Procol HarumBeyond
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Perhaps the single most neglected writer of rock lyrics is Keith Reid, the non-playing sixth member of Procol Harum. Among other non-playing lyricists, there is Robert Hunter of the Grateful Dead and Peter Brown of, among others, Cream. In a post from last year at the old Beneath Cherry Blossoms blog, I placed the Reid penned Conquistador side by side with Shelley's Ozymandias for comparison and resonance.
Currently, I have the first four Procol albums on my mp3 player and have for the last month or so. It might seem odd to call them timeless; perhaps the more apt description would be out of time. Here are the lyrics from Pilgrim's Progress, the cut that closes their masterwork, A Salty Dog:
| Pilgrim’s Progress I sat me down to write a simple story which maybe in the end became a song In trying to find the words that might begin it I found these were the thoughts I brought along At first I took my weight to be an anchor and gathered up my fears to guide me round but then I clearly saw my own delusion and found my struggles further bogged me down In starting out I thought to go exploring and set my foot upon the nearest road In vain I looked to find the promised turning but only saw how far I was from home In searching I forsook the paths of learning and sought instead to find some pirate’s gold In fighting I did hurt those dearest to me and still no hidden truths could I unfold I sat me down to write a simple story which maybe in the end became a song The words have all been writ by one before me We’re taking turns in trying to pass them on Oh, we’re taking turns in trying to pass them on |
In the history of rock, there has been many a concept album; most of them have been noble, if pretentious, failures. The reason A Salty Dog is, in my opinion, the very best is simple; the concept is metaphoric, not literal. To sustain an entire story over a whole album strains believability, mostly because the medium cannot bear the weight (if truth be told, herein lies where many an opera fails, but, of course, that's not the point: so, too, rock fans might argue with, perhaps, less credulity). But the subtle art of suggestion, one of the writer's most powerful tools, within a loose conceptual framework is what gives this album its incredible power, a staying power that only grows over the passing years. Because A Salty Dog, magnificently executed by a fine band at the top of its game, is quite simply one man's story: the story of one particular writer.
Keith Reid.
The enigmatic quality of A Whiter Shade of Pale, with its allusion to Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, has often stumped the casual listener of popular music. The allusion in Pilgrim's Progress is even more overt. The words "anchor" and "pirate's gold" tie the song to the overall concept, but no one would mistake this for a song about anything other than a metaphoric salty dog. This album smokes; if you can listen to Crucifiction Lane without a wince of recognition, you're a better person than I.
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