BARCLAY JAMES HARVEST: WELCOME TO THE SHOW (1990)
1) The Life You Lead; 2) Lady
Macbeth; 3) Cheap The Bullet; 4) Welcome To The Show; 5) John Lennon's Guitar;
6) Halfway To Freedom; 7) African Nights; 8) Psychedelic Child; 9) Where Do We
Go; 10) Origin Earth; 11) If Love Is King; 12) Shadows On The Sky.
By the late Eighties / early Nineties, some of
the prog dinosaurs were willing to show signs of life, but most were still
hibernating in «commercial» lairs, and Barclay James Harvest, of all people,
were fairly safe in one of those lairs as long as the East European markets
were open — and open they were, with more and more breachings of the Iron
Curtain, as lovingly commemorated by Les Holroyd in one of these album's worst
songs (ʽHalfway To Freedomʼ). Consequently, Welcome To The Show — no, this is not a live album, wouldn't it be too damn obvious even for a band
like BJH if it were? — simply offers you twelve more slabs of different
varieties of adult contemporary muzak for all tastes. Sappy adult
contemporary, hard-rocking adult contemporary, mystical adult contemporary,
anthemic adult contemporary, ethnic adult contemporary — you name it, we got
it, as long as it is glossy, «serious», and deadly dull.
Needless to say, Holroyd's half is about twice
as putrid as Lees' — mostly either electronic pop junk with a steady beat, but
no true hooks (title track; ʽThe Life You Leadʼ) or Phil Collins-style big
ballads with big brass saxophones and so much h-e-a-r-t you'll cry out for
liver in no time (ʽWhere Do We Goʼ; ʽShadows On The Skyʼ). Of particularly
specific cringeworthiness is ʽAfrican Nightsʼ, a nostalgic remembrance by Les
of the band's tour of South Africa in 1972 — if the annoying electronic congas
do not do you in a matter of moments, the lyrics surely will: if it is indeed
true that one of Les Holroyd's most lingering memories of traveling through the
apartheid-torn South Africa in 1972 is how "the sound man played The
Eagles / As we listen / ʽTake It Easyʼ echoes on through our lives"...
words fail me so utterly.
But every once in a while, Lees comes quite
close to matching the tastelessness of his crumblier partner. The juiciest
«highlight» is ʽJohn Lennon's Guitarʼ, a song about how — listen to this! — a guitar, borrowed from John Lennon at Abbey
Road Studios in 1970, turned out to be instrumental for the recording of the
Barclay James Harvest song ʽGaladrielʼ. Yes, that is what the song is
about, and it tells the story in plain documentary fashion. No, there is
nothing wrong in borrowing a guitar from John Lennon, or even in acknowledging
that fact twenty years later. Yes, one does not
usually do this in the form of a sentimental ballad, for fear of not only
looking stupid on one's own, but also making every recipient of said ballad
feel equally stupid. Yes, the Beatles were great and all, but why all this
relentless sucking up? ʽTitlesʼ were bad enough, and now "I remember the
day, I remember the day, the day that I played John Lennon's guitar, I remember
the day, as if it was yesterday, and I know that the memories will never
fade..." — am I the only one to suspect some neural imbalance here?
Almost as bad, but in a different way, is
ʽPsychedelic Childʼ, a slurred logorrhea of «flower power clichés» set to...
no, not retro-stylized «psychedelic» sounds of fuzz guitars, harpsichords, and
sitars, as could be thought, but to a muscular riff-rock sound with a serious
hair metal flair: the «heaviest» that Lees gets on this album, perhaps under
the influence of a Def Leppard concert or something in the same style. A song
that sounds awful and makes no sense
whatsoever at the same time — mission accomplished to perfection.
Struggling to find anything even vaguely redeeming about the album, I can only think
of two songs that have potential: ʽLady Macbethʼ is John's valiant attempt at
writing and recording something inscrutably mysterious (but the song is still
butchered with plastic electronic keyboards), and ʽIf Love Is Kingʼ features
one of those quintessential-classic Lees solos that can be melodic,
intelligent, and kick-ass at the same time — unfortunately, it has the unluck
to be stuck on top of yet another forgettable pop-rocker, driven by a corny
synth riff. It really baffles me how this obvious talent — at his best, the guy
could rival Dave Gilmour as a soloist — could be combined with such poor
skills at decision taking, but natural selection works in mysterious ways.
If BJH are
the poor man's Moody Blues, then Welcome
To The Show is the equivalent of a poor man's Sur La Mer, and that, as anybody vaguely familiar with Moody Blues
history can easily tell, is not much of a compliment. And, naturally, the album
runs for one whole hour straight, because, according to an unbreakable law of
physics, the worse a BJH album is, the longer it has to run. To give the record
a thumbs
down is to say nothing — I'd like to submit an official demand to
remove it from public circulation, but, fortunately, it seems that nature has already
settled this in its own wise way.
Check "Welcome To The Show" (CD) on Amazon
"If BJH are the poor man's Moody Blues, then Welcome To The Show is the equivalent of a poor man's Sur La Mer, and that, as anybody vaguely familiar with Moody Blues history can easily tell, is not much of a compliment."
ReplyDeleteCan't wait for poor man's Keys of the Kingdom...
The best part is, now that BJH have split into two separate competing factions, you'll get to hear TWO of them! It's like Santa Claus' slightly mentally diminished stepbrother bringing you the poor man's Xmas two weeks after the real one.
DeleteI wonder if, during the course of their reminiscences of South Africa, they might have mentioned the fact that there was a BAN (courtesy of the British Musician's Union) on groups touring Sun City and other landmarks of Apartheid Land. Remember, the Byrds got into serious trouble for doing just that. How did BJH manage to circumvent this? Or was violating the ban the reason for them getting dumped from EMI, and relocating out of Britain?
Oh, and in case anyone hadn't noticed, the cover art (not the image itself, but the entire presentation and "feel") is a transparent rip off of Pink Floyd's "Momentary Lapse", font and all.
DeleteI think it has more in common with the Bee Gees' ESP myself.
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