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on the air |
Despite the relatively commercial and occasionally lush production that our boy Ezrin applied to the first record, the general consensus, particularly with Peter and his crowd, was that Bob was essentially a bit of an arsehole. Still, Peter has often stated that the drive and energy of someone like Ezrin was precisely what was needed at the time. There was a lack of confidence in the 1977 Peter and a pervasive avoidance of conflict, of saying no, of sticking up for himself. But then by 1978 with a hit single, a highly respectable debut record and tour under his belt, Peter was ready to do his own thing (to a certain point at least). Enter Robert Fripp as producer. Fripp was with King Crimson, another, albeit lesser known, alumnus of the early 70s progressive rock scene (also from King Crimson was everyone's favourite bass player Tony Levin). Fripp is regarded in many circles as a general guitar guru. Both Fripp and Levin played on the first album, but Fripp felt so restricted by Ezrin's production and general studio culture that he wanted to use an alias (unsuccessfully...his name was far too marketable). By the way he did use an alias for the subsequent tour: Dusty Road, pretty crappy if you ask me. He also insisted on being shoved to the side of the stage where he couldn't be seen, so as to be distanced from the guitar parts he was playing.
Although cautious, Fripp agreed to produce this album, recorded in early to mid 1978 in Holland and New York. Fripp said of the experience: "I would described Peter as being a person who knows exactly what he wants, but is unable to make up his mind. If you think this sounds paradoxical, you're right. He writes beautiful songs, but he's not spontaneous; he's more compositional. He has a conception of how a piece should sound and he's not happy until he hears on tape what is in his head. I wouldn't call it being a perfectionist either; I would call it being a fiddler or a pussyfooter."
As suggested by the unpopular choice of producer (American label Atlantic were worried Fripp's influence would result in an uncommerical record), Gabriel was becoming more confident in the studio. He insisted on using Roy Bittan (of Bruce Springsteen's band) for some of the piano and keyboard parts. Elsewhere on the record is the now familiar Tony Levin and Larry Fast from the first record, new drummer Jerry Marotta, guitarist Sid McGuinness and saxophonist TImmy Capello.
This record was rougher around the edges and some songs are evidently the result of Peter's now infamous method of spiralling around different ideas and arrangements until he's satified with what he gets. The move to use Fripp as producer was not endorsed by the Amercan label, Atlantic, who were worried that the result would be less commercial. Fripp wanted a fresh sound and maintained a lot of first takes, which was fine by Peter, but only to a point since this method restricted some of the experimentation (and procrastination) for which PG is famous. As for the songs, many of them were already around at the time of the '77 tour, usually with altered or no lyrics (as usual, the lyrics and vocal melody are usually the last parts of Peter Gabriel songs to be written). The most notable song from the tour repertoire was Indigo. Many bootlegs have listed the altered live version of Indigo as A Song Without Words. Mother of Violence had previously existed as a (presumably less unnerving) Christmas carol written by Peter and wife Jill; their first and only collaboration on record.
This album is certainly darker and more sparse than the first album and rarely has the influence of producers been more evident than these first two records. Atlantic's fears of a less commercial record were realised in full, although Peter maintained at the time that he was making a pop record for a commercial pallette. Despite the rather desperate promotion of DIY as a single, the world yawned and both album and single stiffed. Subsequently Peter has dismissed this record as a "down" in his career. Not one song from Peter Gabriel made it onto the Shaking the Tree compilation and the record has remained something of a dark horse in the catalogue, largely due to its commercial non-appeal. This is unfortunate since, while there are some hideous lows, the artistic highpoints on the album are some of the best songs Peter has written.
The first song to introduce Mozo, the mercurial stranger. The story of Mozo (and the project that bears his name) is long-winded, curious and more than a little murky. Mozo is a project which has never surfaced, but which was to be a song cycle or perhaps a long-form video, based around a selection of PG tracks (Here Comes the Flood, Down the Dolce Vita, On the Air, Exposure, Red Rain, That Voice Again, and who knows what else). Though these tracks are spread over three records and nine years, when segued together, a storyline emerges...apparently. The story's basic premise comes from writings of Carl Jung on the Aurora Consurgens, a medieval alchemy treatise that has strong parallels with the story of Moses (Mozo's name being a derivative of the intense biblical fellow). Alchemy is a practice which largely deals with change and transformation, particularly with regard to the self, to transcend everyday thought and action and to find meaning in doing so (the famous allegory for this being the turning of base metals into gold).
