Published on Jan 25, 1999
Camel was formed in 1972, with the pivotal pair Andy Latimer
(guitar, flute, vocals) and Peter Bardens (keyboards) forming the
core of creativity. Doug Ferguson (later replaced by the excellent
Richard Sinclair) provided solid bass and the accomplished Andy
Ward, drums/percussion. The band’s third album,
The Snow Goose, came to my notice shortly after its release
and has since haunted me for some 20 years or more. I will go on
record as saying I love this album, just to get that out of the
way.
The Snow Goose is a concept album — concept albums either
plagued or graced that mid-seventies period, according to your
point of view, but any prejudices you may have learned against
these “self-indulgent” projects should not be applied in this case.
Based loosely upon a story of the same name by Paul Gallico (later
made into a film, I believe), the album is symphonic in nature, at
times accompanied by orchestral arrangements. Such a lofty idea can
as easily lend itself to overblown pomposity as to grandeur, but
the effect is balanced and consistent. Rock themes are interwoven
and married perfectly to the classical sound.
Originally released on vinyl (of course), the album should be
considered as one piece of music, although comprised of sixteen
“tracks.” Long years of listening on an LP have caused me to feel
the music as two halves of a whole, but a recent CD purchase is
thankfully banishing this artificial conception.
The piece is wholly instrumental (all vocals are a non-verbal
accompaniment). A quiet (“Has it started yet?”) introduction, “The
Great Marsh” produces a sense of anticipation which I feel could
have been made to last a dozen or so seconds longer. A repeating
heavenly choir sound with guitar flourishes and a simple keyboard
motif sets the scene for a crescendo that launches the listener
into “Rhayader”, a lovely flute-driven piece whose theme permeates
the album in several guises. The piano counterpoints here
exquisitely. Electric guitar and electric piano then combine to
re-examine the flautist’s work, with a reprise of the flute
following.
We are moved, with only the tiniest of jolts, into the next
passage, “Rhayader Goes To Town”. Bardens’ keys are clear and
concise, providing the backbone to simple but effective guitar work
by Latimer. Andy Ward’s drumming is exact and very pleasing. The
theme changes early on in this movement, leaving me to believe that
the naming of the “tracks” is a times a little irrelevant to what
is actually being played at the time. Bardens’ keyboard effects at
this point of the proceedings seem a little dated now, but are in
no way offensive. R & B seems to have been mixed in here to
provide the excuse for a pleasant, if limited, guitar lead. I hear
echoes of Gary Moore – shame really, as I am not a fan of his.
Anyway, this track is one of the two longest on the album, a shade
over 5 minutes, but as I say, track structure seem somewhat
arbitrary.
“Sanctuary” is a song featuring electric guitar with Spanish
acoustic guitar overlay, a sort of moment of calm between slightly
busier pieces. We then find ourselves falling gracefully into
“Fritha,” with its plaintive, dual-textured synthesiser melody and
acoustic guitar. You find yourself whistling this for weeks on
end.
“The Snow Goose” then marches into view, electric guitar and
Hammond organ providing the introduction which moves into a laid
back piece of back beat rock, a tune repeated and reprised
throughout the album. I get a little impatient during this song,
waiting for the more challenging pieces.
The all too short “Friendship” follows, a gorgeously classical
moment featuring (I believe) oboe and bassoon (correct me if I am
wrong). A simple repeating theme and a real highlight, it segues
into the slightly urgent piece “Migration,” featuring the rare
vocals (not lyrics) that provide the lead theme. I resist most
strenuously any suggestion of “cheese” at this point. We fade into
“Rhayader Alone,” a quiet re-working of the earlier “Rhayader”
track. My consciousness insists on remembering this as the end of
Side One, when one can normally take a breather before flipping
over to side Two. No rest for the wicked, though because, hold onto
your hats…
… it’s “Flight Of The Snow Goose”. A long electric guitar
intro consisting of a repeated motif is suddenly pierced by a
crashing fuzz guitar and truly excellent cymbal work by the
under-rated Ward. Bardens takes up the charge with a synth sporting
the then-trendy decay and squelch setting, then back to Latimer to
wind it all back down. This track is very powerful, and raises the
hairs on your arms even on repeated listenings. Things settle down
just in time for the introspective “Preparation,” with its soothing
acoustic guitar and flute, subsequently accompanied by further
woodwind input. An ooh-aooh vocal theme lends a ghostly feel to the
proceedings. Additionally, a synth sound wends its way into the mix
which is somewhat reminiscent of
Raindance by Gryphon, an album I reviewed recently here on
the Vault.
“Dunkirk” is the longest track by reference to the listing. As
the name suggests, there is a slightly martial air to this song,
even before the brass section cuts in. The song is something
between a march (suggested by the snare drum) and a fugue. It isn’t
my favourite on the album, despite the dramatic touches, urgent
drumming and mixture and turnover of leads — guitar, synth, organ
and brass.
We are then treated to “Epitaph,” which picks out the theme from
“Preparation” earlier. Nice cymbal effects from Ward, I’m always a
sucker for that sort of thing. The tolling of a bell suggests a sad
ending to I don’t know what! Probably the demise of a snow goose in
the book. This feeling is reinforced by the next song, a truly
lovely piano piece by the name of “Fritha Alone,” which directly
reprises the synthesiser from “Fritha”.
Having wiped a tear from our eye following “Fritha Alone,” the
rousing and wonderful “La Princesse Perdue” lifts us and takes us
aloft with its update of “The Flight Of The Snow Goose”. Keyboard
flourishes show off Bardens’ sure touch and somehow Ward again
makes us very aware of his talent. “The Snow Goose” is also
reprised and we are carried away by a the resolution of earlier
melodies. This is an excellent overture and re-working of previous
ideas on the album.
Finally, we bid a ghostly, ethereal farewell to the Snow Goose
in the form of “The Great Marsh” — before immediately starting it
off again, pressing play on the CD player.
Reviewing this album impartially is difficult for me — I am
involved with it in many ways and have a fondness for it that is
substantially, but not totally accounted for by what I deem to be
brilliant composition and wonderful performances. There may be
allegations of cheesiness whose veracity may have some basis in
fact. My subjective view? See the grade below.
As if all this weren’t enough, let me tell you this — the
studio version of
The Snow Goose is brilliant, but it is not as good as that
featured on the 1978 live release,
A Live Record. Good luck finding that one.