Alan Parsons Project: The Sicilian Defence

ALAN PARSONS PROJECT: THE SICILIAN DEFENCE (1981/2014)

1) P-K4; 2) P-Qb4; 3) Kt-KB3; 4) ...Kt-QB3; 5) P-Q4; 6) PxP; 7) KtxP; 8) Kt-B3; 9) Kt-QB3; 10) P-Q3.

I am not even sure if this stuff deserves a separate review, but since it now exists as an officially released separate album — albeit only as a «bonus» part of the newly released 11-CD boxset that contains all of the Project's albums — it probably does merit a few words and a chuckle, if only to show that these guys did have their unique brand of «humor», nothing about which was tech­nically funny, but still, it does help to learn about this considering how «stiff» we usually consi­der these Parsons and Woolfson guys.

So, apparently, the story goes that in 1981, the two were locked in a formal battle with Arista over some contract details, and, unsatisfied as they were, decided to get out of the contract by submitting one last due album that they'd record in three days, rather than the several months that it usually took their sense of perfectionism to be pacified. So they went into the studio, quickly threw together a bunch of instrumental tracks made on-the-spot, named them after various chess moves, figuratively called the album The Sicilian Defence (in which Arista people, apparently, played white and the Project played black), and submitted the results.

Said results, as the rumor went, frightened the Arista people so much that they gave up without putting up too much of a fight, renewed Parsons' and Woolfson's contract on profitable terms, and kept Alan with them all the way up to his first solo album. The Sicilian Defence, in the mean­time, was permanently shelved (just as the duo had hoped it would), and vanished off the radar com­pletely for more than thirty years. Small bits and pieces were occasionally showed to the public, but on the whole, Alan had no plans of ever releasing the whole thing, and probably the only rea­son why it finally saw the light of day was acute demand on the part of devoted fans — just the kind of people who'd want to buy the complete boxset in order to get to the juicy bonus.

Now here is why it may be important to add those few words. The album got this reputation for being a «musical joke», or even a display of «musical hooliganry», and I am sure I even saw the word «atonal» used somewhere in a brief description. This may lead one into thinking that Alan and Eric had really let their hair down on this one, making something of a ʽRevolution No. 9ʼ, or of a Metal Machine Music, and since «musical hooliganry» is definitely not the kind of thing with which we are accustomed to associate those stern, glossy British gentlemen, this can create an atmosphere of intrigue — indeed, it might even make one spend all that extra money on the boxset just to hear what all the hoopla was about.

More than likely, you will be seriously disappointed. There is nothing «atonal», or «rebellious», or «hooliganish» about this record. And, in fact, there couldn't be, since it had no gestation period and had to be made in three days. Instead, it sounds more or less just like you'd expect an Alan Parsons Project record, made in three days, to sound. A bunch of instrumental numbers — all of them rhythmic, usually set to simple drum machine patterns, all of them played either on synthe­sizer or on piano, all of them probably largely improvised, but mostly in standard keys, using standard chords, and generating the usual melancholic aura associated with the Project. Nothing particularly exciting — and nothing particularly «Awful» with a large A. Boring, as a matter of fact: just plain old boring.

The two longest tracks, ʽP-Qb4ʼ and ʽKt-QB3ʼ, are piano pieces, of which the former, also known as ʽElsie's Themeʼ, was earlier released in truncated form as a bonus track on Eve, and for good reason: it has the prettiest melody on the album, nocturnal and elegant, that may deserve salvation, even if six minutes is still overkill. ʽKt-QB3ʼ is even longer, mainly consists of one single jazzy theme looped on endless repeat, and could, perhaps, work as a rhythm part for a more elaborate composition, but nothing else.

The rest is basically just Parsons dicking around with synthesizers without much forethought or afterthought — a couple of the tracks sounding like, say, an early underworked demo for Pink Floyd's ʽOn The Runʼ (maybe he did drag out one of these, I have no idea), and others sounding like equally underworked demos for the Project's own stuff, usually with one or two basic mu­sical ideas per track. Nothing revealing in here, except that it might be interesting to hear, very quickly, what kinds of things Parsons could come up with when working on autopilot. Well, it ain't Blonde On Blonde, where composing and recording on-the-spot are concerned, that one thing at least is for sure.