On the air is an early part of the Mozo story. At this point Mozo lives in a dump/junkyard where he creates a fantasy world for himself by using short wave radio. By going out On the Air, Mozo can become anyone he likes and he is not confined to society's role for him (ie. that of scumbag gutter trash). The obvious parallel between Mozo's power over short wave radio and publishing thoughts and ideas over the internet brings the song into sharp relevance to today. If Mozo's story were to be adapted today, it would not be inconceivable that a PC and modem would replace Mozo's short wave radio.
Sonically, On the Air continues the processes commenced on the first Peter Gabriel record and there are distinct similarities between this song and Slowburn, a similarity which would probably be more evident if the same "big sound" technique was applied to On the Air. One distinct difference is in the use of synthesisers. Where on the first record, syths were largely supportive, used in the same way classical string sections are used in pop/rock records, on this track (and for most of the entire second record), the synthesiser begins to take centre stage. Synths fade into the opening of the track and remain prominently audible throughout the song mostly playing a highly manufactured arpeggio giving On the Air a slightly mechanical sound, a sound which is considerably expanded on the third Peter Gabriel record and one which was popular around the turn of the decade (see Talking Heads, especially Fear of Music or Speaking in Tongues).
DIY was the A-side of the second PG single in a row to stiff in the charts. This came as quite a shock to its composer who remarked in 1978, "I still believe in DIY commercially". Like several songs in the PG catalogue, DIY seems to have been written with the commercial market in mind and when it did not perform in the charts, Charisma (PG's record label in the UK and Australia) took the curious and rather desperate action of re-releasing the single five months later with a different B-side (first was May 1978: DIY b/w Perspective, and then in September 1978: DIY b/w Mother of Violence; Me and My Teddy Bear). Though the second song on the re-release B-side was not on the album (a first for a Peter Gabriel B-side), it was a throwaway in every respect, being a cover of the children's song by Coots and Winters.
Lyrically the song concerns itself with taking responsibility for your own actions, having the courage to follow through on your convictions without being intimidated by society. It criticises those who allow themselves to be trampled by the world's expectations of them: "you function like a dummy with a new ventriloquist/do you say nothing for yourself?" A more left field reading of the song may concern itself with Peter's running innuendo gags and the concept of DIY being a code for masturbation. This may be the source of the song's wilder imagery: "like flesh to the bone in the no-go zone/you're still looking for the ressurection" and it's assertion not to "risk affection". Hmm...enough said.
Musically DIY offers some interesting diversions. Peter has suggested that there were several incarnations of this song, including a heavier electronic version (which may be similar in sound to the version on Plays Live). The arrangement chosen was a largely acoustic set. Peter has said that he was influenced by the sounds from new bands at the time, which presumably was a reference to punk, though DIY doesn't even remotely resemble what the Sex Pistols, the Clash or the Ramones were writing at the time. The more likely reason for an acoustic arrangement was because of its resemblance to the similarly acoustic-driven hit: Solsbury Hill. Undoubtedly though, the best part of DIY would have to be those choruses with their backbone of the world's greatest time signature: five/four (for another example of five/four time see Living in the Past by Jethro Tull). Here too PG may taken a cue from Solsbury Hill with its equally off-putting seven/four signature (the world's second greatest time signature).
Mother of Violence began life as a Christmas carol written by Peter with his then wife Jill. Its gentle two chord structure arpeggio and tinkling piano are the only two instruments which appear aside from the spine-chilling distorted electric guitar chord accentuating the word "fear". Peter has described the song as "a negative frame of mind". In fact there is not much else to the song, at least in the verses. The narrator has decended into the darkest of moods eating junk in front of a TV he doesn't want to watch. The chorus, with its assertion that fear is the the mother of violence begins the process of transcending the depression, giving it perspective and thus minimising the problem: "you know self defence is all you need" (these are common techniques of the humanistic approach to psychology, as espoused by Carl Rodgers). But before the optimism can take hold, the narrator decides to question his existence on the planet in the first place ("it's getting hard to breathe"), and we are soon dropped back into the spiraling verse, illustrating the spiralling thought processes. That the song creates such a claustrophobic atmosphere is a wonderful reflection of the claustrophobic nature of depression without escape.
