Shine On-line

Babylon by Moonlight: Lin Bensley

It's almost thirty years ago since I bought Procol Harum's self titled debut album. It was the first album I ever owned, and though I was only a naïve fifteen year old, my musical tastes at least were already well developed. With some money I'd been given as a Christmas present, and some I'd earned from my job as a paperboy, I managed to scrape together the necessary thirty seven shillings and sixpence (a small fortune for me back in those days) to make my intended purchase. On a cold, wintry morning in early January 1968, I caught the bus to the cold and wintry seaside town of Great Yarmouth, nine miles east of the remote marshland village I lived in at the time. I procured my copy of the aforementioned platter from Wolsey and Wolsey's record store; one of the finest purveyors of recorded music in the district at the time I might add.

Travelling home on the bus, I began to scrutinise the album cover in detail. What was the significance of the lady in white. Was she a vestal virgin? Was she a multi-lingual business friend? What was that moon-eyed maiden doing out in the middle of the night dressed only in her sleeping attire? Did she not realize she could catch her death of cold? I carefully studied the track listings on the back of the cover, to see if I could guess what each song would sound like by simply reading its title; a vain hope! I vaguely knew what a conquistador was, but where on earth was Cerdes? And who was this Walpurgis chappie? What sort of creature was a Christmas camel? Those and other burning questions remained to be answered as I hurried home through the cold and wintry night.

Removing my sister's dishevelled pile of Dionne Warwick and Dusty Springfield albums (she also had good musical taste as well) from the top of her Pye Deluxe record player, I placed the shiny black disc with its distinctive blue and silver label upon the Garrard deck and sat back to listen.

There followed many hours of boundless joy and endless pleasure. Listening to the wondrous music that issued forth from those little black grooves opened my mind as well as my ears. At last I had found kindred spirits, treading the same wayward path as myself. Their music was often archaic in tone and nostalgic in theme, but nevertheless highly original and unquestionably unique. In their subject matter, the songs frequently harked back to a golden age that probably never existed, except in Keith Reid's imagination, and yet seemed oddly familiar. No, it was not a masterpiece, it had its flaws and imperfections. But considering it was recorded in only three days, at a time when the Beatles took nine months to record Sgt. Pepper, it was a more than exceptional debut by anyone's standards; a minor miracle that bore repeated playing.

Conquistador, the opening track, remains one of the greatest songs they ever recorded. Cerdes (Outside the Gates of), Salad Days (Are Here Again), Good Captain Clack and Repent Walpurgis are particular favourites of mine. She Wandered Through The Garden Fence, Mabel and Something Following Me still retain their quirky humour even after all these years. But Conquistador, with its superb imagery of the vanquished hero, conquered by death, does much to capture the very essence of Procol's musical ideals in a brief two minutes and thirty seven seconds. Had this been the follow-up to Homburg, events might well have taken a different turn. The failure to release a single from the album only served to frustrate fans such as myself, who longed to see them consolidate their success in England. Though I realize that for copyright reasons they were unable to include A Whiter Shade of Pale, (the song that became an anthem for the Summer of Love) it was an unfortunate error of judgement not to include Homburg, a bittersweet song, that for me, describes not only the end of a love affair, but also symbolises the passing of that spell-binding Summer of '67. A time when I was young and foolish enough to believe that music could change the world. Now, thirty years on, that song almost sounds like a requiem for a lost generation.

At the beginning of '68, the world turned its back on Procol Harum. But the world's loss was our gain. Divorced from the mainstream, Procol's music took on another dimension. The songs now seemed to possess a personal and intimate resonance, that true fans like myself no longer wished to share with the world at large. The faithful remained and the fainthearts departed. Never fully paid up members of the psychedelic club (neither was I, though I bought a mandarin shirt like Gary Brooker's for thirty five shillings - that my sister promptly made me take back!) not dedicated pupils of the progressive rock school, they soon struck out on their own erratic route - somewhere between Highway 61 and the A12. No one thought to take a map, but way back then it was uncharted territory in every sense.

In the cold but not so wintry March of '68, on his regular Sunday Top Gear show, John Peel previewed the band's third single; Quite Rightly So, playing it alongside the debut single from Honeybus; I Can't Let Maggie Go, he earnestly proclaimed the worthy merits of both. Ironically, Honeybus became a one hit wonder whilst Procol slipped further into commercial obscurity.

Later that same year they released their second album, Shine On Brightly. Most bands suffer problems with their second outing, but this was not the case with Procol Harum. The songs on this album were as good or better than those on the first. In some respects the album portrays the darker side of Procol Harum's character, as if the band had developed an entity of its own design; touched with madness and tinged with a hint of melancholia. Besides the title track, my own favourites include Quite Rightly So, Rambling On, Magdalene (My Regal Zonophone) and most of the In Held 'Twas I suite. Yes, we all know Magdalene should have been the next single, fans wrote letters to the music press saying so at the time. How could any record label be so blind as to pass on such an opportunity for self advertisement? Daft I call it.