Best thing about it all is we now know what exactly is Alan Parsons' idea of the proverbial «al­bum of fart noises» — apparently, these guys are so stuffy, they cannot even allow themselves to fart anything other than MIDI grooves and piano romances. Yet I cannot officially condemn the album with a thumbs down, since we have all been warned and there has never been one single good word on the part of Alan himself about the record. Clearly, he didn't even release it in order to make an extra buck — most likely, he just wanted to implode the «legend», so that people no longer harass him about the «legendary lost Alan Parsons Project album». So maybe this review can offer a little modest help with this purpose.

Alan Parsons: Eye 2 Eye: Live In Madrid

ALAN PARSONS: EYE 2 EYE: LIVE IN MADRID (2010)

1) I Robot; 2) Can't Take It With You; 3) Don't Answer Me; 4) Breakdown/The Raven; 5) Time; 6) Psychobabble; 7) I Wouldn't Want To Be Like You; 8) Damned If I Do; 9) More Lost Without You; 10) Don't Let It Show; 11) Prime Time; 12) Sirius/Eye In The Sky; 13) (The System Of) Dr. Tarr & Professor Feather; 14) Games People Play.

The Alan Parsons Project, in all of its existence, never went on the road. That's why it was a «Pro­ject», after all, not a «Band»: a thoroughly studio-based creation. Certainly, once they started out, it was no longer the Sgt. Pepper era, and they could have easily replicated most of their stuff onstage had they wanted to; but they didn't want to. The music was sort of supposed to come wi­th­out the faces — and besides, neither Parsons nor Woolfson looked anything like rock stars.

I am not sure exactly what happened in the early 2000s to make Alan suddenly yearn for a shift in policy. Probably not money matters — not being a huge spender, he must have made enough to last him long enough — perhaps it just went along with the desire to try out all these new things that we heard on A Valid Path. However, if Path announced a radical departure from many of the former trademarks of the Project, the accompanying tour did nothing of the kind.

Instead, it simply promises — and delivers — manna from heaven for all the veteran fans of the Project. With his newly assembled band («The Alan Parsons Live Project» — with Woolfson's per­mission), in which he is the only representative of the old guard, Parsons constructed a pro­gram that touched upon most of the classic hits of the Project, pretty much disregarding his solo career (on Eye 2 Eye, the only new song is 'More Lost Without You'). Statistics speak for them­selves: 2 songs from Tales, 4 from I Robot, 1 each from Pyramid and Eve, 2 each from Turn Of A Friendly Card, Eye In The Sky, and Ammonia Avenue, and then silence: just the right proportions for the Taste Guardian for the Alan Parsons Project.

Predictably, most of the songs are played fairly close to the studio versions; minor exceptions in­volve making a medley out of 'Breakdown' and 'The Raven' (it works) and extending 'Psychoba­ble' with a prolonged «psychobabble» instrumental passage (I'm not sure it works). The big dif­ference is with the vocalists, who are, for the most part, all competent; and it is interesting that all of the band members (six of 'em) sing, with the original parts distribu­ted to them based on their own voice qualities. Grandest surprise is Parsons himself, who is responsible for some of Woolf­son's original parts — and shows a nice singing voice, slightly weaker than Eric's, but capable of pulling out most of the harmonies and radiating the same intelligent tenderness.

The most frequent vocalist, however, is P. J. Olsson, who looks approximately like what most people would think Eric Woolfson should look like (young, blonde-haired, a bit Wagnerian, etc.) and sings with perfect competence and involvement (his 'Time' is absolutely wonderful and, just like on the original, takes one's breath away long enough to forget about the triviality of the ly­rics). Actually, it would be ridiculous to suspect any overall quality problems: Parsons the Perfec­tionist would have never dared to put up any show like this without a hundred percent guarantee.

It's an interesting show, all right, to listen to as well as to watch (the accompanying DVD accor­dingly places Parsons, most of the time, in the background, nonchalantly strumming an acoustic guitar) — and there is even nothing wrong with using the album, provided you can find it, as a basic introduction into the Project. Live records from art-rockers usually define the meaning of «superfluous», but that's only when they come in droves; one live record from an art-rocker is al­ways interesting and instructive, not to mention this particular record that fans had been waiting for for over thirty years. And what a setlist — a legacy to really be proud of. Thumbs up.

