Day 30: Genesis, “The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway”

When: Released November 18, 1974

Why? Although I’m a fan of Peter Gabriel’s solo career, I’ve never heard him within the context of his group, Genesis. This was his final album with the band.

What? A concept album of progressive rock featuring 23 songs, lasting 93 minutes.

First Impressions: Given my very mixed experiences with prog-rock throughout this project, I’m going into this one a bit apprehensive. I want to like it, but I’m not really expecting to.

I’ll cut to the chase: I enjoyed fewer than five minutes of this 93-minute double album.

Concept albums are built on a narrative story or cohesive theme expressed through most if not all of the songs. (Why “Tommy” is a concept album and “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” is not.) Here, the story Gabriel is (supposedly) telling through his lyrics is, in a word, bonkers. Although he elaborates on it in the album’s lengthy liner notes (available online these days), it’s a stream-of-consciousness fever dream of the absurd that avoids internal logic, makes no sense as a narrative, and doesn’t seem to be making any actual points beyond the obvious ones. I can’t imagine what the band expected people to make of this content without having both the lyrics and the explanatory notes in front of them. (And even then…)

Looking back at the album, keyboardist Tony Banks apparently told one interviewer that he believes the album’s concept is its weakest part. I have to agree. It is so lacking in cohesion and clarity that it might as well not exist at all. And yet—and this brings me to my biggest frustration with this album—without this concept (shaky as it is) the songs themselves simply do not stand up on their own as songs.

The songs here are, for the most part, incoherently vague in their storytelling. There is almost no repetition within them, no melodic themes that develop, little to make one section in one song distinct from another instrumental section in another song. These songs propel us on a journey during which the scenery is constantly changing and nothing reminds us of home. From that perspective, I don’t believe these “songs” function as songs at all. What they do do is deliver lots of wordplay (which is not always successful, except to draw attention to itself) and frequent rhyming for the sake of rhyming (not for the sake of the message being delivered).

The performances, surprisingly, are outstanding. Everything sounds great production-wise and the performances are enthusiastic and inventive, particularly Gabriel’s vocals and Phil Collins’s drums. It all just seems wasted on this material. I can’t imagine what led each of the band members to invest themselves so fully in a project like this—a project for which I can find very little point.

While calling them favorites might be a stretch, I appreciated the songs here that did something different, including: “The Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging,” “Counting Out Time,” and “The Colony of Slippermen.” I was least appreciative of the instrumentals (although several of them sounded like direct inspirations for some of Mike Oldfield’s music, which I love), particularly “The Waiting Room.”

So? If this is what early Genesis sounds like, I have no interest in listening further. I love songs and I love stories; for me, this album includes neither.

I’m glad I can check this one off the list. But listening was more like fulfilling a requirement so I could complete the course. And it’s not a course I want to repeat.

Day 29: Bob Marley and The Wailers, “Catch a Fire”

When: Released April 13, 1973

Why? I can’t recall ever hearing an actual Wailers song. My previous experience was with cover versions, such as Eric Clapton’s “I Shot the Sheriff” and Johnny Nash’s “Stir It Up,” the original version of which appears on this album.

What? Nine songs, just under 36 minutes. This album, the Wailers’ fifth, is notable for being the one that introduced the group—and, presumably, reggae in general—to rock audiences.

First Impressions: I’ll state this at the top: As someone who appreciates reggae rhythms and the musicianship required to play them, I was predisposed to like this. And I did.

The album opens with four songs of survival, oppression, and, eventually, escape: “Concrete Jungle,” “Slave Driver,” “400 Years,” and “Stop That Train.” Yet despite the emotional weight of the lyrics, the songs themselves never feel oppressive or weary. And Marley (who wrote all but two of the songs here) seems to make a point of contrasting whatever sorrow he may be experiencing with at least a suggestion of positivity: “I’ve never known happiness / I’ve never known what sweet caress is / Still / I’ll be always laughing like a clown / Won’t someone help me, ’cause I / I’ve got to pick myself from off the ground,” he sings in “Concrete Jungle.” This message is only helped by that loping, reggae beat, which seems to lift everything up.

Peter Tosh, writer and lead singer of the two non-Marley songs, seems more cynical. In “400 Years,” he bemoans a history that favors complacency over action: “Look how long, 400 years / Way too long / And the people, my people can’t see.” And then in “Stop That Train,” it sounds like he’s done cajoling; if no one will listen, he will take his message elsewhere: “Teaching my people who don’t understand / And even though I tried my best / I still can’t find no happiness / So I got to say, stop that train, I’m leaving, any day now.”

I’ve read nothing that suggests there was any special thought given to this album’s sequencing. But it seems to flow perfectly, with “Stop That Train” providing a natural segue into three songs of love and sex—“Baby We’ve Got a Date (Rock It Baby),” “Stir It Up,” and “Kinky Reggae”—before returning to sociopolitical concerns in “No More Trouble” and “Midnight Ravers.”

