Roger Taylor: "Fun in Space" / "Strange Frontier" analysis

I recently revisited Roger Taylor's first two solo albums. They are pieces of music history that have barely been spoken about since they came out, and this piece aims to rectify that at least a little bit.

Fun in Space and Strange Frontier came out in the early- to mid-'80s when Queen were one of the biggest bands in the world, and apart from a Top of the Pops appearance and some moderate radio airplay of a couple singles, they soon disappeared without a trace. I'm going to argue that this turn of events is absolutely tragic. By the end of this piece I'm pretty sure you'll agree.

In April 1981 Roger Taylor became the first member of Queen to drop a solo album. Like few of his peers he wrote and played pretty well every part, as he's a more than capable multi-instrumentalist. I found side one of Fun in Space to be pretty solid, save for "Let's Get Crazy" which sounds a bit like an undeveloped idea. But the great tracks stand out. The energetic driving beat of "No Violins" is infectious, and it is cleverly textured throughout. The sentimental "Laugh Or Cry" is gorgeous yet sombre, complete with an emotive guitar solo with phrasing that would make Clapton raise an eyebrow.

But on this latest listen it was "Good Times Are Now" that stood atop the rest. Musically it's similar to "No Violins," but the subject matter is far more meaningful. Roger is often conversational in his lyrics, and rarely is he more down to earth and relatable than he is here:

I had to take a chance 'cause special moments only tend to happen now and then

Point blank, this is one of the best hooks I've ever heard. The syncopation of those words almost implies the urgency of needing to seize those rare moments when they present themselves. He goes on:

Live for the present, it's the only one we have
Nobody gets out of here alive
Life in the future might never come to pass
You know good times are now

Clichés they may be, but somehow he gets away with it and makes you feel like you're hearing such universal messages for the first time. The ensuing guitar solo in the middle sounds very similar to "Coming Soon" off Queen's The Game - but "Good Times Are Now" is considerably better because it actually has something to say. And it's this genuine sense of character that would permeate his next long player from start to finish.

In fan polls people regularly rate the Roger tracks on the Queen albums from 1978-82 as their least favourites of the era, and with good reason - I'm now fairly certain he was holding back his strongest material for his solo album, as the best tracks on Fun in Space are leaps and bounds better.

"My Country" tops any of his output on Jazz, The Game, or Hot Space. But it's understandable that it didn't end up on a Queen album, because it was too blunt and opinionated. It's a crying shame in hindsight, as the change in tempo and timbre when the gated drums kick in is no less effective than "In The Air Tonight." It also has one of the top vocal performances of Roger's career, easily on par with any of the most lauded rock vocals of all time. This should be known as one of the great war protest songs, but sometimes the world isn't so just. For any number of reasons, great art often falls through the cracks. "My Country"  is one of those casualties.

(Peter Hince)

As side two progresses it gets a bit weak in places, although "Airheads" has a badass and bone-crunching riff, and the title track is a unique and Eno-esque ambient new wave science fiction workout. Queen's famed "no synthesizers" label had gone the way of the Dodo the previous year, which Roger even made fun of in the liner notes. With the title track alone he unquestionably wins the race for the first member of Queen to find their identity outside of the confines of the band.

I give the album 3 1/2 stars. Ultimately about half of it is fantastic, which would be the case for the bulk of Roger's albums going forward.

Except for Strange Frontier.

Fun in Space has a few individually better songs and moments, but Strange Frontier is more consistent and cohesive. There's no one song that sticks out. It's not quite a concept album, but there's a uniformity to it and every track is part of the greater whole. And the running order is key.

We're off the tracks, we're off the lines
You and me have seen better times
Now we're on the borderline and I wish I wasn't here

A half minute into the album we're clearly hearing a far more developed artist.

We're trapped inside these dangerous times

The title track lays the groundwork for the nine-part story to follow, and "Beautiful Dreams" starts to get more specific. He speaks to the reality and ease of having dreams come true as children, but that later in life we need drugs (a secret world of "chemical dreams") to achieve the same state of bliss. But there's no solution except "nuclear purity," which is an idea very much of its time as the early '80s were the peak of the Cold War. There isn't a solution, so nuke us all. "This is the final twilight; this is the final cure, it seems." All delivered in ethereal and soaring melodies. Chilling.

It segues into "Man on Fire," where his more optimistic side is on display. Without question it's the most accessible piece on the album, and thus it was unsurprisingly the lead single. But this upbeat feeling dwindles from here onward.

In his 1951 book New Hopes for a Changing World, Bertrand Russell stated how "One of the painful things about our time is that those who feel certainty are stupid, and those with any imagination and understanding are filled with doubt and indecision." So many of us start becoming cynical by our 30s as certain realities of life expose themselves, and these themes of doubt, frustration, and pessimism permeate the album as Roger's disillusion has started to set in (a few years of Thatcherism didn't hurt, either). In more recent years it's pretty clear he eventually said "fuck it" and decided to have fun with his life. Who can blame him?