Alan Parsons: A Valid Path

ALAN PARSONS: A VALID PATH (2004)

1) Return To Tunguska; 2) More Lost Without You; 3) Mammagamma 04; 4) We Play The Game; 5) Tijuaniac; 6) L'Arc En Ciel; 7) A Recurring Dream Within A Dream; 8) You Can Run; 9) Chomolungma.

Part of me wishes there had been a proper question mark at the end of that title, because I am not at all sure of the actual validity of this path. Of course, there is nothing particularly good about stagnation, and in theory it is commendable that, at the age of 56 and almost thirty years into his artistic career, Alan has undertaken the starkest revisions to the basic conception of his sound sin­ce... well, ever. His entire old team — Bairnson, Elliott, Blunstone, etc. — is gone, replaced by a host of younger generation representatives, mostly various electronic artists working in similar, but different genres. He co-writes, once again, all the songs, some of them with his son Jeremy. Good news, right?

Both yes and no. There is always a mixed reaction when the old start taking lessons from the young. It certainly indicates humility and open-mindedness, but it does not always make for great art. Case in point: the two completely unnecessary and, in part, offensive remakes of past succes­ses. 'Mammagamma '04' is a techno/trance avatar of the track from Eye In The Sky, which was never one of the Project's better instrumentals in the first place — way too relying on one single gimmick throughout — and now it makes for half-decent club fodder, but at the expense of ha­ving the last vestiges of «art» surgically removed from it. 'A Recurring Dream' is, in fact, an elec­tronic remix / recreation of 'The Raven' that, at best, functions as a curious modern age deconst­ruction of the original, at worst, just makes one laugh out loud, especially when the synthesized vocals start rolling in. What's the point — other than showing how hip you are to all the new tech­nological breakthroughs?

It is certainly a treat for old fans to see Parsons make such a bold move away from the basic pop of his last ten or so records: there are but two or three pure pop songs on the album altogether, stuck as short breathers in between the lengthy instrumental numbers, and the instrumental num­bers (the ones that are not 'Mammagamma', of course) are true art-rock compositions with plenty of complexity and development. But are the employed electronic devices and textures really an asset here, or an obstruction?

Personally, I do not get the feeling that this forced breeding of Parsons' idealistic mystique and his new electronic partners' dryer, sci-fi-er approach is all that good. Apples to apples, oranges to oranges. The man brings in old friend Dave Gilmour to solo extensively on the opening 'Return To Tunguska', but the chugging synths and robotic percussion detract from his contributions ra­ther than happily complement them. Most of the time I catch myself thinking, «wow, nice moody bit from Alan, the good old kind», or «hmm, I wonder if I'd be interested in checking out those electronic guys' own records... nah, never mind, it's not like I've got nothing better to do». But ve­ry rarely, if ever, at the same time.

Of the vocal numbers, 'More Lost Without You' is the more memorable one, sounding sus­pi­ci­ous­ly like some corny old Manfred Mann folk-pop thing stuck in a time warp only to re­emerge in this modernized P. J. Olsson-sung setting. (Predictably, it was the only song to be sung live on the accompanying tour — the rest just wouldn't fit in at all with the classic hits). Parsons does sing lead vocals himself — first time ever! — on 'We Play The Game', displaying a voice that is alarmingly close to Woolfson's but not making much of an impact since the song sucks anyway.

Were I to review this years ago, I'd probably just pour sincere shit over all these tracks, singling out 'Mammagamma '04' as the single stinkiest crapfest Parsons ever had me subjected to, and be done with it. Today, I am almost ready to accept this as a bold and honest artistic move. But, to tell the truth, as of 2004, or as of 2010 when I am writing this, I don't want any bold and artistic moves in this corner of the art-rock market. I wouldn't mind getting another Alan Parsons Project album, particularly since Alan Par­sons is still around and kicking (alas, not Eric Woolfson, who died of cancer in 2009). I don't even mind young electronica guys coming in the studio and lend­ing a hand, provided they're qualified. But nobody fucks with the Raven ­— understood? Thumbs down, and that's final.