After writing a song like Mother of Violence it is notable that, in a 1992 interview, Peter said his greatest fear was fear, a subject rarely dealt with in popular music. Yes, there is the occasional "i- want- to- talk- to- her- but- i'm- afraid" pastiche, but listen to these lyrics and think about what is being said. In Mother of Violence, Peter delves into the very depths of fear. This isn't any minor inconveniencing fear of spiders, women, work or whatever, nor is it really a fear of death as such. The fear which is the Mother of Violence seems to relate to the big Fear of humankind's own questionable existence. Psychologists may refer to this as existential angst, but this goes beyond psychobabble labelling. Think of how insiginificant you are within the universe. In terms of time and space, humankind doesn't even register in the grand (and we're talking Grand) scheme of things. Think of the uncertainty of humankind's purpose in this scheme. Is there a purpose or are we kidding ourselves? Try and wrap your brain around the concept of eternity. Time without end? Or does nothing (not even time) last forever? What happens after we've gone and our planet, or the sun, wears itself out? Think of the uncertainty of death and the afterlife. Unless you're devoutly religious, chances are these are some scary concepts.
It is no accident that the issues within the song are never resolved and the listener is left with the chilling "Fear" boring into the ears and the heart. These are issues which can never be solved. These are Fears which are too big to face. The best we can hope for is to forget about them. Put them to one side so that we can get on with our lives without going completely insane. Religion is an excellent means for doing this. So is ideology. The fact that Peter Gabriel alligns himself to so no one particular religion nor any singular ideology suggests that he too must occasionally face this existential Fear. That Mother of Violence was written at all shows courage in facing it for, even though it is buried in oblique lyrics, the Fear is there.
Mother of Violence is a triumph of the marriage between music and lyrics and a rare look into the darker side of PG's personality. It is one of the few songs that can not only inspire goosebumps with every listen, but occasionally will produce tears. One of the most emotionally wrenching songs ever written.
a wonderful day in a one way world
A return to the slightly witty writing first attempted with Modern Love and Excuse Me on the first Peter Gabriel record and a welcome relief after the draining Mother of Violence. One Way World is a bizarre affair and essentially a gentle dig at brash consumerism, apeing the big (at least by 1978 standards) shopping malls then making their appearances all over the Western world. One Way World has the dubious privilege of containing some of PG's strangest (and dodgiest) couplets: "there's an old man on the floor so i summon my charm/ i said 'hey scumbag has there been an alarm'". It's one of those rare occasions you can tell Peter is reaching (perhaps he should have been reaching for a thesaurus). Musically, One Way World is couched in a de facto reggae rhythm, the only thing missing (thankfully) is the annoying plink-plink-plinking guitar trademark of the genre. Instead, the song is drenched in some wonderfully dated squonking synthesisers. During the late eighties, these keyboards would have sounded highly embarrassing, but today there's a kitschy antiquity about them which undoubtedly redeems the song. Redeeming too is our man, Tony Levin (the Big T, the Tonester) whose funky, rhythmic bassline is appropriately pushed up in the mix. Like many of the tracks on this record, A Wonderful Day in a One Way World is something of a forgotten song. There is very little information surrounding this track, which is probably not all that surprising as it isn't a great song. It's interesting, but fails to match the endearing Excuse Me or the glitzy metal of Modern Love. Maybe it's been forgotten for a reason.
After Mother of Violence, White Shadow represents the second artistic high mark on Peter Gabriel. The song opens with a long instrumental: a quirky, slightly dissonant, chord progression (for a while there it seems as though the bassline has forgotten which chords are actually being played in the treble). But by the final chords for this section a definite lunge is being made for the tonic B flat. When it finally arrives (at 1.02), it is like sunrise. As with A Wonderful Day in a One Way World the keyboards are tacky (especially the fake brass section in the sections before and after the lyrics), but from this distance it manages to sound quirky rather than hideously embarassing (we're sure such a statement couldn't have been made ten years ago). During the verse/chorus cycles the music shows a sensitive restraint and once again Tony Levin displays his wonderful virtuosity with a bass guitar during the chorus. The drums, especially audible in the last instrumental section, have the muted sound of the 1970s. This is exactly the sound that will disappear on the next record and forever in the next decade (gulp).