Even the cover tunes fit the concept. "Racing in the Street" and "Masters of War" are both excellent examples of making an existing song one's own. He'd achieve the same with "Working Class Hero" a lifetime later.

The interlude of "Killing Time" is a marvellous sonic experience. "Dreams go by just killing time." He's fixated on dreams again, but this time in a different context - being consciously aware of it instead of escaping it.

We're treading the same old wheel
Killing what they can't steal
Smile but we just don't feel

Who would've thought the guy who wrote "I'm In Love With My Car" could come up with something this... real?

"Tears of heartache, tears of rage from living in a tiring age" declares Roger in "Abandonfire." He's a rhyming couplet type of writer, and he's rarely been better than on that line. If you want to see inside this man's soul, it's all over this album.

But he remains briefly hopeful:

Listen to the rhythms of the city life
Listen to the rhythms of your soul
Listen to the rustling in the undergrowth
Follow in their footsteps to your goal

Almost like it represents the inner ping-pong match of persevering vs. giving up. Brilliant.

On the surface "Young Love" is an innocent and nostalgic piece, but amidst the overall narrative it comes across as wistful.

This is your life, this is your age

A typical call to arms, but it is short-lived:

You've seen it before
Like your mum and your dad
They're dying each day
Living a lie that's so sad

He's saying young love is precisely that - for the young. Reality soon sets in. It's messy. David Gilmour and Pete Townshend covered similar ground in "All Lovers Are Deranged" from About Face, also released in 1984. Give "Deep Deep Feeling" from McCartney III a gander too. These guys know what they're talking about.

Nobody sees this American dream just fading away, it's a complete waste of time, just a nursery rhyme

It seems obvious now, but in the '80s this idea was slowly emerging. Neil Peart nailed it on "Between The Wheels," and Roger Taylor nails it on "It's An Illusion" - although with much less subtlety, because Roger Taylor doesn't do subtle. His heart is on his sleeve, always.

Our reason is fading away

A 1979 US postage stamp sported the phrase "fueled by truth and reason." But by the '80s that veneer was starting to get peeled back.

It all comes together with the last track, "I Cry for You."

I hope you're fine, I hope all's well, give 'em hell
Given time hope springs eternal.

Once again, he doesn't sit in his happy place for long enough, as this isn't an album designed to bring comfort. It questions it, constantly.

Life has no fun anymore
Time is on the run for sure

Again, he oscillates between optimism and anything but.

Who finds conclusions with love, hope, and confusion?

A far cry from the man who wrote throwaways like "Let's Get Crazy" and "Fun It" a few years earlier, innit?

And who exactly is he crying for? Himself? The world?

Next time one of us meets him, ask him. He's touring solo next month for the first time in decades - now's your chance. He'll be flattered that you even know the songs - trust me. The greatest gift you can give an artist is your time, and to take the time to ask him about his feelings goes a country mile further than "I first heard your music in year X," "I lost my virginity to song Y," or "can you sign this for me?"

It's criminal that this music isn't more well-known. But alas this is what happens when you're second fiddle to the greatest frontman of all time. Your music doesn't get the distribution it deserves.

At the time he insisted Strange Frontier is far better than its predecessor, and as much as it can be reduced to PR to market his current project, he was right. It's a manifesto to its time and timeless all at once, because it's just as much about the universal human condition as it was about the state of the world in 1984.

Musically it's largely dated like so many albums of its time, but persevere with it and peel away the layers and you'll likely come to see that it's lyrically a masterpiece. A coming of age. He may not be Springsteen or Dylan, but here he gets remarkably close. 4 1/2 stars.

review: Yes - "The Ladder"

Rick Wakeman once referred to his good friend Jon Anderson as "the only guy I know trying to save this planet while living on another one."

The progressive rock band Yes has always had a rotating cast of characters. Wakeman doesn't play on this album, but he's the first to say Yes has always had great musicians in it. Whether or not he was just being diplomatic, he was right.

By the late nineties Anderson's iconic countertenor was full-on into new age philosophy, and amidst this collection of tracks it is inexplicably infectious, making for the most uplifting Yes album since 90125 (and to date).

Roger Dean's artwork is once again sported on the front cover, although they had a new logo for this one.

The Ladder had four of the members from the lauded "classic" lineup—Anderson, guitarist Steve Howe, bassist Chris Squire, and drummer Alan White, augmented by multi-instrumentalist Billy Sherwood and keyboardist Igor Khoroshev (who was well appraised of the shoes he was filling).

