My direct experience of progressive rock

I hesitate to publicly take issue with Rob Sheffield for several reasons. First off, I find him an engaging, sharp, funny writer. Second, I'm acquainted with him and we share warm kind feelings for each other as people, I think. Thirdly, he's one of the greatest audiences I've ever had. Whenever I run into him and we converse, his laughter at whatever attempted witticisms I drop is the most appreciative I have ever heard. Knowing Rob and his pop tastes as I do, I wasn't surprised by some of the less charitable perspectives on prog (or "progressive") rock that he puts forward in his New York Times Book Review assessment of the essay compilation Yes Is The Answer. And in point of fact said review confirms, to my mind, some of the things I suspected about the book when I paged through it at a printed matter emporium and mused that this did not look like the prog-rock book I was looking for, if in fact I was looking for such a thing. 

As described by Sheffield (and his description jibes with the impression I had paging through it) Yes Is The Answer seems a rather silly book, and if I'm going to read a book on prog rock, I'd prefer it to be either entirely po-faced or uproariously funny rather than rather silly. Rob, however, takes the book's silliness as a cue to propound upon the silliness of prog rock itself as far as he's concerned, and to look down his nose at the social lives, particularly the sex lives of its enthusiasts. As for its makers, he chortles at the fact that Yes once stocked a recording studio with bales of hay to evoke a properly rustic atmosphere for inspiration. This IS indeed silly, but hoe much more or less silly is it than spending tens of thousands of dollars on heroin and/or cocaine, as so many other rock musicians, progressive and otherwise, have done? But he reserves most of his nyah-nyah you can't get laid disdain for consumers of the genre. One of the book's essayists, he notes, got turned on to the music of the loosely-defined Canterbury Scene by a high-school girlfriend; "not a typical prog story, to say the least." In his kicker, Sheffield states "oblivion seems entirely suited to prog, which at its best functioned as a shelter from school, from sex, from the frightening adult world." Even without parsing too closely, this seems a curious stone to have been thrown by the author of Talking To Girls About Duran Duran. The implied demand that a more acceptable music is one that assists teens and post-teens in facing that adult world seems, frankly, unrealistic. But really, the fallacy of the generalization stems from a not-uncommon rock crit problem, that is, mistaking one's practice with that of a sociologist's.

Sheffield's actually not even ten years younger than me, so my initial mental rationalization for his curious contempt doesn't hold, entirely. And since I never even liked sociology, let alone believed that critical practice compelled me to attempt any form of it, I can only respond with anecdotal evidence that for a number of my confederates in the late '70s, a taste for prog not only embodied zero contradiction to an engagement with adulthood, but also constituted a palpable asset to it.   For instance, and not to tell tales out of school, but take My Close Personal Friend Ron Goldberg™. When I arrived at William Paterson College in 1977, he had transfered to NYU but was still a legend at the college paper, for his photographic acumen, his merciless sarcasm, his way with "the ladies" as some used to call them back then, and his ability to recite all of the dialogue from the 1933 King Kong. I didn't meet Ron until spring of 1978, at the funeral of a mutual friend who COULD have gone with me to see Richard Hell at CBGB on the weekend of his death, but instead went out to Central Jersey and...well, it's a long story...and at the funeral I asked him about the Kong thing and he responded with the exact contempt and merciless sarcasm that such an inquiry might warrant when delivered at a funeral. Ron eventually got around to forgiving me this trespass, and we became friends, and soon I was hanging around the basement of his folks' place in Clifton, which he had redone into his bachelor pad. He had an awesome stereo of separate components—I had only ever had variants of a Close-And-Play myself—and a huge record collection of mostly classical and prog. I was mildly appalled, really. King Crimson had its moments, I had to admit, having affected an appreciation of Shoenberg and Coltrane in my high school years, but despite my fondness for Eno and such I was at this point a reasonably dedicated punk rock person. "How can you listen to Yes? I mean that vocalist is the worst. And those lyrics!" "Eventually you learn to hear through it, or past it," Ron shrugged. "And you're complaining about lyrics? What about the Ramones?" "They're ironic," I nyah-nyahed back. We were both schmucks, but he made a little more immediate sense.

The point I'm taking my time getting to is that the component-stereo and sophisticated-musical-tastes combination was a crucial component of Ron's mystique in the dating department. It was I, Mr. Punk Rock and Socially Conscious Lyrics and I'm Against Society Man and all that other shit who had a bit of struggle. This is not to say that I came around to prog out of a desire to enhance my appeal to the opposite sex. My first college girlfriend, to whom I gave the flower that was my sexual innocence, was an exemplary suburban Punk Rock Girl (her copy of The Basketball Diaries was festooned with "I love you"s in the margins of the passages describing the most debauched instances of drug abuse), and when I brought home (to my first apartment, which I shared with a college roommate in Paterson, New Jersey in the late '70s, in case you're wondering where I earned my "street cred") a copy of Art Bears' debut album Hopes and Fears, which opens with an austere cover of Brecht/Eisler's "On Suicide" sung by Dagmar Krause in her direst sharp tones, she pronounced her conditional approval on grounds that it was bracingly abrasive. Which indeed it was.

