Published on Nov 13, 2002
1977 had to be a confusing time for Rick Wakeman. He was getting
back together with Yes, the band he had walked out on in 1974,
while the whole prog-rock scene was beginning to slide. Add into
this the difficulty he seemed to be facing coming up with
conceptual ideas – his previous effort,
No Earthly Connection, didn’t even come close to measuring
up to his best work – and the growing popularity of disco music,
and you could easily understand how everything Wakeman knew seemed
to be thrown into flux.
As a response to all this, Wakeman released
Criminal Record, a mostly instrumental album which brought
him back to the idea of writing simple pieces without as much
musical fanfare as some of his previous works. While it is a step
up from
No Earthly Connection, this disc (which has been long out of
print) seemed to suggest that Wakeman was having difficulty
deciding which direction he wanted to take his music.
Let’s start first with the fantastic song on this disc, “Birdman
Of Alcatraz”. Now, I admit I could be biased a bit since my first
exposure to this song was on the
Rick Wakeman In Concert 2000 DVD, but the original version
of this acoustic piano piece was just as impressive to my ears –
maybe more so, since it has a more earthy feel to it. Daring to
suggest a future as a new age musician, this track captures
Wakeman’s skill as a songwriter and as a musician perfectly – ah,
were there only more songs like this on the record!
Not quite in the same league, but not without its charms, is
“Judas Iscariot,” the disc’s closing 12-minute opus which tries to
tell the tale of the betrayer of Jesus Christ without the benefit
of words. While it’s a little slow at times, Wakeman does do a
wonderful job capturing the internal struggle that the one-time
apostle had to have felt when turning in Christ for 30 pieces of
silver. The desparation and guilt of the title character is given
life through Wakeman’s performance – and the tambourine acting as
the sound effect for the coins is amazingly powerful.
Regrettably, these are the sole standouts on
Criminal Record. The remaining four songs run the gamut from
acceptable to confusing – something I wasn’t expecting coming into
this album cold. Maybe it’s because I’ve been listening to so much
of Wakeman’s work over the past few months, but I had high
expectations going into songs like “Statue Of Justice” and “Crime
Of Passion”. Instead, what I heard was Wakeman struggling with what
musical direction to take these pieces. It was almost like Wakeman
felt as if he were a fish out of water not being able to lean on
one of his extended opuses, and he counters by trying to recapture
some of the feeling of earlier works such as
The Six Wives Of Henry VIII. Regrettably, he often comes up
short.
Sometimes, the problem is in the meandering keyboard lines, not
quite knowing how to resolve their musical identities. Sometimes,
it’s the sparseness of the arrangements – meaning it’s almost like
more was called for than was offered to the listener. Sometimes, as
on “The Breathalyser,” it’s wondering just how seriously we should
take the song – and how serious Wakeman was taking these
concepts.
This isn’t to say that these tracks are bad; indeed, there are
moments on “The Breathalyser” and “Chamber Of Horrors” which
suggest better things to come. But the bulk of these tracks just
don’t seem to reflect Wakeman’s best work, though it’s not for any
lack of trying. In the end,
Criminal Record was no felony commited against the listener,
but some of the songs warranted a written warning.