33 rebellions per minute
"a dream-stricken prince of a pauper's descent"
1989
Dream Theater, WHEN DREAM AND DAY UNITE
If my reading of CDNow's database is to be trusted, Dream Theater's debut has been continuously in print since its 1989 release. So I'm not sure why it took me til 2000 to buy a copy -- but in a way I'm quite glad. I'd been starting to wonder if, like so many other ex-teenagers who had surrendered to the rituals of employment and minimal social acceptability, I was outgrowing heavy metal: if my well-worn copies of SECRET TREATIES and MASTER OF PUPPETS and SONGS FOR INSECTS were doomed to a lifetime of each other's closed-circle company, while my more recent inner Liz Phair fan used a special gigawatt glare to frighten all future intruders. Rolling Stone did a feature on the ten best new heavy metal bands in the world last year, and I read it and scribbled a few names down, but $30 later I can report that I can't stand Candiria, Botch, or Meshuggah for even close to their albums' full length. Sure, I blamed the vocalists, fetishizing the maximum-power gargle, but what if that were just an excuse, not an explanation?
Ha: never mind. Closed-minded, unwilling to adapt to a degenerate new era I may be, but that's okay: surely _some_ of the world's doomsayers over the millenia have been correct. My readiness to be electrified by last decade's metal is unharmed. WHEN DREAM AND DAY UNITE featured: a bassist, John Myung, with an unimpeachable imitation of the rapid-fire chug-chug of Metallica's Cliff Burton. A drummer, Mike Portnoy, who -- regardless of whether he himself is to be considered the world's greatest drummer -- does a spectacular enough version of Neal Peart's own style, agile time-signature jumping and zip-code-sized-drum-kit rolls, to instantly invalidate (in my mind) Peart's own frequent claim on the honor. A guitarist, John Petrucci, who gets by pretty well in the idioms of both Metallica's Kirk Hammett and the much glossier Eddie Van Halen. A keyboardist, Kevin Moore, who lightens much of the proceedings with an early-1980's Rush-like sheen. And a vocalist, Charlie Domenici, whose metal-man attempts at shrillness bear an endearingly quirky resemblance to Sting.
Structurally, the 8-song 55-minute album follows closely at the heels of MASTER OF PUPPETS: songs are made from detailed layerings of slab, heavy riffs in varying time signatures melded tightly into place. Late-'80s Metallica is, lest I be unclear, still the band around which I happily define the metal genre. But as dearly as I loved them (let's kindly not even discuss the recent Metallica that does sludgy Bob Seger covers), the two records they released in their prime style really were all the world needed of that. It rapidly became as monochrome as it was boneshaking, as isolated as it was labyrinthine, as ritualistically gloomy as it was intelligent and empathetic. The real Metallica evolved towards simplicity, immediacy, and I think that worked for a couple of records more. But where I'd wanted them to evolve was towards a broader, sometimes lighter array of sounds. I'd wanted their brief classical guitar excursions to sound more self-contained and out-of-time; I'd wanted Hammett's solos to sound more like his dexterity was a source of actual pleasure for him; I'd wanted some melodies and coloration in the higher pitch ranges. It turns out Dream Theater was taking care of that. Now I know. Very cool.
1992
Dream Theater, IMAGES AND WORDS
That said, I do agree with a common prejudice of the progressive rock community: that UNITE is, historically, a mere warmup for IMAGES AND WORDS, the defining masterpiece of '90s progressive rock. The new vocalist, James LaBrie, is more of a metal singer in the sense of channeling the New York bellow of Queensryche's Geoff Tate, but also more of a _singer_, his range, control, and pure tone far more suggestive of Freddie Mercury. Kevin Moore's role expands to that of genuine pianist in parts, and his synthesizer parts gain in richness. Petrucci's guitar stylings are given more room to expand and display tension, subtlety. Portnoy, proving in places that he's capable (in theory) of restraint, plays more spectacularly at other points than ever before. These eight songs over 56 minutes are not just one damn set of slabs after another, starting and stopping a bit too arbitrarily as on UNITE, but interact, parts from one sing showing up transformed and liberated in another. And bassist Myung, lest you worry, is still channeling Cliff Burton, making sure that Dream Theater kick some ass now and then.