The College Girlfriend, Ron, and myself, eventually started experimenting with making our own music. Ron  was a keyboardist, and a pretty good one I thought (he remains to my mind sometimes frustratingly dubious with respect to his abilities in this respect), the CG played guitar, and I played a little guitar, and bellowed, and had an outsize personality, not necessarily in that order. We had another friend, a college poet, who wrote lyrics and also bellowed, or wailed; and we dicked around in various permutations trying to write songs. We thought that our differing sensibilities—Ron's prog taste was supplemented by a slight Ray Manzarek jones, and a lot of his compositional inspiration was taken from the film score work of Max Steiner and Bernard Herrmann; CG was a big Stones person; I was "literary" and obnoxious—might create interesting material. We were not particularly correct, but we persisted, and were very constructive in coming up with band names: Transparent Things (I know, I know), Plan Nine, etcetera. Eventually CG and I broke up, and she took up with more competent and dedicated musicians who later went on to stints in real bands such as The Brandos and Dramarama (look 'em up!). But Ron and I kept at it and eventually we, in the decades-later-to-be-immortal-words of Art Brut, formed a band. 

From left to right, Douglas Harvey, Ron Goldberg, Gene McCallister, your humble servant, Thomas Santamassino, circa 1981. God, I hated that air conditioner, can't you tell? 

Whether or not we were any good (and the debate continues to this day as we, having reconvened largely for the purpose of continued fellowship, slouch toward the completion of a professional-grade recording of material we "composed" over thirty years ago), our unusual concept—to create music that melded the complexity of certain prog with the DIY attitude and dissonance of punk and post-punk—was a way of enabling us to engage the world rather than retreat from it. We had to do things—write material, rehearse it, and play it in front of people. Our parents weren't involved in the project. Ron and some outside friends had rented a house, and that became the GHQ for band activities, the protest of certain neighbors and roommates notwithstanding. When drummer McCallister either quit or was fired (I honestly don't remember which...he's a cop now, if you were wondering), we had to go out and find a drummer, and we were blessed for a year with the best one in not just the Hoboken/North Haledon scene but in all of northern and central Jersey, Stanley Demeski, then also of the Phosphenes and Winter Hours (both of which bands really, really hated us) and later of the Willies, then the Feelies, then Luna, and now the Feelies again. If you're familiar with his work, you know that Stanley nails the 4/4 like nobody's business, but what you might not know is that, like his fellow one-time Feelie Anton Fier, he at one point in his development learned every drum pattern on the notoriously difficult (and some might say secretly proggy) Trout Mask Replica by Captain Beefheart and the Magic Band. Our band had one highly questionable (and unsingable-over) tune called "Refraction," the main section of which had a 9/5 time signature. Once Stanley left the band, that number left the repetoire. Actually, the whole band kind of fell apart; we couldn't find an adequate let alone competent full time replacement drummer, and the band's front man was such a mikestand-kicking prima-donna non-singing asshole that nobody really wanted to work with him any more. Guess who?

Anyway, the ideal remained alive in our sensibilities if not our musical practice. You might not remember this, but the reformed King Crimson—the quartet with Adrian Belew, Tony Levin, Bill Bruford and Captain Fripp, and no mellotron—actually had some New Wave cred given Fripp's and Belew's session work with Bowie, Talking Heads, Blondie, and so on. Artificial Intelligence aimed to meld Gang of Four and Pere Ubu with Henry Cow, and the distances between those bands was not as huge as some might imagine. (The distinctions might not be cost-effective to poptimists such as Sheffield, I allow.) Even as Ubu founder David Thomas was running Seeds and Alice Cooper licks through a darkly arty iteration of Cleveland weltschmertz, he was engaging in correspondence with one-time Henry Cow drummer Chris Cutler, with whom Thomas later worked as a solo artist. Cutler himself drummed in an iteration of Ubu that included its biggest commercial successes, including the college-rock quasi-hit "Waiting For Mary." 

The point is that there was/is more to prog and its tendrils that is dreamed of in the institutional philosophy of the New York Times these days, Jon Pareles' presence at the paper notwithstanding. The sectarian anti-prog bias, not to be paranoid, is I think reflected in the illustration for Rob's review, in which Genesis-era Peter Gabriel is seen in stage makeup with mouth agape, an image meant to evoke a snicker. I do not laugh, because I'm vaguely aware of how many column inches the New York Times devotes to Lil Wayne, who, objectively speaking, doesn't present a much more overtly "admirable" visual picture. Also, one need not like what Gabriel did in order to appreciate the line his theatrical mode of presentation points directly to Lady Gaga. But again, this is par for the course for an institution that gifted us with the phrase "cultural vegetables," and at which a top reviewer interpreted an assignment to write on a book about video games as an occasion to voice his dislike of Jethro Tull.