Their creative peak was pretty well inarguably in the 1970s, and an unexpected second lease on life led to their commercial peak in the mid '80s. By the late '90s they were in a bit of a creative rut and joined forces with Canadian producer Bruce Fairbairn. Finding yourself aligned with the right set of ears at the right time to coach you through the process can make all the difference. By this time it was clear to anyone watching carefully enough that Canada had spawned more successful record producers per capita than any other nation on earth (Jack Richardson, Bob Ezrin, Daniel Lanois, Bob Rock, and David Foster for starters) so the odds were in Yes' favour that something great could happen.

This is the one latter day Yes album where their '70s compositional prowess blends with their '80s pop sensibility. The arrangements are thoughtful, the melody always comes first, and rarely are two choruses identical. And in an era where the idea of album sequencing was now mostly in the rearview mirror, it flows beautifully and cohesively from track to track. They even brought in a sideman, Randy Raine-Reusch, who played a whole score of ethnic instruments, bringing a welcome freshness to their sound which hadn't been fully realized for quite some time.

Yes is a vocally driven band, but usually not in the traditional sense. Anderson's vocal best functions as a fifth instrument and is not necessarily front and centre. His words are often merely an extension of the music, not the other way around. Even if you don't believe a single word he says on The Ladder, he offers it genuinely and gracefully, with authenticity and joy. You just can't help but want to be on whatever planet he's on.

And it's not just Anderson on the spiritual bent here—Fairbairn nicknamed Howe "Swami" for his role in the process. I'm often a cynic, increasingly hardened by the world, and this album makes me believe magic exists. When these two guys are fully congruent with one another they create magic every time.

Prog fans hailed the eponymous 10-minute opening track as a return to form, but just as much depth is found in the shorter tracks that follow.

"It Will Be A Good Day" sees many baroque-inspired key changes, similar to "And You And I." Anderson and Squire's voices blend together as well as ever, like Lennon and McCartney on "If I Fell."

The genre bending and upbeat "Lightning Strikes" is Yes' boldest move since they teamed up with the guys who wrote "Video Killed The Radio Star." The horn section is well-utilized, and the time signature changes galore never feel shoehorned or laboured, similar to what Rush achieved on "Limelight."

"Can I" is self parody at its finest, with the counterpoint and lyrics evoking "We Have Heaven" from Fragile. On first glance it's derivative, but Anderson takes it a step further, inventing a language long before Sigur Ros. I have such a soft spot for choral music—the same reason I love the title track off Drones by Muse.

On "Face To Face" Squire makes something as rudimentary as a descending major scale sound like you're hearing it for the first time. The Aretha-like backing vocals are not unlike "Houses Of The Holy" (the song, not the album).

Word painting is a musical technique that goes back to Handel, at least—"Ev'ry Valley" from the Messiah first comes to mind. At the end of Anderson's love song "If Only You Knew," on "when I was falling" the textural bit of steel guitar Howe adds literally sounds like something falling. Masterful.

"To Be Alive" is pop perfection. Once again the congruency of Anderson and Squire's voices are on full display in the second verse. Howe's only contribution is a bit of lap steel, and it's sublime—so exceptionally suited to the song that he plays it again like McCartney's solo on "Maybe I'm Amazed." Every note Howe plays on this album is purposeful, crafted with care. His parts are mostly ornamental, and this is not to their detriment. It is an hour-long clinic on how to play for the song, decorating only the spots that need it. This is what musical maturity sounds like.

Many of the songs have outros that are completely unrelated to the rest of it, as Fairbairn felt the ideas were too good to leave on the cutting room floor. And somehow it all works. The bit tagged onto the end of "Finally" has a Tales From Topographic Oceans feel to it. The intro unexpectedly recapitulating later in the song is marvellous as well.

The sudden entry of backing vocals in "The Messenger" is one of the most powerful moments in the entire Yes catalog. Even people who panned this album said they loved this track.

"New Language" is not dissimilar to "Close To The Edge" in that there's a lengthy instrumental intro that precedes the core of the song. The backing vocals in the pre-chorus evoke "Leave It" off 90125, and in the last chorus Squire's bass part moves up an octave. Tiny sprinkles like this are massively effective, as he manages to somehow elevate the track to an even higher place. It's classic Yes from here onward for the rest of the piece.

On "Nine Voices" Howe plays the same 12-string Portuguese guitar he'd played decades earlier on "I've Seen All Good People" and "Wonderous Stories." The "new language" lyrical theme is heard again, similar to "these days" showing up all over the album bearing that name by Bon Jovi (another underrated '90s album). It wouldn't surprise me if the overdubs totalled nine voices, because it wouldn't be Yes at their best if they didn't have that kind of attention to detail.

With this album a bunch of guys in their 50s shunned the idea of following timely trends, and in the post-grunge era they produced what should be hailed as a classic. It's an entirely different discussion why the business mechanisms that were needed to help achieve that didn't come to bat for them, but it's all moot now that you're reading this.

Give The Ladder a spin—you'll almost certainly be glad you did. It's one of the best rock albums this side of OK Computer.