"Pull Me Under", the eight-minute radio/MTV single that introduced me to the band, opens the album on hollow guitar and forlorn, abandoned sirens, seemingly as ready to turn into Tori Amos's "Precious Things" as into the acrobatic fusion of Metallica, Yes, and POWER WINDOWS Rush it becomes. LaBrie's autoharmonies and the dazzling treble synthesizer runs highlight an arrangement that it's almost impossible to imagine being played, even individual part by individual part, without densely notated sheet music. "Another Day", next, is just as extroverted, but as a soaring piano ballad with saxophone. "Take The Time", side one's 10+ minute piece, is awesomely drummed (of course) but is dominated by Petrucci, who channels Slash, Bon Jovi's Richie Sambora, and Giuseppe Verdi as closely as he does Kirk Hammett. "Surrounded" downshifts again, towards what mid-1980's Queen, their flashy but elegant soundtrack incarnation, might have accomplished if they'd retained their knack for power and catchy melodies. Moments like the "light-to-dark, dark-to-light, light-to-dark" chant show how effectively D.T. can make little moments of contrarian rhythms, vocals fighting the keyboard's pull, stick in one's head even during relatively "simple" songs.
"Metropolis" kicks off side 2 with the bass echoes, tinkerbell tinkle, tambourine, and airy synth that introduce the next and to my mind best 10+ minute selection. Tribal drumming and ambient glassy synth play as much role as Myung's bass. Time signatures are casually abridged, so that D.T. can rush on and _do_ stuff during all those boring beats where a normal band would just be trying to make sure everything matched up properly. Petrucci essays consecutive guitar solos from completely unrelated styles and moods, and everyone else gets to play too: a solo of Moore's even evokes, years in advance, the abrupt electronic angularity of Joel Davel's "lighting motion sensor instrument" solos with Amy Neuberg + Men. "Under A Glass Moon" adds grandly oppressive music for a Skeksis palace scene; flamboyant Keith Emerson-y organ slamming; a brief electric blues solo; and a chorus preview of what Elton John songs will sound like the day when, alienated from Bernie Taupin, he is forced to collaborate with the New York thash band Prong.
"Wait For Sleep", setting up the ending, is pensive, shimmering, technically simple, and gorgeous, incidentally featuring my single favorite piano hook ever. "Learning To Live", the last track, has more than enough time to display Police-like jazzy indirection, run another Amy Neuberg-ish melody through a Bon Jovi sound envelope, let Myung display a patiently fluent bass monotone to supplement his usual fierce chugging, and play a lovely pseudo-Renaissance flute solo; but as the end nears, "...Sleep"'s piano hook undergoes several transformations during a powerful rock jam. And finally the album's slow conceptual lyric progress -- from nihilistic wish-for-death to a resolved search for life's solutions (oh, come on, you didn't think progressive rock had suddenly given up overriding lyrical concepts, did you?) -- is brought to a dignified, forceful conclusion.
IMAGES draws its criteria for success from two histories, of metal and of progressive rock, that precede it by 20 years. I'm not prepared to claim that more than 2% of it is innovative in any way, shape, or form except the specific details. But if any other band has gotten this many of the details right, in this encompassingly ambitious a second-hand plot outline, I don't know about it yet. And you can darn well assume I'd want to know.
2000
Transatlantic, SMPT:E
Indeed, not to be subtle about it, IMAGES AND WORDS is my favorite prog-rock album of all time. Subsequent Dream Theater albums have been, not surprisingly, excellent, but I find myself having a hard time caring about them. AWAKE ('94) has a great hard-rock single, "Lies", but basically is a streamlined, more piledriving, less unified or fascinating remake of IMAGES. A CHANGE OF SEASONS ('95) proves D.T.'s mettle as a superb cover band, remaking Elton John, Deep Purple, and Led Zeppelin songs in their own convoluted image and doing a remarkable crowd-pleasing medley of the metallic high points of six other '70's hits. But the one original piece -- the 7-part 23-minute "Change of Seasons" -- completely loses me, a superb piece of ensemble playing that, like late-'70s Rush, has no purpose, fire, or good tunes that I can discern. FALLING INTO INFINITY ('97) does lead with "Millenium", a churning, roiling 10+ minute standout that stylistically is to "Metropolis" about what Rush's "Stick It Out" is to, say, "Distant Early Warning". But the sprawling remainder of INFINITY sounds far too much as though the Journey excerpt ("Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin'") on SEASONS' "Big Medley" was meant as Dream Theater's new manifesto of purpose. Again, these are excellent albums, superbly played. But it bothers me to hear a band that had already learned how to pace and unify an hour of maze-logic music, settle for purveying, slickly, a big random bunch of songs and waiting to see if maybe we, the listeners, can bring some sense, sold separately, into 78 exhausting minutes of look how fast we can play.
