Song of the Week: "The Hypnogogue"

Ian Alterman — Sun, 04 Sep 2022 19:54:34 +0000

Song of the Week: "The Hypnogogue" Ian Alterman September 4, 2022 - 15:54

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There was a fairly long period (approximately 1992 to 2005) when The Church was my favorite then-extant band. (So much so that Progarchives asked me to write the band bio on their site, for which I was writing reviews at the time.) This was the most creative period for three of the founding members (bassist-songwriter Steve Kilbey, and guitarists Peter Koppes and Marty Willson-Piper) and drummers Jay Dee Daugherty (1992) and Tim Powles (1993 - 2006). During this period, The Church went from simply dabbling in progressive elements (prior to 1992) to becoming a standard-bearer of the neo-prog movement. (The band was inducted into the Australian Recording Industry Association (ARIA) Hall of Fame in 2010.)

After a period of straight rock (prior to 1985), The Church's sound eventually developed into lush, heavily-textured atmospheres surrounding a combination of jangly, often arpeggiated guitar work; tasteful, sometimes "symphonic" keyboard figures; compelling, often syncopated drum and/or percussion rhythms; and occasional use of non-standard instrumentation, all supporting Kilbey's unique talk-singing vocals.

I admittedly lost interest in the band when they underwent a series of personnel changes, including the loss of both Willson-Piper and Koppes. Still, they remain among my top ten favorite bands of all time.

So it is with pleasure that I received their most recent single release, "The Hypnogogue." The title alone piqued my curiosity, so I gave it a listen (and a look, as it comes with a very trippy "short film"-style video). At 6:30, it is among their longest songs, and almost certainly their longest release as a single. And it is, in a word, uber-Churchy. (Okay, maybe that's two words.)

Opening (uncharacteristically) with a spacey piano figure, it quickly brings in the signature jangly guitar, followed by an off-time Kilbey and Powles figure, and then Kilbey's vocals. The song progresses nicely into familiar Church territory, with an atmosphere that totally envelops. By the end (and particularly with headphones), one is hopelessly immersed.

The video (directed by Clint Lewis), which is "dystopian…set in 2054," is described by Mr. Kilbey as being "…about Eros Zeta the biggest rock star of 2054 who has traveled from his home in Antarctica…to use the Hypnogogue to help him revive his flagging fortunes…In the midst of the toxic process, he also falls in love with Sun Kim and it all ends tragically (of course...as these thing often do)."

I don't know about all that, but the video is extremely "dark" and haunting, taking place primarily in a recording studio (with video monitors showing various things, including images of the band members playing), with major elements including music, drugs, spirituality, and life and death (both of which are represented by water). It ends with Mr. Zeta (who has been immersed in water, wearing a facemask delivering some sort of drug) burning down the studio. (Quite the metaphor!)

All in all, a song (and video) that has revived my interest in the band, and its very bright-looking future.

Enjoy!

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Charity Begins Alone

Robert Cochrane — Sat, 19 Mar 2016 17:53:10 +0000

Charity Begins Alone Robert Cochrane March 19, 2016 - 13:53

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psych pop

Adam Miller

Who Would Give His Only Song Away

(Chelsea Records)

When Wes Farrell, the man who penned the perennial evergreen "Hang On Sloopy," and was overseer to the phenomenal chart successes of the Partridge Family and David Cassidy, set up his own record label in 1972, his maiden release wasn't a sure fire pop confection. He began proceedings with an exquisitely crafted collection of psych outsider introspection. Adam Miller, his new discovery and recipient of this gracious act of faith didn't set the world aflame, he didn't even darken it's edge, and today remains unknown, his album the victim of at best a misreading of the small print one is required to field when stumbling across an artist with no fame attached to the name above the title, more than four decades after the event. Chelsea Records became an outlet for pop and disco, especially the wonderfully camp and catchy Disco Tex and his Sexolettes, to name but one. It didn't suggest a testament of smouldering intensity and insight that would give the likes of Sixto Rodriguez, a man who knows a thing or four about waiting around in the doldrums of obscurity before recognition finally pays a much belated call. The albums enigmatic, cryptic name Who Would Give His Only Song Away is suitably intriguing and enigmatic, as is the young man looking downwards from the front cover. As of now there is precious more to add but the songs which are arranged with immense decorum and class by the respected jazz pianist Michael Melvin.

The proceeding begin with "Man Of My Word" which was also a single, which perfectly introduces the listener to an uptempo hook and alerts the ears to the arrival of a spirited talent of natural poise in the guise of an understated epic. This is neatly followed by "Hope I Win" a hauntingly sparse song of displacement: "I just arrived with the last load. They bought me here and dumped me on the road. 600 more have arrived this week." This suggestion of migration has solidified my hunch that Miller may be English, he certainly sounds like he is. The words are perfectly underscored by an almost gospel female vocal that drives home a subdued punch. "So Tired" begins with a piano motif that is reminiscent of early Billy Joel, a refreshingly aching pop ballad perfectly driven and discreetly hammered home by the ivories being low down in the mix, suggestive of the best of George Harrison's balladry cushioned by an orchestral, almost pastoral arrangement.

Electronic piano of the tastefully judged kind means "I Agreed" hovers somewhere between Jose Feliciano and Sergio Mendes, but with a deftly delivered rock riff, before rising to an orchestrated climax fading in and out of potential overkill, but never allowing its psych soul basis to become unbridled. In "Baby's Back Home" there is an uncanny white boy treatment along the urban fault-lines of Gil Scott Heron's "Home Is Where The Heartache Is," suggestive of almost blown neon flickering its last in a downpour from the night sky, with a touch of sax to embellish the picture. "Who" contains the line that provides the basis of the title, but is even more enigmatic by being "Who would give his only son away." It is a flute driven psych frenzy, all classical piano downturns in a controlled jam setting. An absolute gift of a song. A flute arrangement also encrusts "Faraway" which emerges as a melancholy lullaby that wouldn't be out of place on a Rodriguez album.

"Get Back On The Hill" continues the elements of psych breeziness, all tasteful percussion and a laconic vocal ease, it reaches a near perfect climax of pop and introspection. Credible commercial ambition is cleverly undersold with a powerful punch in "Sign On" whose neat alignment of piano and confident degree of effortlessness and catchiness, means this song resides in the mind long after it's hearing. The box of tricks is then finally closed by the sadly confessional "Run Like the Wind".

There is no denying the amount of labour and love that went into the crafting of such a deft album of songs that time and circumstance has chosen to ignore. Wes Farrell is now dead, as is Michael Melvoin, and as for Adam Miller, there was a second album and single, and a song covered by Helen Reddy, but by 1975 his trail dwindles into silence, and yet there is a valuable currency residing in the dusty grooves of his neglected efforts. He didn't give his only song away, but he did leave all of them behind, abandoned on vinyl and on tape. It is time he reclaimed his wonderful efforts, because others should, and will do so, for his gifts remain in evidence of his talent and his absence.