Dr. Brian May: polymath

This post on the wonders of the New Horizons mission is a two parter, with the first half being expertly done by my good pal and professional astronomer Ryan Marciniak. My part focuses on the path one of my favourite musicians underwent to end up on NASA's rolodex.

For Ryan's insightful take on our latest bout of excellence in space travels, go here: https://rhea.ryanmarciniak.com/2019/01/new-horizons-and-ultima-thule-two-perspectives

The link between music and astronomy begins over 200 years ago with William Herschel.  Most famous for discovering Uranus and infrared radiation, he was also a composer. By the 20th century, Danish composer Hakon Borresen wrote a ballet about Tycho Brahe, and one of German composer Paul Hindemith's operas was based on Johannes Kepler. Polish composer Henrik Gorecki's second Symphony was entitled The Copernican. American composer Philip Glass wrote an album about Galileo, and later composed another opera on Kepler. Glass also wrote a piece about the constellation Orion.


One of the first rock bands to dive into astronomy was Rush, with the vividly detailed "Cygnus X-1" in 1977. About a decade later, Todd Rundgren wrote a beautiful and introspective piece called "Hawking." But the first rock musician to properly incorporate astronomy into music was Brian May of Queen. In 1975 he composed a piece for the band's A Night at the Opera album entitled "'39," which details an astronaut's journey as per the time dilation effect. The protagonist feels like he has traversed space for only a year, but to the people at home on Earth he has been gone for a hundred. May later revealed how it had another layer to it (unbeknownst even to him on a conscious level at first), about the contemplation of the changes that occur at home and within oneself when one leaves their roots in search of experiences and meaning in life.

Teide Observatory, Tenerife, 1971


May's career in astronomy actually began before Queen did, but he abandoned his Ph.D. studies in 1974 after the band found commercial success. He eventually finished his doctorate on the motions of interplanetary dust in 2007, a topic that had fallen out of fashion in the 1970s but gained a renewed interest as other habitable zone planets were being discovered.  An asteroid was named "52665 Brianmay" in his honour the following year.


He is also a lifelong enthusiast of stereo photography, an art of 3D photo viewing that traces back to the 1840s. The premise is that two photos of the same object or scene taken at slightly different angles can pop out in 3D, either by crossing one's eyes or viewing the images through a stereoscope.  Unbeknownst to millions of Queen fans for decades, May's [and bassist John Deacon's] love for stereoscopy graces the back cover of their debut album.

The toy drummer in the middle is a stereo pair.


May's affinity for stereoscopy never waned. All those years of touring often saw him rummaging through the shops of the world in search of stereo cards, and his collection is apparently one of the finest in the world. He has since written or co-written numerous books on stereo photography, astronomy, music, or any combination thereof.


In 2013, Canadian astronaut Chris Hadfield sent May photos from the International Space Station, which he turned into stereos that he presented at the Starmus conference in Tenerife a year later. The conference was the Woodstock of science, with the added bonus of being able to meet your heroes without a backstage pass. Nobel Laureates, men who walked on the moon, and household names like Richard Dawkins and Neil deGrasse Tyson mingled with the rest of us. Stephen Hawking was the headliner, and one of the opening acts was Brian May.

The collaboration between Hadfield and May seems to have begun with this brief Twitter bromance.


The audience of about 500 all received specially designed stereoscopic 3D glasses (designed by May and photo historian and stereoscopy expert Denis Pellerin) to view images of planets, moons, and asteroids in their full 3D glory from their seat in the conference room (not before May began with a 3D image of Freddie Mercury, to much joyful recognition from the crowd of delegates). He also explained how parallax is not only used to calculate our distance from faraway objects in the universe, but by our eyes on a daily basis, as they constantly do these same calculations so that we can see the world in 3D throughout our lives.


I was there, in the middle of the oohs and aahs.  At one point May stated how he would spend several days at the computer working on single images to maximize their 3D capabilities, to a standing ovation. In a seminar in which he had set the stage by explaining how the school system in his day taught him that it was impossible to be both a scientist and an artist, watching the scientific community embrace his unique blending of science and art a half century later, at a conference specifically designed to blend science with the arts, was nothing short of magical.

Aside from touring, Brian May's musical activities have mostly taken a back seat in recent years while he has pursued his other passions.  He was most recently a scientific and musical contributor to the New Horizons mission.  His first solo composition in nearly 20 years, entitled New Horizons, found one passion of his reigniting another.






He premiered the song at the NASA headquarters New Year's event immediately after counting down to 2019. His goal in writing it was not only to commemorate the mission, but also to celebrate our inherent inquisitive nature as a species.  Days later he posted on his blog his own stereo pair of the first clear images of Ultima Thule, the furthest object we have ever travelled to.