In May '69 they released their fourth single; A Salty Dog. I remember Noel Edmonds playing that song back to back with Thunderclap Newman's debut disc; Something In The Air. He assured the public that both singles were destined for success. Well, he was half right, Thunderclap Newman reached number one whilst Procol Harum just managed to scrape into the bottom half of the top fifty. It's funny peculiar how Thunderclap Newman turned out to be another one hit wonder band, they deserved more recognition. Their album Hollywood Dream is an undeniable classic, as too of course is Procol's own A Salty Dog. Shiver me timbers! Even the gunwales were awash with great tunes on this album. Aye Captain, the crew were a black hearted bunch, but they knew how to write a decent sailor's shanty and play the hornpipe, and I'll keelhaul any mutinous swab who dares to disagree with me.

But like any hoard of pirate's gold it has remained a hidden treasure, overlooked by all but the most intrepid seekers of musical nirvana. Procol deserved better, as did many British bands who suffered a similar fate at that time. Take The Pretty Things for example. Like Procol Harum, they were a former R&B band who, in an effort to reach a wider audience, had also branched out into a more diverse musical direction, not that far removed (when you think about it) from Procol's own. As with A Salty Dog, their excellent album Parachute, despite critical acclaim, was also largely ignored; an almost criminal injustice.

By the time the band had released their fourth album; Home, Matthew Fisher had already jumped ship. It is an odd and uneven piece of work, a bit too self-indulgent at times for my liking. With the band lacking a certain degree of self restraint, Matthew was conspicuous by his absence. Whiskey Train, About To Die, Barnyard Story and Whaling Stories are outstanding tracks. Your Own Choice/About to Die was considered as the next single, but for some reason it failed to materialise which only made matters worse. The boys were back home, but their heart wasn't in it, though if anyone thought they had passed their peak they were soon to be proved wrong.

Thankfully, in 1970, the band signed to Chrysalis Records - a wise career move. Chrysalis was one of the best up-and-coming independent labels around at that time. With bands like Jethro Tull and Ten Years After, Procol were at last in good company. The period between '71 to '74 was undoubtedly their golden era. Broken Barricades, Procol Live, Grand Hotel (their crowning glory) and Exotic Birds and Fruit remain fine testaments to their sustained creative brilliance. A glut of good songs, almost an embarrassment of riches; choose your own examples. I could write a book in praise of those albums, but I feel sure it's already been writ by some before me.

I saw Procol on stage for the first time in '74, at the U.E.A. Norwich, on the Exotic Birds and Fruit tour. One of the very best concerts I have ever witnessed. At the end, I managed to leap up on stage and shake Gary by the hand whilst mumbling some inane compliment, before being dragged off by some burly member of the road crew. They have not been back to Norfolk since, more's the pity, I just hope it wasn't anything I said!

Unfortunately, the next two albums did not live up to my expectations. Procol's Ninth and Something Magic both have their moments but they are decidedly few and far between. At least Procol's Ninth gave us Pandora's Box, and we should all be grateful for that. My eight year old son has purloined my copy of Homburg and Other Hats and continuously plays that song over and over again (he obviously has good musical taste) much to the annoyance of his friends. I still find the Ninth an awkward album to listen to as a whole. I don't think Leiber and Stoller did a particularly favourable job on the production, they were out of their depth working with Procol, and NOT vice versa. Pandora's Box, The Piper's Tune and Typewriter Torment pass muster but not much else. Side one of Something Magic marked a slight return to form, the title track, Wizard Man and Strangers in Space are all commendable efforts. It would.be very difficult to try and defend The Worm and the Tree, so I won't. But we should however give the band some credit for their willingness to experiment, at a time when most established groups had already fallen into the tiresome rut of repetition, hence the diabolical onslaught of punk rock. Let us hope that in the not too distant future Procol is given a chance to record Last Train to Niagara which sounds a much more inspired suite than the last one.

Sadly, Procol went out with more of a whimper than a bang. But we didn't have to wait too long before the first of Gary's three solo albums. No More Fear of Flying is a real gem, with fine contributions from Keith Reid and Mickey Jupp. But it was an even greater pleasure to see him team up with another one of my favourite lyricists; Pete Sinfield, a one-time member of another highly underrated band; King Crimson. It was around this time that I sent Gary a batch of my own witty and winsome lyrics. So heavily influenced by Procol Harum for over half my life I felt it was the least I could do to prove my dedication. Fortunately, Gary was never that desperate, and the world was spared my deathless verse.

Age has not brought me wisdom, I am as much of a fool now as I have always been. Many of my ideals and aspirations have fallen by the wayside, but at least my belief in Procol Harum remains intact. In recent years the band have reformed and given us Prodigal Stranger, a much better album than their previous two efforts. The future, once again, looks promising.

Procol have always been the type of band who command admiration as opposed to adulation. They have remained essentially imageless, which may go some way to explain their longevity. They have never followed any fad or fashion, content to stand alone in their own field of wheat whilst steadfastly pushing against the grain of normality.

Let us all be thankful for the beloved music and memories they have given us over the years. I for one, have always heeded their sound advice. I never eat green meat, I keep my windows clean. I have learned the meaning of life. That the pursuit of happiness is our common goal. All this and more have been revealed to me.

My advice to Procol Harum? Take regular cold baths and include more roughage in your diet. Avoid the red smarties in every pack, and don't step on the cracks in the pavement........ Skip softly my moonbeams.

Back to 'Shine On-line' November 1997