I am completely unfamiliar with Rastafari religious beliefs, which are probably essential for a full understanding of Marley’s songwriting in particular and the Wailers’ work in general. So there may be messages and layers of meaning here that I simply am not getting. That said, I really enjoyed all of the songs here. My least favorite songs were “No More Trouble,” which was overly repetitive for me, and “Midnight Ravers,” which opened with a wonderfully provocative verse—starting with the line, “Can’t tell the woman from the man / No, I say you can’t, ’cause they’re dressed in the same pollution”—but then became cryptic and indecipherable to me.

About the recordings themselves… The songs were recorded in several different Jamaican studios, then enhanced later (with some remixing and additional instrumental overdubbing) by Marley and the album’s producer and label owner, Chris Blackwell, in England. The two were working to achieve an authentic reggae sound that also would be palatable to American and British rock fans, who in 1973 were either ignorant of or outright antagonist toward the music.

Both the “enhanced” tracks and their previously unreleased Jamaican versions are now available. For my money, Blackwell and Marley did a fantastic job with the material. Blackwell clearly respected the work that the band had done in Jamaica (even though some of the recording was sub-par in sound quality—and remains so in his final mixes), but he was able to give it a depth and professional sheen that the original tracks lacked without affecting its integrity. And I think it’s remarkable that Marley was not only open to these changes, he was actively involved in overseeing and teaching the non-reggae musicians who were involved in the overdubs. He seemingly brought no ego to the task and was interested only in seeing the Wailers’ message spread beyond Jamaican audiences.

So? I thoroughly enjoyed this album and will definitely listen again.

Day 28: Kraftwerk, “Computer World”

When: Released May 10, 1981

Why? Although I’ve heard of Kraftwerk (and, notably, their album “Autobahn”), I’ve never heard a Kraftwerk song. “Computer World,” while not the band’s most popular or critically acclaimed work, has been ranked among the top electronic dance music (EDM) albums of all time. And, hey, I like computers, so I figured it was as good a place as any to start.

What? Seven songs, 35 minutes of influential and formative German electronica.

First Impressions: When I think of modern EDM, I think of a steady, throbbing kick, deep bass, big buildups leading to sparse breakdowns. The focus is on pounding rhythms and layers of ear candy.

This is nothing like that.

Here, the synthesizers are warm and the melodies lullaby-like in their gentle simplicity. What lyrics there are—you could probably capture them all on the back of a single postcard—are also simple and unnuanced, delivered once and then, typically, repeated, over and over. Instead of big statements and sharp contrasts, these songs evolve through repeating themes and rhythms that slowly take on new complexities. Yet the arrangements remain spare, shockingly stripped down compared with today’s productions. Even the synthesized drum sounds, when they’re used at all, are more likely a background color rather than a driving force. Vocals tend to be spoken not sung, delivered in a monotone that mimics the stereotypically emotionless character of a computer.

Looking back from 40+ years in the future, I’m finding this a hard album to judge. It has been hugely influential across a number of genres…yet it seems so different from how those genres exist today that it’s difficult for me to see the connections. Listening to it as simply an album of music, with no historical context, it doesn’t feel in any way remarkable or insightful or even prescient.

Lyrically, these songs are straightforward declarations about life with computers (even though, in 1981, the computer world had barely begun). I don’t believe there are hidden layers of meaning here; anyone who finds deep meaning in the recitation of numbers 1 through 8—the entire lyrics of “Numbers,” presented in multiple languages—is probably just kidding themselves. The title of closer “It’s More Fun to Compute” is also the entire lyric for the song, repeated eight times.

My favorites here would include opener “Computer World,” which is quite warm and inviting despite lyrics that highlight the many ways computers are infiltrating the world; “Pocket Calculator,” with its now-retro bleeps and blips that sound more like R2D2 than any modern device (and remind me a lot of “Temporary Secretary” on “McCartney II,” which was released a year earlier); “Numbers”; and “Computer Love,” which I believe includes the only words on the album that are actually sung.

So? A song or two may be added to a playlist, but I’m going to file this one with the albums I’m glad to have heard but have no need to revisit in their entirety.

Day 27: Radiohead, “The Bends”

When: Released February 27, 1995

Why? The only Radiohead song I’ve ever heard is “Creep,” from the band’s first album, “Pablo Honey.” This album is consistently ranked among the best Radiohead albums. 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die describes it as Radiohead’s “rock masterwork.”

What? Twelve songs, 49 minutes. This is Radiohead’s second album. In many ways, it is a reaction to “Creep”’s sudden success, their unexpectedly fast rise to fame (hence, the bends), and their frustrations with how that earlier hit defined them for their new audience as well as their record company.

First Impressions: There is an air of melancholy that persists throughout the songs on this album, heightened, perhaps, by Thom Yorke’s plaintive voice, which frequently breaks into soft, yearning falsetto.

