces built upon memorable melodies and hook-dependent choruses should certainly be pleased with Drama. If it helps, rationalize: tell yourself, “OK, it’s not really Yes, but it is late '70s-early '80s prog." Put it in the CD changer with UK’s debut, Rush’s Permanent Waves, Tull’s A and Adrian Belew-era King Crimson, and appreciate it in context. You won’t be disappointed, I contend: the songs are top-notch, the production, mix, and remastering are all fine, and Howe, Squire, and White deliver standout performances brimming with obvious renewed energy and creativity. Fantastic music, Yes or not (a shame this line-up didn’t make it to a follow-up), and it’s nice to listen again and know that the original buzz over Drama was well-founded and not merely the product of naïve, youthfully blind enthusiasm. – JS