It is of little coincidence that memes like this pop up, as people are now connecting the dots between his musical and academic pursuits:

Brian May has created a second career in exercising his star power to bring science and academia to the masses in an accessible way. He is a Renaissance man. I'd argue he is the Leonardo da Vinci of our time.


Who wants to live forever? Probably no-one.


But I wish he could.

"Bohemian Rhapsody" review (sort of)

So I finally saw the Bohemian Rhapsody film a few days ago, and it seems the entire world wants to hear my opinion about it.

And everyone knows just how much I loathe giving my opinion.

Of course I'm flattered - because I've been absorbed in Queen's music and history for 25 years now, both professionally and for my personal delight, this has people thinking I'm qualified to give a more valid and pertinent review than most.

But that's the problem - I'm so intrinsically connected to this music and their story that I almost feel overqualified to provide an unbiased opinion.  When you're this deep in it, you're usually one of two things: a sycophantic fan boy, or in a position of wanting to show respect and gratitude to the people who have basically provided you with a career.  I'd like to think I'm somewhere in the middle, never wanting to pigeonhole myself into anything I can't safely crawl out of.  But I'd say I'm closer to the latter.

Ultimately I don't feel any more qualified to review this film than anyone else, because I'm but one person in the grand scheme of things; art is designed for everyone, after all.  The same way that everyone eats food, not just bourgeois chefs.

And this is perhaps disappointing for those who want to hear me say it was crap because of all the historical inaccuracies that undoubtedly would have had me wincing every 30 seconds.

Alas, that's not what happened.  Far from it.  I'd heard enough reaction from people who'd already seen it, so I reset my metric of expectation.  If we've learned anything from previous music biopics, it's that Hollywood is all about entertainment, not accuracy.  If you want accuracy, watch a documentary.  So I went in expecting to be entertained and not much more. After all, understanding the intent of art is often paramount to appreciation of it.

As I sat down in my (strangely more comfortable than usual) cinema chair and was transported back to 1970, all kinds of feelings went through my head.  My life insofar as my history of loving this band flashed before my eyes: hearing We Will Rock You for the first time on a cassette tape lent to me by my grade 6 music teacher, learning how to play it (and the rest of the Queen catalogue) on guitar at some point in the ensuing few years, meeting Brian May for the first time at an audition for the Queen musical (which I thankfully passed), launching a website about Queen's concert history, playing in my own Queen tribute band in a theatre for the first time, playing A Night At The Opera at the prestigious Massey Hall in Toronto, the countless wonderful people I've met as a result of all of this, and a whole lot other memories, both public and private, that I can't even begin to quantify.

 

And then I saw the characters who were overall very well cast (the guy playing Brian was uncanny).  And those characters told a story.  Not necessarily Queen's story exactly as it played out - but "a" story.  It was largely accurate, with some fabrications, and some anachronisms to advance the story wherever necessary.  And then there were those two or three scenes that even the most ardent experts on the band would say were complete fiction and never happened.  But shift around the timeline a bit, and maybe that scene where Mercury is begging for his job back is more true than one may realize.  The definitive Queen documentary called "Days Of Our Lives" came out in 2011, and there were plenty of stories told by Brian May and Roger Taylor that hadn't been previously told.  Were those 35 year old stories untrue in 2010 just because they hadn't been told yet?

And of course there were plenty of omissions, but what can one possibly expect from a two hour movie?  It will never be comprehensive.

I'd walked in thinking I wasn't the target audience.  That the film was intended more for people who knew three Queen songs than for people like me.  But by the end of the film, as I watched the triumphant Live Aid scene (which was brilliantly reproduced) with tears in my eyes, it dawned on me that tens of millions of people are now experiencing some semblance of the joy that this music has brought me over the past 25 years of my life.

No matter what we think of the film, its influence on popular culture is already in motion.  As of yesterday, the Bohemian Rhapsody soundtrack is Queen's biggest album in the US since The Game, sitting comfortably at #3 on the Billboard charts.  And another Greatest Hits album of theirs is also in the top ten, making this the first time two Queen albums have charted that high simultaneously.

My adolescent self was bullied incessantly for liking this band.  And now 20 years later, they've never been bigger in my lifetime than they are right now.  Teenage me and current me are pretty thrilled with the idea.  It is a moment I will cherish.

review: Jeff Beck at Budweiser Stage, Toronto

I saw Jeff Beck tonight.  It was transcendental.

The evening began with sets by Ann Wilson of Heart and Paul Rodgers of Free/Bad Company.  Both were brilliant, and showed no signs of slowing down in their late 60s.  Rodgers finished his set proper with Rock 'n' Roll Fantasy, with the final words being the ad libbed "it's my dream".  In that exact moment I realized how grateful we should all be that these legendary musicians are putting their bodies through hell for months at a time on the road so that we can be entertained for a couple hours, despite being past what the rest of us would reasonably consider to be retirement age.