Lyrics focus on frustration, disappointment, fraught relationships, and the sad state of the modern world. These can be big ideas. Yet, oddly, I found the songs unmemorable. I even ended up listening to this one three times because I had such a hard time remembering anything about it after each listen. I believe the fault lies—if it is a fault—in the verse melodies and the vocal performances, which are so similar across the album that none of the songs stand out as distinctive on their owen. In addition, too many songs have the same mid-tempo feel. I found no hooks to hold onto, no songs I had to listen to again because they so captured my attention or imagination. Even though I was touched by many of the lyrics as I listened, the emotional connection was fleeting; this album had a way of washing over me without leaving any lasting impression. In other words, I remember what the songs were about; I just don’t remember the songs.

I don’t think there’s a bad song on the album. For me, though, the weaker tracks would include opener “Planet Telex” (although the chorus is beautiful and highlights one of the album’s themes: “Everything is broken / Everyone is broken”), “High and Dry” (again, a beautiful chorus melody but lyrics that shift from literal to cryptic and, eventually, nonsensical), and “Bullet Proof…I Wish I Was.” Favorites include: “The Bends,” “Fake Plastic Trees,” “Just,” “My Iron Lung,” and “Black Star.”

So? To view this album as Radiohead’s “rock masterwork” may require familiarity with the rest of the band’s output. On its own, it is rewarding in the moment, but it didn’t linger with me. While I appreciate that this album is so listener-friendly, I wish I were listening repeatedly because I loved the songs or was intrigued by the content, not because I couldn’t remember what anything sounded like.

Day 26: XTC, “Skylarking”

When: Released October 27, 1986

Why? I know absolutely nothing about this band, yet they are occasionally mentioned as inspirations in artist interviews. This album is included in the book 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die. My only connection is having heard the song “Dear God,” which was added to this album after its initial release, in a cover version by Sarah McLachlan.

What? Fifteen songs, 49 minutes. Apple Music categorizes this album as “alternative,” but it also has appeared in lists of 80s pop that I’ve seen.

First Impressions: What a delightful surprise. Harmonies, melodies, and instrumentation echo some of my favorite songs by such artists as Godley & Creme, Klaatu, The Beach Boys, The Beatles, Bowie, and Todd Rundgren, who produced this album with XTC. (I was convinced “That’s Really Super, Supergirl” was actually written by Rundgren, it sounded so much like him. I was wrong.) And the songs themselves are, for the most part, captivating.

XTC, at this point, were vocalist/guitarist/primary songwriter Andy Partridge, vocalist/bassist/secondary songwriter Colin Moulding, and vocalist/multi-instrumentalist Dave Gregory. Drums were recorded separately, played by studio drummer Prairie Prince. “Dear God” features a guest female vocal from 8-year-old Jasmine Veillette. (Oddly, the accompanying music video features a boy lip-syncing Veillette’s part.)

The lyrics are poetic, ranging from poignant to playful: “Trees are dancing, drunk with nectar / Grass is waving underwater / Please don’t pull me out / This is how I would want to go,” the narrator sings in opener “Summer’s Cauldron.” The playful side comes in on “Grass”: “Shocked me too, the things we used to do on grass…. / Over and over we flatten the clover.”

Musically, the arrangements are consistently fresh, often defying my expectations for typical pop songs. For example, there are frequent moments in “Summer’s Cauldron” where the accompaniment teases, seemingly leading up to big moments that never come. “1000 Umbrellas” is a beautiful breakup song propelled entirely by a powerful string arrangement that hints at “Eleanor Rigby,” the fadeout of “Glass Onion,” even Bernard Herrmann’s “Psycho” strings. “Earn Enough for Us” is upbeat pop that belies the desperation running through the lyrics. “The Man Who Sailed Around His Soul” gives us smoky, early-1960s beatnik jazz.

With one exception, I found myself responding more positively to the songs written by Andy Partridge than those by Colin Moulding. Highlights include “Summer’s Cauldron,” “Grass” (by Moulding), “That’s Really Super, Supergirl,” “1000 Umbrellas,” “Season Cycle,” “Earn Enough for Us,” “Big Day,” “Another Satellite,” and “Dear God,” which ended up being tacked on to subsequent releases once it had become an underground hit on American college radio. (It had been deemed too controversial—especially for conservative US audiences—for the original album.) While closing with “Dear God” does not necessarily make sense within the carefully plotted sequencing of this album’s tracks, I think it provides a stronger end to the album than the now-penultimate “Sacrificial Bonfire,” which was my least favorite song.

So? By all accounts, this was a difficult record to make, due to in-studio conflicts between Andy Partridge and Todd Rundgren, as well as between bandmates Partridge and Moulding. There were disagreements about the song selections, arrangements, even how to approach the recording process. Yet the results speak for themselves. Despite the behind-the-scenes frustrations—or, perhaps, because of them—this is a highly enjoyable album packed with musical creativity. This one will be listened to again and again.