Published on Dec 14, 1999
Why is “classic” Genesis so seldom played on “classic rock”
radio? There exist numerous theories on that subject, but one of
the more commonly-heard ones is that they are keyboard-heavy and
guitar-light compared to the Zeppelins and Stoneses of the world.
And the common misperception (at least when it comes to Genesis) is
that keyboards are wimpy instruments that should be either in the
background or completely removed if a song is truly to “rock”.
The five records Genesis recorded from 1970 to 1974 are reason
enough to renounce that belief, but if one needs to be eased from
guitars into keyboards in baby steps, one should start from the
beginning with
Trespass.
Trespass was not actually their first album — that
distinction belongs to 1969’s oft-maligned
From Genesis To Revelation, a pastoral, string-heavy pop
record that isn’t as bad as many think it is, but is a far cry from
what this band would do shortly thereafter. Thrown into a cottage
in the woods and living together at the suggestion of their
producer, the lads from Charterhouse Boarding School, all barely 20
years old, survived close quarters, and out came six intense pieces
that sounded like nothing recorded since.
The stark, spare first verse to “Looking For Someone” opens the
album, and in extreme contrast to much of the frothiness of the
previous record, Peter Gabriel is “Trying to find a memory in a
darkroom” and “Lost in a subway.” The song launches ambitiously
into several tempo and mood changes — Anthony Phillips plays some
immaculate guitar that has more of a classical feel than most of
his rock contemporaries, partly for the purpose of making sure that
Anthony Banks’s organ playing is not relegated to the
background.
In the coda, Gabriel gets in on the act himself with some
amazing echoey flute that blends in perfectly. Short-lived drummer
John Mayhew has a more monotonic, less professional style than Phil
Collins (who would become the Genesis drummer a year later and the
singer six years later), but he certainly holds his own, especially
here, where he sounds equally controlled and manic. “White
Mountain” follows and is less accessible, but just as unique, a
mythical prog-rock tale with a swelling, King Crimson-esque
mellotron.
Fans of Gabriel’s more recent solo work will enjoy the
Phillips-penned “Visions Of Angels.” It’s actually the closest they
come to sounding like they did on the first album, but is still
leagues ahead. The organs and mellotrons are toned down to a piano
for the most part here, and Gabriel does some of his most soulful
and philisophic singing ever — “Some believe that when they die
they really live / I believe there never is an end.” It’ll be tough
to accept “Sledgehammer” as any sort of artistic statement after
listening to this.
Side two arrives, and with it “Stagnation,” excerpts of which
Genesis was still playing live on the
We Can’t Dance tour. The folksy first section includes an
as-yet-unduplicated mixing of classical guitar and keyboard into a
single sound that is so beautiful and simply indescribable. And
like “Looking For Someone,” the alternating sections of loud and
quiet, start and stop, work so well together; never do you wonder
“Is this still the same song?” Rather, the drawn-out final section
can’t go on long enough — the dramatic drumroll and off-key chaos
that finally brings this eight minute opus to an end has the feel
of the sad end of a performance that just makes you want more.
“Dusk,” at four minutes the shortest track on the album,
initially serves as little more than a head-clearing exercise for
what’s to come next, but it’s actually a very good song. Less
ambitious than the rest of the album, but still a distinguished,
spiritual acoustic number about a new beginning.
And then, in sharp contrast, comes “The Knife,” which closes out
the album with what is still the biggest bang in Genesis history.
It’s a monstrously heavy number, containing elements of British
Invasion hard rock a la Deep Purple or Uriah Heep. Even the lyrics
are heavier, speaking words of uprisings and revolutions on an
album otherwise chock full of introspection. And of course, there’s
yet another lengthy coda here, full of tempo changes and
intelligently-sequenced shifts from minor to major variations of
the same musical themes. The chorus- – “Some of you are going to
die / martyrs of course to the freedom that I shall provide”
returns at the end over a spine-tingling major seventh flourish,
and even the ensuing silence is deafening.
“The Knife” was clearly a live favorite for many years; it once
inspired Gabriel to fling himself into the crowd, resulting in a
broken leg, but in spite of that, the band continued to perform it,
often as an encore, well into the Collins era. In today’s world of
noisy rock, it’s surprising they haven’t resurrected it. But “The
Knife,” and
Trespass in general, is also the first indication of what
separated Genesis from other “art rock” of that era; the ability to
create a lengthy, multi-layered piece of music without losing sight
of the song at hand. Rather than filling up space with lengthy,
unmemorable solos, the 7 to 10 minute Genesis epics are filled with
notes that mean something, meticulous instrumental sections that
flow just as naturally as concise radio friendly songs.
On more complex later albums like
Foxtrot and
Selling England By The Pound, the Genesis without Phillips
but with Collins and Steve Hackett would eclipse even these highs,
but
Trespass has a spontaneous, innocent quality that they never
quite reached again. It’s the sound of a rapidly maturing rock
collective (early Genesis never separated songwriting credits in
their liner notes; “all songs written by Genesis” was the standard
copy) in its most fruitful period and hungry to be heard. If you’re
still a relative newcomer to early Genesis, it’s probably best to
start slightly later chronologically, but this is a logical next
step.