Published on Jan 15, 2002
Every so often, an album comes along that manages to fuse
multiple different styles in a new and interesting way, creating
music that is both interesting and stylistically unique.
This album is, sadly, not at all like that.
If anything, this album is a collection of random solos that
speak with no voice, lyrics that sound stupid at best, and an
overblown cast that looks for quality in quantity.
This “supergroup” (and I use that term lightly) is the
brainchild of Trent Gardner, the man described by Magna Carta as
the messiah of Progressive Rock. It’s a long-winded attempt at a
concept album describing humanity, and our efforts in life to
expand beyond our capabilities. Or something. It’s pretty standard
fare – lots of vague descriptions of our uselessness as a race, and
our various failures with our collective lives. The lyrics,
however, are usually just vehicles for the vocalists, none of whom
are in prime form here. James LaBrie, the vocalist from Dream
Theater, sounds like he’s doing an impression of himself.
The first track is sixteen minutes long – about twice as long as
it needs to be. According to the booklet, which highlights just
about every single solo (which says something about the focus of
the album right there) John Petrucci has five guitar solos in the
first song alone. What the hell? Petrucci, also of Dream Theater,
is faster than a rabbit after the first date – but so very
uninspired in this context. Five solos? Five
notated solos? Why, oh why, are we given solo after solo?
This is progressive rock! It’s supposed to be about playing
together, sticking out when you shine, not every thirty seconds! To
Petrucci’s credit, however, the second to last solo is pretty good
– it evokes the feeling of the lyrics, if it is a bit overshadows
by Gardner’s keys at the very end.
The second track, “Fading Fast,” starts out quite nicely. It’s
very atmospheric, with some acoustic guitar and very Pink Floyd-ish
keys. A sudden shift in style brings us further into the jungle
style – which is quite interesting. The feeling is very clear of
being in a dense, tropical location. The Wakeman-esque soloing that
follows is rather good, if a bit extended and pompous. Yet again,
however, we’re given a Petrucci solo, which has little to nothing
to do with the music that precedes it or the atmosphere it
occupies. Another distinct shift brings us whining vocal delivery
of lyrics that seem cut-and-pasted from the cutting room floor of
“A Pleasant Shade Of Gray.” The background music sounds like a Phil
Collins song, until Petrucci comes in
yet again. This succeeds in drawing out the song further –
until every last musical idea is squeezed from the turnip that is
this album. To be fair, it does pick up a bit in the last few
moments, but that hardly saves the song.
A deft segue slips us into “No Returning” which features James
LaBrie as the vocalist. The switches between styles get a bit more
interesting here, but they continue to be drawn out far beyond the
stretch of the musical idea – and we’re given more and more solos
by Petrucci and Gardner, which start to sound the same after a
while. The flute solos by Michael Bemesderfer is quite good, which
manages to bring back my interest after about four minutes of
extended self-indulgence. LaBrie’s vocals sound hollow and empty,
and he doesn’t bring anything to the consistently weak lyrics.
The fourth track (“Time Enough”) starts out promisingly, with
drum rolls and foreboding piano. Petrucci’s solo is actually quite
good here, a slow, deliberate feel to it – even when he trills, he
sounds like he means it. We return to the jungle right away,
underneath the first vocals I actually like. D.C. Cooper brings an
earnestness to the words, and his delivery is excellent. James
Murphy solos on guitar early on, and his tone is unmistakably
similar to that of Petrucci’s – it caught me on the first time and
I had to go back and relisten. The rest of the track is passable,
with Trent Gardner picking up the trombone and playing his heart
out at one point, and Steve Howe licking at his guitar at another,
but the music is, again, just a bunch of solos strung together by
complicated vamps. There is no common vibe between the players, no
thread of inspiration that runs through the music. The closest it
gets to this is in the last few minutes, when the piano is played
ferociously, but still the rest of the players don’t pick it up and
run.
The fifth and final track, “Last Call,” sounds very similar at
first to earlier themes – the heavy riff and vocal delivery. It
fails to deliver yet again, until the very ending – when Petrucci
solos to the outro. The vocals at the end are banal at best, but
the guitar is at least intriguing.
This album is utterly unsatisfying, and only one member of the
“supergroup” manages to perform to his best, and that one member is
Terry Bozzio. He saves this album from the garbage bin by playing
outstanding, integrated and essential rhythms. The way he attacks
those drums makes my arms tired just listening – at every moment
that he is playing, there is at least one interesting sound and
idea being presented. The skill and grace with which he plays is
unmatched by Gardner, Sherinian, Howe, and even Petrucci. The very
end of the disc is a particular treat to listen to – in the
booklet, it lists that section as “Bozzio Goes Wild.” How very
appropriate.
This CD is one of the most sad pieces of music I have ever
listened to. The talent that is present is clear through the
glimpses we get of it occasionally, but never is it used to its
full potential. Don’t buy this CD. Go out and grab
Scenes From A Memory or either Bozzio Levin Stevens disc or
Planet X or
Relayer or one of a million other, wonderful musical
endeavors. This CD is not bad; it’s just misguided. And as such,
it’s far more depressing than any number of “terrible” CDs.