Lyrically, White Shadow is one of the more difficult songs of the PG catalogue. What the hell is he on about? Suggestions have been made regarding the verses and the chorus seperately. the idea that "she comes out like a white shadow" refers to the moon is appropriate enough, but doesn't account for anything in the verses. Similarly one suggestion has been made that the verses refer to early colonists of Amercia's West. This is an even more tenuous link, although references to the coaches and the US dollar in particular begin to make sense in this interpretation. The best interpretation tabled at Plausible Publications is the self referential allusion to the record in question. The lyrics seem to be slightly bitter with the American commercial market (a theme continued from A Wonderful Day in a One Way World). It's possible that, like what was to happen with the third Peter Gabriel record, PG was aware of the American record company's displeasure at the emerging material. It is common knowledge that Atlantic were far from enthusiastic at the choice of Robert Fripp for producer. In the lyric Peter states his belief in the commercial potential of the record and scoffs at Atlantic's assumed knowledge of what the public wanted when this is so obviously impossible (ie. they were "trying to read the flight of birds"). All of the verses begin to make a more ordered sense in this reading of the lyrics. References to things drying up or rusting, a general sense of decay invariably leads to thoughts of the slowly souring relations between Peter and Atlantic. So in this sense what does "and she comes out like white shadow" mean exactly? Well it refers to the second Peter Gabriel record itself. The white shadow (we can assume that "white shadow" still refers to the moon as a metaphor for the new album) emerges from the ruckus and rises in the sky. Like the moon, it will be impossible to stop Peter Gabriel from rising and the ultimate success will be Peter's.
With the second Peter Gabriel record, this didn't happen of course, but two years later Peter had the last laugh with Atlantic anyway (how satisfying). In all probability the lyrics are buried in much more obscurity than that.
When Gabriel contacted "the little people" in order to perform a bizarre gabrielese invention called 'A Song Without Words' on his 1977 tour, it would have been difficult to believe that such a song would evolve into the sincere and melancholic Indigo.
Gabriel has cited Old Man River as inspiration and prototype for Indigo. Old Man River, written by Kern and Hammerstein for the musical Show Boat, is a similarly emotive song, though essentially a protest against the situation of negros in the late Nineteenth Century. On Indigo, Peter takes the basic template of Old Man River minus the protest (only to resurface later in Biko) and grafts the tumbling melody to a polished lyric filled with clever internal rhymes and poignant images.
After the exhilarating White Shadow, Indigo drags the listener back to a glum, but ultimately hopeful, reality. Indigo's character, an old man on his death bed, makes peace with his life in time for him to "cross the dark dark river" with the strange blend of sadness, joy and relief that an expected death inspires. It is not clear what inspired Gabriel to pen this song particularly whether personal experience may have informed the lyrics. The flood of emotions that pour out of Indigo suggest that this may indeed have been the case.
A tremendous double tracked piano sound dominates this song (obviously written on a piano) throughout. Animal Magic plods through its three and a half minutes without drawing much attention to itself musically. Between Roy Bittan's piano and Sid McGuinness's disco-style guitar riff there is very little happening of note. Peter has said this song is about virility and the politics of the battlefield and the bedroom. This seems a reasonably accurate reflection of lyrics that seem blurred somewhere between Big Time, Games Without Frontiers and Sledgehammer. That Animal Magic fails to reach the achievement of any of these other three songs is an indication of its muddiness. Peter has often stated that his goal in lyrics is to communicate well on many different levels and on this count Animal Magic falls very short of the mark. While nowhere near as woeful as Home Sweet Home, Animal Magic is merely half-baked and uninteresting. A good example that perhaps Gabriel's terminal procrastination does prevent us from hearing more of this.
Nowhere in the Peter Gabriel catalogue (save perhaps for the "quiet version" of Here Comes the Flood) has the influence of Robert Fripp been as evident as on the present track. The quickening pace of the opening guitar, the double tracked drums (tracked across the stereo spectrum to boost an already booming drum sound), but especially the overlapping glissandi of synthesiser and guitar: it is hardly surprising that Exposure's music is credited to Fripp/Gabriel on the record's sleeve. That Fripp chose this song as the title track of his solo record released around the same time as Peter Gabriel illustrates the esteem with which he placed it.
Gabriel's lyric consists mainly of the title repeated thus placing at the head of a series of Gabriel "semi-instrumentals" that includes Lead a Normal Life, Milgram's 37 and Fourteen Black Paintings. The rest of the lyric alludes to the notion that the "exposure" in question refers to paparrazi-style invasive journalism (the "space" in question being newspaper column inches). It seems likely though that Peter had several interpretations in mind when writing the lyrics. This seems to be a common element in the semi-instrumentals: the lyrics are left wide open to attach themselves to whatever framework the listener has in mind. That this is most likely deliberate will hardly surprise any Peter Gabriel fans.