And then Jeff Beck began his set with a piece off his latest album.  It didn't take long to realize that his guitar has as unique a voice as the singers who preceded him.  He's possibly the best rock guitarist I've ever seen, demonstrating pure artistry through and through.  As Jimmy Page repeatedly said when he inducted Beck into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 2009, "he just keeps getting better and better."

So many of the performers from days of yore rest on their laurels, but Beck has always pushed himself to stretch the limits of where the guitar can go.  This was the furthest thing from a nostalgia show.  Now age 74, he has thus long earned the right to play what he wants.  Despite having 17 studio albums under his belt, he did mostly covers, crossing many genres.  The second song was the beautiful Nadia from his early 2000s electronica period, and Mná na h-Éireann is a folk song based on an 18th century Irish poem.

Many of the pieces were different arrangements from what he had done on previous tours, like his encore of the Corpus Christi Carol, this time performed only with his cellist Vanessa Freebairn-Smith.  The man is constantly innovating.

Like Frank Zappa, the guitar is an extension of his brain, and he never plays a piece the same way twice.  Instead of using a pick, he oscillates between his thumb and index fingers.  He has created a secret handshake on his instrument that is so distinctly him.  His sound is as instantly recognizable as David Gilmour's or Brian May's.  But to call him an innovative guitarist doesn't entirely capture his essence.  He has carved his own brand of creative expression.  He is without equal.

Beck always chooses the finest musicians to tour with.  Canadian bassist Rhonda Smith, known for her work with Prince, played brilliantly throughout.  Beck is always playing with new people, expanding the sound of his ensemble and never wanting to repeat himself.  But legendary drummer Vinnie Colaiuta is one of the mainstays, whenever he is available.  I can't believe I paid $45 to see this many of the greats on one night.

Vocalist Jimmy Hall wasn't on stage for the first four songs, which leaves the audience thinking it's an instrumental show (which I would have been entirely fine with).  A brilliant vocalist, Hall sang six songs to add variety to the show as it progressed, including two of the more recognizable tunes, Little Wing and Superstition, the latter of which Beck helped Stevie Wonder write.

Stevie's Cause We've Ended as Lovers, one of Beck's signature pieces, was delivered with authority and grace, as was the set closer, A Day In The Life.  The latter sees a fine balance of Beck's emotive and playful style, and the build to the final chord left the audience in great anticipation for the crashing finale.

His British humility showed at the end of the night after introducing the band.  After Colaiuta signaled to him, he joked - "oh, it's just a piece of wood with wires."

I haven't been this inspired after seeing a show in probably a decade.  It reinforced every feeling and thought I've had to date that has told me I don't ever want to have a day job.  One cannot have a day job and work on their craft to become even 1/10th of the well-rounded musician Jeff Beck is.  It is a dedication that requires focus, persistence, and zero compromise.

Big name Toronto musicians like Kim Mitchell of Max Webster fame and Geddy Lee of Rush attended the show.  Mike Turner, formerly of Our Lady Peace, summed up the show to me in two words:

"The. Master."

And when one's peers are that bold and conclusive, that says it all.

Ten Canadian albums that most people under 50 do not know and should

#1 - Hope by Klaatu

Klaatu was a big deal when they came out in 1976. In a time (keep in mind it's barely post-Vietnam) when nearly everyone thought the world would be a better place if The Beatles reunited, along came Klaatu with a couple tracks on their debut album that sounded so close to The Beatles that people thought it was the fab four in disguise. It was actually a Canadian band who'd just dropped onto the map. But for me it's their sophomore effort that best defines them. 1977's "Hope" is a concept album, beautifully crafted with an uplifting conclusion. Essential listening.

#2 - The Langley Schools Music Project





This is a piece of art unlike any other. Recorded in 1976-77 but unreleased until 2001, this is an hour of music sung and performed by several groups of school children in British Columbia, although with a twist - it is not traditional children's music. The children and their teacher (who started the project) rejected the idea that kids' music should be perpetually happy and upbeat, as it didn't accurately reflect the range of emotion children feel. While there are some peppier numbers like Good Vibrations and Sweet Caroline, they balanced the scale by expressing equally genuine and universal feelings like loneliness and sadness. Pieces like God Only Knows, Space Oddity, The Long and Winding Road (sung solo by a 10 year old), and Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft (see: Klaatu above) are beautiful and sometimes challenging listens.

The kids play all the instruments too, and the songs carry vibes that range from Philip Glass to Phil Spektor to Gregorian Chant. I'm Into Something Good sounds more like gospel than a silly pop song.

Even in 2001, it took ten record labels for one to finally say yes to releasing this. That in itself is proof that we have such a long way to go in undercutting stigmas in our understanding of children (and ourselves). This music serves as a reminder that it is okay to express any feeling or idea, not just the ones that society or Facebook say are more worthy of air time than others.

