They don’t make ’em like that no more, literally, figuratively, metaphorically or –especially– sarcastically.
They can’t. For one thing, because they don’t make album covers, or albums, anymore.
Also because that era came and went, and while plenty of folks love and miss it, not nearly enough people are trying to figure out what happened, why it happened, and most importantly, how the hell it happened. Perhaps this is unavoidable, because this so-called era is not easily packaged into a particular time period or specific aesthetic, and what we are left with (and when I say “we” I mean disc jockeys –or are they officially MP3 jockeys now? — and fans who actually stop to think about such things) the all-encompassing yet ultimately unsatisfactory moniker of progressive rock which manages to be inadequate, overly simplistic, reductive, portentous and…perfect?
Allow me to stand up and be counted without pretense or the tiniest bit of hesitation as an advocate of this music. No shame in that game, nor should there be (Can I Get An Amen?). Saying this signifies little, since I am joined by many millions of likeminded music freaks, happily marinating in a combination of nostalgia, reverence, restlessness and, above all, bliss. The reason, at the end of the day, that so-called classic rock (in general) and progressive rock (in particular) endure is the most simple of all: it delivers the goods. It satisfies the faithful and is entirely capable, on its own without aspiration or interference, of converting new acolytes every single day.
“You had to be there” does not apply when it comes to this music (or any music), and that is the elusive alchemy that best illustrates its staying power. Moments in time, whether artistic, political or social, that are defined or defended by those who took part in them, are necessarily exclusive –not that there is anything wrong with that. Expression that, for lack of a better cliché, transcends time and place is created and exists on its own terms, so there is no barrier of language, ideology or agenda that prevents it from finding its audience. The only requirement is a sufficiently open mind and ears (or eyes) capable of picking up what is being put down.
To be continued…
(Naturally, there are hundreds of top-notch songs to pick from in an attempt to select an ideal representation of prog-rock. For now, “Watcher of the Skies” by Genesis seems as good as any: it’s from one of the definitive progressive bands at their peak. It features the vocals (and lyrics!) of a very young Peter Gabriel, who used to dress up like flowers on stage. It has the allusions to literature (Keats). It has Phil Collins (listen to him doing work during the song’s epic coda). Most of all, it has mellotron!)