Another piano-led song offers the last credible moment on Peter Gabriel. Peter's heavily delayed and reverbed vocal returns us to the themes explored in Mother of Violence. The difference here is that the narrator is now reaching out although who or what he is reaching out to is never defined. The first verse establishes the same immobile, negative disposition. With the last line "Something ugly's going to show" we are hinted that there is an angry and violent undercurrent beneath the lethargy. But the narrator doesn't lash out, instead he attempts to reach out. The pedal steel guitar added precisely at this moment contributes to the level of pathos. Then Gabriel delivers the key line: "Oh, flotsam still afloat/Oh, jetsam thrown out of the boat". He is only attempting to reach out, but we know that nothing will ever cvome of this. The questions the song raises are never resolved and we are left at the end with recorders repeating a short melody that ends on a suspended chord. Flotsam and Jetsam is a quietly dignified song that further explores depression from Mother of Violence and Indigo without resorting to melodrama or cliche. It breifly (in just 2.22) reminds us of the thematic undercurrent of the whole Peter Gabriel album, before is spins off wildly into bland oblivion.
The muted drum sound of this song is precisely what Gabriel will avoid at all costs on the following Peter Gabriel record. More than just a product of its time, Perspective is frankly annoying in its existing form. That's not to say that there are good elements to the song, only that the elements focused on here are the most irritating. The muffled soul-style backing vocals seem totally out of place in Perspective. Timmy Capello's sax solo deserves no mention. The piano's rock and roll style plinking also results in some serious contempt. However hidden underneath the rot is a genuinely funky bassline, two distorted guitars feeding off each other and an incredibly wild guitar solo (presumably Fripp) that would be startlingly effective if it was more audible. While the recording we find on Peter Gabriel is disappointing, Perspective is literally wating for the right remixer to emphasise the track's true potential.
Perspective is another lyrically slight song, again posisbly the product of the fast-no-fuss atmosphere of this record. Peter makes snide comments on religion, marriage, marketing and industry. Other references are lost in the translation. The chorus (of sorts) makes mention of Gaia, which raises a question for many Peter Gabriel fans. Who is Gaia (if that's her name)? Gaia (or more specifically the Gaia hypothesis) is defined as the Earth, regarded as a self-regulating system in which living matter collectively defines and maintains the conditions for the continuance of life. An interesting philosophy named after the Greek goddess of the Earth, Gaia has come to symbolise what is now also known as Mother Earth and has been adopted by everyone from environmentalists to lesbian groups to Wiccans. As a hippiesque philosophy, it is predictable that Gaia would appeal to Gabriel, so his take on the philosophy would make for interesting listening. Only it doesn't. Peter merely mentions Gaia in passing, using it as a pun (no less) as in "treat you like dirt". And this is the basis for criticism of the whole song. Perspective's lyrics actually seem to illustrate the repeated assertion, "I need perspective." There's not even any focus in this barrage of soundbites, let alone perspective.
The second Peter Gabriel record scales emotional and artistic heights rarely achieved in popular music. So why Peter chose to end such a remarkable record with this pointless country-flavoured dirge is beyond the knowledge of anyone at Plausible Publications. Home Sweet Home, particularly when coupled with the equally grating Perspective, adds up to the most disappointing finale of any Peter Gabriel record.
Each new element in Home Sweet Home multiplies the cringe factor exponentially. The pedal steel guitar and Timmy Capello's awful saxophone solo (so loud that it can actually frighten people on first listen) are especially sorry additions to an already uninteresting (frankly boring) chord structure. But if the music is trite, the lyrics are beyond appalling. The song is essentially picaresque, but the one vital ingredient missing is a point. Peter begins to tell a story (a tired and cliched one, but that in itself is forgivable), but its pointlessness and frankly daft ending leave more than a little to be desired. A man winds up in pretty crappy life with a woman he doesn't neccesarily love, they have a child, they run into some trouble and she and the kid top themselves by jumping out of a window. Sad? Absolutely, but surely a point is coming. Insurance money arrives and the man who has lost everything decides to blow the lot on a casino binge. Only he wins. End of story. Even the most subjective, rose-coloured perspective of Peter Gabriel's work must acknowledge this song as an anomaly and its no surprise that over twenty years later, Gabriel has not attempted another picaresque song.
The question must be asked: what the hell was he thinking? Perhaps the blame should be levelled at the 'single-take' philosophy. So often bad songs make it onto records through the sheer enthusiasm of the artist at the time (More Fool Me anyone?). Hindsight however quickly puts the songs back in their place. Thankfully the advent of programmable compact discs means the song can now exist only in name.
Written by Mercutio
while he had too much time
on his hands. Thankfully this has now been rectified.