Check "A Valid Path" (CD) on Amazon

Alan Parsons: The Time Machine

ALAN PARSONS: THE TIME MACHINE (1999)

1) The Time Machine (part 1); 2) Temporalia; 3) Out Of The Blue; 4) Call Up; 5) Ignorance Is Bliss; 6) Rubber Universe; 7) The Call Of The Wild; 8) No Future In The Past; 9) Press Rewind; 10) The Very Last Time; 11) Far Ago And Long Away; 12) The Time Machine (part 2).

This just might be the single least having-to-do-with-the-artist album by (nominally) a solo artist ever released. Parsons' only songwriting credit here must have been an intentional joke, or a trick to get him at least some royalties: 'Temporalia' is fifty seven-seconds of quiet background choral harmonies over which particle physics expert Frank Close is talking about how space itself func­tions as a time machine. For some reason, Prof. Close is given no credits, though.

Other than that, The Time Machine is simply more of the Ian Bairnson Project, with Ian occa­si­onally relegating songwriting duties on percussionist Steve Elliott. It is not hopeless, and has its own moody charms, but it shares all the flaws of On Air and adds one more: Bairnson, Elliott, and Parsons (who still engineers and produces as good as he can) start toying with the world of techno, which is completely alien to the classic spirit of APP. The title track is a cheesy disaster. 'Blue Blue Sky' might have been a disappointing, badly uncommon start to a Parsons album, but 'The Time Machine' is just stupid. They should have slowed it down, set it to a normal beat, and put more thought into the layers of instrumentation. What were they trying to do — come up with a super hot club hit for the young ones?

The conceptual framework here is as sturdy as the one that framed On Air — and just as simple, or, perhaps, simplistic: Woolfson's concepts always deviated much further from the main theme, but that was an essential part of their charm, and occasional depth. With The Time Machine, we learn various truisms about the past, present, and future. The past, you might be surprised to learn, is riddled with mistakes ('No Future In The Past'), but it used to be much cooler than today any­way ('Ignorance Is Bliss'), so it would be nice to have all the greats come round and help us see the light ('Call Up'; I like how they namedrop Jesus and Darwin in the same song — aren't matter and anti­matter supposed to cancel out each other?) so we could all live for a better and brighter future ('Call Of The Wild'), etc. etc.

Still, once you weed out the silly techno elements (and they never really go beyond the title track — it took Parsons five more years to embarrass himself without any hope of deliverance), the songs mostly range from tolerable to pretty. For one thing, the band does good to bring in girl power. Clannad's Máire Brennan is always a joy to experience when she is not prostituted over cheap faux-Celtic synth-pop, and 'The Call Of The Wild' is but an art-pop rearrangement of a tra­ditional Irish ballad that puts her skills to great use. Beverley Craven is said to be «Kate Bush lite» for those unprepared to assimilate the real thing; I have not heard any of her records, but Bairnson's 'The Very Last Time' is a nice enough piano ballad that fits the definition to a tee — this is something that Kate could have easily written at the tender age of, say, twelve years.

For another thing, Elliott's 'Press Rewind', sung by unknown vocalist Graham Dye of unknown band Scarlet Party, is a damn good Brit-pop song — if you like, uh, Oasis, you'll probably like this as well, even without the fat distorted guitars. So is Bairnson's 'Out Of The Blue', riding one of those immediately recognizable Project guitar lines and sung by the lead vocalist of Spandau Ballet, which begs the question — how come Parsons didn't start using the vocal magic of New Romantics back in the days when those guys were still New?

But in general, of course, The Time Machine is nothing to write home about, not even from a time machine, provided you were gullible enough to bring it along for the soundtrack. It tries to be truer to the spirit of the Project, with more echo, somber chords, and mystical pretense than we last heard On Air, yet the triteness of the concept, the mediocrity of the songwriting, and the fai­lure to come up with respectable instrumentals makes it another missed opportunity. Perhaps they should have just called it a day and all joined Clannad instead.

Check "The Time Machine" (CD) on Amazon

Alan Parsons: On Air

ALAN PARSONS: ON AIR (1996)

1) Blue Blue Sky; 2) Too Close To The Sun; 3) Blown By The Wind; 4) Cloudbreak; 5) I Can't Look Down; 6) Bro­ther Up In Heaven; 7) Fall Free; 8) Apollo; 9) So Far Away; 10) One Day To Fly; 11) Blue Blue Sky.