Even if the technical execution isn't always perfect, this is one of the most genuine expressions of feelings through music you will ever experience.

#3 - Jaune by Jean-Pierre Ferland





While plenty of Canadians may not be in touch with their musical heritage, this cannot be said for Quebec and Newfoundland, who tend to wear their culture on their sleeve. While the rest of Canada is used to looking at magazine racks with mostly American content, in Quebec they have their movie stars and their music. And they have classic albums that they cherish like this one from 1970.

It is easily as good as anything the British or west coast folk movements came up with in the period. The sound is warm, the arrangements are beautifully crafted, and the influences and colours are many. It somehow manages to sound both of its time and like it was recorded yesterday.

"God Is An American" is satire at its finest (and decades before Bowie's "I'm Afraid Of Americans").  It's almost like it's Quebec's answer to Glenn Gould's "So You Want To Write A Fugue" - absolutely brilliant.

And if you're not sold yet - in 1971, John Lennon said this was North America's best album of the year.

And for all you prog heads - a young Tony Levin is on bass.

If Lake Louise and the Bay Of Fundy are what Canada looks like, then albums like this are what Canada sounds like.

#4 - The Goldberg Variations by Glenn Gould





Undoubtedly one of the most visionary and influential musicians ever to play an instrument, this is his definitive work. His original 1955 interpretation of these piano works by Bach are what put him on the map, but the 1981 version has a certain maturity and wisdom to it. His playful approach towards this musical scripture set him apart from his peers, and his iconic and subtle humming along (which no recording engineer could ever manage to remove) is not a detraction - it is all part of the charm. He was seen by many as an eccentric mad man, and I'm sure he wouldn't have resented that label. It takes a mad man to make 200 year old music completely new again.

This is one of the most important recordings of the last hundred years. And it is Canadian.

#5 - High Class In Borrowed Shoes by Max Webster





While virtually unknown outside of Canada, Max Webster were a massive force in their day. Led by Kim Mitchell, they were a sort of Canadian Frank Zappa, but more accessible. All their records went at least gold here, and at their peak they were regularly cited as being amongst the top few acts in the country.

Their 1977 sophomore effort is likely their finest. Their left of centre quirkiness (both musical and lyrical) defined them, and they created a sound entirely of their own with slick musicianship and hooks all over. No two consecutive tracks have the same vibe, yet it is a cohesive piece. Many of them remain radio classics, like the title track, Gravity, and Diamonds Diamonds. On The Road is perhaps the finest travelling musician song ever written, and In Context Of The Moon says more in 5 minutes than most prog bands could say in 20.

They are often seen as Rush's little brother, but anyone who was around then will tell you that they more than held their own, and how criminal it is that they did not get their due. Max Webster may well be Canada's best kept secret, and High Class In Borrowed Shoes is probably the best explanation why.

#6 - Cyborgs Revisited by Simply Saucer





Simply Saucer are best described as a proto-punk band. They recorded just one album in 1974, although it wasn't released until 1989 (only a 7" single was released while they were around). Their sound was kind of a cross between the Velvet Underground, Kraftwerk, and Television - and that third one is what makes them most interesting, as they came up with this punky sound several years before punk even happened, which is nothing short of revolutionary.

Compiled by engineer/producer/savant Bob Lanois, side A of the album is the aforementioned studio material and side B is a live recording from 1975. Although this Hamilton, Ontario band remains pretty obscure, the album was reviewed by two publications as, I quote, "the best Canadian album ever recorded." It garnered favourable reviews from bigger magazines like Spin and New Musical Express as well.

The music is simultaneously visionary and kind to its predecessors. Well worth a listen.

I'm also happy to report that after several decades of absence, they have reunited and play pretty regularly.

#7 - Acadie by Daniel Lanois





Not only is this musically one of the greatest records ever made (not just in Canada), but sonically it is beautiful.  Released in 1989, when technology had gone amok and most records had snare drum triggers and dated synthesizer sounds, this still sounds like it was recorded yesterday.

Lanois had come off the success of producing two massive albums for U2, and had nothing to prove.  He had time and space (and he had Brian Eno, which also didn't hurt), and that's exactly what this album sounds like - it breathes freely.  The songs are marvellous and soulful.  "The Maker" is one of the finest tracks ever written, easily as good as any of U2's best songs from the period.

This record is one of the most genuine pieces of art to emerge from the 1980s.  There is nothing quite like it.

#8 - Discovery by Ron Hynes





Ron Hynes was Newfoundland's Gordon Lightfoot, only he wasn't nearly as prolific. This 1972 album is his only released pre-1990s work, and it's easily as good as anything released by Bob Dylan or Leonard Cohen in the period. It has everything you'd expect from a quality folk album - introspection, longing, and wisdom far beyond the years of a man at 22.

Albums like this reach into the psyche of a person better than any therapist or bottle of booze could. It's as real as it gets.