Thus, while I'll probably buy the new Dream Theater album (SCENES FROM A MEMORY) eventually, for now I've taken far more interest in drummer Mike Portnoy's new side project, just on the grounds that at least it wouldn't be another pale copy of an album I already love. That Transatlantic are also progressive rock is not exactly hidden. The album title is an acronym for Stolt Morse Portnoy TrEwanas: the guitarist for the Flower Kings, the singer for prog-festival favorites Spock's Beard, the Dream Theater drummer, and the Marillion bassist. The front cover shows a gleaming red and blue spaceship crossing an ocean. The back cover shows five songs, one with parts I, II, III, IV, and V, and a 77:15 running time. Most damningly, one of the songs is a cover of Procol Harum's "In Held Twas I", perhaps the only 17-minute song ever to include the lyric "although you may find me pretentious....".
On the whole, Transatlantic's songs -- team written, but more by Morse than anyone else -- turn out to use superb playing to make far more appealing use than I'd expect out of mish-mashes of what are not, in many cases, my favorite styles. Within the 4:50 before "All of the Above"'s lyrics even start, Transatlantic have annexed, for their purposes, a jazzy version of Emerson/Lake/Palmer; the kind of music old movie soundtracks play when the sun is coming up on a glorious new day and the hero and heroine, after 17 hours being chased through pits of slime by flamethrower-wielding psychopaths, turn out not to have displaced their haircuts after all; and the jolly folk musics of several European countries the players have heard of through Society for Creative Anachronism fencing tournaments. The song itself, part I, melds the harmonic sophistication of Steely Dan, the power-ballad chords of Night Ranger or Survivor, and the earnestness of Air Supply, but at least I'd say those are the right ingredients to be borrowing from them. Part II features a really snazzy jam between percussionist Portnoy, pianist Morse (in Bruce Hornsby jazz mode), and mellotronist Stolt (in Keith Emerson's darker, sleazier tunings). Part III's ruminative chords and off-kilter harmonies suggest Steely Dan doing a respectful appropriation of some light-rock hit by Bread. IV is more like Styx covering a WHITE ALBUM track, albeit with much more emphatic drumwork. V could be good-period Cat Stevens, who Neal Morse resembles vocally when he isn't going against character for metal shrillness. Part VI is in the classy tradition of Dream Theater power ballads, except for a 3-second feint towards disco-era Bee Gees.
"We All Need Some Light" reminds me that actually my knowledge of world folk is lamer than theirs is; the suspended acoustic guitar lines remind me of Efatha's THIS IS WHAT YOU GET ('99), or maybe like you'd get from slightly detuning a mandolin. The song itself, piano-led, has an unresolved drama along the lines of Billy Joel's "Goodnight Saigon" (although Morse's lyrics don't carry nearly as much weight as Joel's). "Mystery Train", the song likely to show up on my Best of 2000 mix (a concise 6:52!), plays the verses like psychedelic-era Beatles ("Because", for example) as remixed in turn, a la a game of Telephone, by James Brown, Emerson/Lake/Palmer, Mike Portnoy (to make sure there's enough drums), and Stabbing Westward. "My New World", over the course of 16:16, accepts SGT. PEPPER, Steely Dan, and Styx as equal progenitors in the wonder that is progressive rock; "In Held Twas I" is a metallized cover, but a faithful one.
And in all fairness, the "pretentious" monologue is funny on purpose. It is merely the music which is played as though souls were at stake. I don't think that's the only right way to approach music, but I can think of lots worse ones.
Links to other sites on the Web
© 1997 bokonin@hotmail.com
Get your own Free Home Page