Prog rock, Sheffield snarks in the final line of his notice, "is the genre that gave the phrase 'comfortably numb' to the language." Except The Wall (a problematic record but maybe a better one than you remember) is the work of an arena-rock band—that's part of its whole subject. As spacey as Pink Floyd's music got, it never approached prog's level of difficulty (Dave Stewart, the Canterbury Egg/Hatfield/National Health guy as opposed to the Eurythmics guy, once observed of a Robert Wyatt concert he participated in that it "turned out well despite Nick Mason's inability to play in 7/4") or popularity.

Comments

[ZS]

Thanks for this Glenn, especially "But really, the fallacy of the generalization stems from a not-uncommon rock crit problem, that is, mistaking one's practice with that of a sociologist's."

That's precisely why most rock criticism annoys me. Too much amateur sociology and too little discussion of the music.

[Noam Sane]

Hard to blame the guy, that's part of the fun of art, looking down your nose at the stuff that you dislike. For me, it's the earnest-lesbians-with-acoustic-guitars genre, we all do it, eh?

But treating "progressive rock" as a monolith is also kind of foolish. Yes, ELP, and King Crimson really don't share much in common other than a desire to work outside the boundaries of the 3-minute poptoon.

The influence of the prog-enitors pops up in odd places, proof that it wasn't all a waste. I always felt that indie darlings The New Pornographers were very Yes-y. Just shorter songs (or, it could be argued, longer gaps between song sections.)

Didn't ELP once tour with a giant replica of a boar that snorted dry ice? And didn't it malfunction once? And wasn't the next morning's headline "Hog Smog Bogs Prog Slog"?

[preston]

Funny, I was walking to work this morning with this Sheffield review still upsetting me. I had two things on my mind: why would someone be so insecure just to show that HE KNOWS how un-cool prog rock is?

And did GK read this?

Also, Ian and the boys never get any respect; ever since they got that Grammy in ’88 they’ve never been forgiven… quite a few of ‘em could play in 7/4, too.

[Burn_amb]

I expressed my own thoughts on this review on my own blog, and one of the anthology's contributors commented:

http://runningthevoodoodown.blogspot.com/2013/06/progressive-rockregressive-thinking.html

[Henry Holland]

Great piece, Glenn.

ZS, agree with your last sentence, but hey, it's easier to do sociology than describe music in detail and why something works or doesn't.

"Yes, ELP, and King Crimson really don't share much in common other than a desire to work outside the boundaries of the 3-minute poptoon"

Actually, they all shared stuff in common. They hung out in the same scene centered around the Marquee, lived together (Emerson renting a room to Fripp etc.), drank at the same clubs (The Speakeasy), were friends with writers like Chris Welch, played in bands together before the respective lineups solidified, played the same circuit of ballrooms up and down the UK. I mean, Emerson met Lake in San Francisco in 1969 to discuss a new band because he wanted to replace Jackson and Davison with better players, their respective bands were sharing a bill at the Fillmore West.

Musically, they were similar as well, Genesis being huge "In the Court of the Crimson King" fans in particular, so much so that they got a guitarist with glasses who sat down while he played his Les Paul through a HiWatt amp. They all emphasized that the drummer and bass player were lead instruments, equal to the vocals, guitars and keyboards. Plus, Mellotrons and synthesizers.

What I find boring about articles like the one by Sheffield is, apart from the mind-numbingly dull reliance on the same effin' cliches (sparkly capes! foxhead costumes! revolving pianos!), how much of a double-standard there was and still is. OMG! Wakeman wears a sparkly cape *snicker snicker* but they turn around and laud Bowie while he's wearing some of those Ziggy costumes, especially this one:

http://theselvedgeyard.files.wordpress.com/2013/03/mick-david-bowie-ziggy.jpg

Alice Cooper uses props = edgy rock theater, Genesis does it = pretentious. Dylan writes speed freak lyrics that are babble = studied in academia, prog bands write anti-war, anti-religion, anti-conformity lyrics = "Why do they all write Tolkien-like lyrics?".

The biggest lie of all though is that punk destroyed the prog bands, just put them out of business like some conquering army. ELP and King Crimson went in to hibernation before The Ramones even had a record contract, Gentle Giant changed musical direction in 1976, Yes and Genesis gradually became different musical entities etc. All my friends and I knew that the prog thing was played out by 1977, why is that so hard for critics to grasp?