#9 - Somewhere Outside by The Ugly Ducklings





The Ugly Ducklings only put out one album in their heyday, but they made their mark.  This 1966 long player was psychedelic garage rock mostly influenced by the British invasion (particularly The Kinks and The Who), but a bit more rough around the edges - and I mean that in the most flattering of ways.  There is attitude, musicality, and songwriting as good as anything happening at the time.  Their most commercially successful song was Gaslight a year later, but it is this album that remains their most important work.

The last song, the bluesy instrumental Windy City, is way ahead of its time.  Its loose guitar and harmonica is early Led Zeppelin before early Led Zeppelin.

The Ugly Ducklings opened for The Rolling Stones at Maple Leaf Gardens in Toronto in 1966.  Mick Jagger called them his favourite Canadian band.

#10 - Canadiana Suite by Oscar Peterson





Oscar's trio is at the peak of their powers in a 1964 to create one of the most beautiful jazz albums ever recorded.  The eight tracks are named after different places in the country, and they are eight distinctly different musical landscapes, with influences ranging from ragtime to blues.

While Oscar's chops are out of this world, he plays with a sensitivity that creates a musical expression of the vast space this great country has.  It leaves the listener with the feeling that no matter where you are, there is empty space for peace and solace not far from you - a takeaway that is probably more relevant today than ever.

Sonically it is also a marvel.  It's almost impossible to believe that technology over 50 years old could create an album that sounds this magnificent.

#11 - Les Cinq Saisons by Harmonium

Narrowing it down to ten albums was impossible.  And this last one is more than an honourable mention.

Harmonium was once referred to as the "most important Canadian band ever" by the Toronto Sun.  1975's "Les Cinq Saisons" (or "Si On Avait Besoin d'Une Cinquième Saison," roughly translated as "If We Needed a Fifth Season") merited a mention in Rolling Stone magazine's long overdue list of their top 50 progressive rock albums of all time in 2015 (and they also declared it the best progressive folk album).

The traditional rock band instrumentation notably isn't employed here, as there are plenty of woodwinds and no drums.  The music is often playful and whimsical, executed without the slightest sense of inhibition.  The album begins with four shorter tracks, one for each season of the year.  The summer track "Dixie" has a jazzy ragtime feel to it, and the autumn track "Depuis l'automne" is haunting and pastoral.

But it is the longer fifth track (representing a mythical fifth season) that takes up most of side two and elevates the album from excellent to otherworldly.  This track, the mostly instrumental Histoires Sans Paroles (Song Without Words), is one of the most beautiful pieces of music ever committed to tape.

And to much of Quebec, this is their folk music.  There are numerous videos of bands covering this piece.  Here's a group of high school kids performing it note perfect:

review: The Musical Box at Danforth Music Hall, Toronto

Last night I saw The Musical Box - truly one of the best shows I've ever seen.

Maybe it's not the greatest idea begin a review with an editorial, but this is one those shows that was so obviously good that no time should be wasted in building up to a punch line. To those not in the know, The Musical Box are not just a tribute band, but the standard for what a tribute band can and should be. They perform the music of Genesis, but not the "Invisible Touch" Genesis most of us know. It's the Genesis fronted by Peter Gabriel in the early to mid 1970s, when they created progressive rock music that told stories, kind of like Mark Twain in musical form.

The music isn't just rock songs. It is densely layered and intricately arranged. It is intense. It creates moods anywhere between 1 and 23 minutes long.

This particular show I saw aimed to replicate the Genesis tour of 1974. The set before the encores was 9 songs and over two hours long. Sounds like a pretty niche thing, you say? Well, it is. Most things are these days.

When Genesis performed live at this time, not only was it a musical performance, but Peter Gabriel donned outfits and masks of the various characters portrayed in the songs. This tribute band replicates the Genesis shows to perfection, both musically and visually, to the point that the Genesis band members gave them their blessing in the form of their multi-track master tapes to work with so that they could improve the show.

Gabriel once took his son to see them and said, "that's what daddy used to do."

Is there any higher praise?

If you had dementia and didn't know what year it was, you were seeing Genesis. There are a lot of good tribute bands out there doing all the great artists, but no other act gets this close.

This is art in its purest form. It's rock, it's classical, and it's theatre. I walked away from this show realizing that this is the classical music of our time. People may have been stoned in 1974 at Maple Leaf Gardens, but last night at the Danforth Music Hall they were sober, and absorbing every word and visual delight they could.

It kind of makes me want to create a counterpart for Queen's shows in 1976-77. They were a pretty majestic entity at that time, with a similar balance of music and visuals. Similarly niche, and therefore possible. Food for thought.

Believe it or not, they actually existed before We Are The Champions.

If you have even remotely good taste in music, then The Musical Box is a show you absolutely must see. It is one of the very finest productions the music industry has ever produced. They tour every year.