Parsons' second solo album, or, to be precise, the second album by The Ian Bairnson Project (Alan is credited as co-writer only on the two instrumentals, as well as 'Fall Free' and 'Too Close To The Sun'), finds the team independent of major labels (their Arista contract expired with Try Anything Once), free to pursue their artistic inspirations full-time, but, alas, somewhat dulled down and disfocused as time goes by and senses wither.

On the formal side, On Air is Parsons' first major conceptual release since at least Eye In The Sky. All of the songs explore the concept of flying, in one form or another — just look at the tit­les — and, in theory, this should work well, since Parsons' sonic landscapes have always been a bit, uh, «airy»; all the way from Icarus to balloons to parachutes to jet planes to space rockets, su­rely Alan can, and should, be your man to give all of them a perfect musical reflection.

That's just on paper, though. The reality is such that all the songs were written by Bairnson, and their pedestrian nature shines through more and more with each new record. Test case: 'Brother Up In Heaven', a song that must have been written with the best of motives — to commemorate the tragic death of Ian's cousin in Iraq — but ends up sounding like a bunch of soft-rock clichés, more fitting for some radio-fodderish «rootsy-artsy» Seventies' American band than an act with such a respectable «intellectual pedigree» as the APP. Vocalist Neil Lockwood adds even more fuel to the fire with his forced, theatrical pathos; a more restrained performance might have saved the song, but as it is, I just keep getting visions of onion bulbs attached to the mike.

Most of the melodies aren't completely hopeless, and all of them get the classy Parsons treatment, but there are simply no «clinchers» here — no sharp standout tracks like 'Mr. Time' or 'Oh Life' that not only become minor classics on their own, but also spread their strong aura on the rest of the album. The angry numbers ('I Can't Look Down') do not muster enough aggression, the sad gloomy ones ('Too Close To The Sun') do not accumulate enough despair, the tender pretty ones ('So Far Away') do not radiate enough beauty. To make matters worse, the folksy 'Blue Blue Sky' that both opens and closes the re­cord is a poor choice for a theme — folk guitar ballads are not Parsons territory at all, and, as de­cent as the main melody is per se, it kills off Alan's age-old trademarks: the atmospheric start and the grande finale. Why should a Parsons album invite comparisons with James Taylor in the first place? I have no idea.

It might have been better if 'Blown By The Wind' had been the coda, since it is the biggest and grandest of all the songs on here, and arguably Bairnson's hardest try to match either the classic APP, or the late period Pink Floyd sound. Again, no great twists in the melody, which cuddles way too close to a generic power ballad for comfort, but they provide a solid Floydian guitar ba­cking, Ian adds exquisite solos (he has always been a much better guitarist than songwriter, as far as I'm concerned), and Eric Stewart's gentle melancholic delivery stops exactly one inch away from the line that separates «romantic» from «pathetic» (unlike that Lockwood person) — in all honesty, he should have stolen that song for a 10cc reunion.

The instrumentals ('Cloudbreak', 'Apollo') are not at all catchy, but suitably atmospheric, and it is only while listening to them that I sort of «get» the idea of why Parsons considered On Air an ar­tistically free release — most probably, no more silly record executives were putting pressure on him to make his instrumental music hummable. After all, the sax melody of 'Breakaway', three years before, was no less stupid and cheesy than the synth-folk dance rhythms of 'Hawkeye' ten years before. 'Cloudbreak' gives you the true Alan Parsons, a little out of breath, a little tattered, but still striving to explore new sounds — for once. Then Bairnson takes over again, and runs the good intentions into the ground.

No bad words whatsoever on the mixing, engineering, production, playing, singing (from a tech­nical point), or the fine-looking balloon on the album cover. No denying that it is a thoroughly «Alan Parsons» album in spirit and form. Now if only the songs weren't mostly bland and boring, we could all celebrate. As it is, here is one more example of how somebody can have a great feel for solo guitar melody — and heroically suck at the art of simple songwriting. (Eric Clapton is, of course, the prime example here, with but a handful of occasional exceptions, but you all saw that one coming).

Check "On Air" (CD) on Amazon