[GHG]

And prog plus punk (rather than prog versus punk) led to fantastic stuff like Nomeansno, Don Caballero, etc.

[Noam Sane]

"Actually, they all shared stuff in common. They hung out in the same scene..."

Right, and they all wore trousers. I was talking about their music, the structure and sound of their art, and they were all quite different in that respect. You can lump them together under the Prog banner but beyond that the music each band made was of a piece. Of course their instrumentation was similar, it's rock and roll music.

Other than that, HH, you make great points. I will note that the Ramones signed to Sire in 1975, and ELP put out Works Vol 1 and 2 in 1977.

[andy]

As someone who listened to prog as a kid and hasn't really since, taking the Sheffield review to task for not focussing on the music seems to me to be not looking past hurt feelings to read the actual review. He says in the review that none (or was it very few?) of the writers grapple with the musicology of prog rock. They appear to discuss mainly the sociology of it. So he is keeping with the theme of the book he is reviewing. Why would he dicuss the music if the book doesn't? The book tackles it from a personal angle, and that's what he discusses. Pretty simple.

[andy]

To be clear, I didn't mean it wasn't condescending, or that the "comfortably numb" thing wasn't really clueless. But he has the right to condescend if he likes.

[L]

Yes = great music, still influences kids today who have very musical brains. It just resonates with them.

[Henry Holland]

"Other than that, HH, you make great points. I will note that the Ramones signed to Sire in 1975, and ELP put out Works Vol 1 and 2 in 1977"

That's nice. It has nothing to do with what I wrote, however, which was "ELP and King Crimson went in to hibernation before The Ramones even had a record contract". ELP disappeared almost completely for 2 1/2 years in August 1974 and King Crimson "ceased to exist" in September of that year.

"But he has the right to condescend if he likes"

And we who have criticized his piece have the "right" to take him to task for relying on cliches that were boring 30 years ago and now are just lame. It's like writing a piece about Led Zeppelin and spending most of it writing about the shark-on-groupie thing in Seattle.

[andy]

Henry--yes, I knew that someone would say that, and I'm not saying that point isn't fine in and of itself, or that no one can say it--but the main point of the general indignation here springs from the seemingly misplaced complaint that he doesn't dissect the music. If someone wrote a book that was about Led Zepplin fandom and (in the case of your analogy) groupiedom--not the music, particularly--it would seem pretty natural to trot that chestnut back out.

[Tom B.]

Perhaps Dave Weigel should turn the series he did for Slate last year on prog rock into a book. It was about the music AND the sociology; he knew what he was talking about.

[James Keepnews]

In re: hearing through, I believe Joe Carducci yearned in print for instrumental mixes of Yes. Apart from some general observations -- telling that Sheff offers not a mention of der Can, der Crim, &c.; the much-bruited "oblivion" can be as well or better invoked by the lyrics to "Heroin" as by the presence of a Mellotron (maybe he also doesn't dig Craig Taborn? Or, you know, never heard him, much less heard of?); I'm gonna go out on a limb and suggest members of Porcupine Tree, Mars Volta, &c., are surely gettin' some -- one question:

"9/5"?

[Noam Sane]

"That's nice. It has nothing to do with what I wrote, however, which was "ELP...went in to hibernation before The Ramones even had a record contract".

If by "hibernation," you mean "spent time working on an ostentatious 3-LP opus," I guess you're correct.

[Henry Holland]

"If someone wrote a book that was about Led Zepplin fandom and (in the case of your analogy) groupiedom--not the music, particularly--it would seem pretty natural to trot that chestnut back out"

Of course, but why is that boring old anecdote trotted out in stories about, say, Robert Plant's solo work or John Paul Jones playing with Them Crooked Vultures? That's hackwork worthy of TMZ. I know there's a really low bar for writing about rock music that wouldn't be tolerated when writing about films but still.

It's not even interesting in terms of the Zep fandom. Zeppelin, along with Black Sabbath, Deep Purple and the prog bands (among others) were for the kid brothers (i.e. me) of people who were Beatlemaniacs and original fans of the Stones & Dylan etc. My older sisters were listening to The Band and CSN&Y and James Taylor in 1970, they were as bad as my parents with their "turn that noise down!" stuff. That could be an interesting topic, recycled stories about sharks & groupies or the pact with Satan that Page, Plant and Bonham entered in to but not JPJ who didn't develop a horrible smack habit, have a 5-year old child die or die at 32 are not.

People are criticizing Sheffield's article because it's lazy, not funny and reads as if he'd gotten a list called 20 Big Cliches About Prog Rock from Dave Marsh, Jon Landau and Robert Hilburn and churned out his piece.

"one question:

"9/5"?"

That was classic, one of the few times he does write about the music and he comes up with that howler.