Funky
Pyramid
By Harry Doherty
Alan Parsons, at the moment, remains both a nonentity and an enigma to
British audiences.
A man who doesn't play on his own albums. There's absolutely no
possibility of a live gig to support the album. I doubt if the radio
stations here will rush to spin the music. Yet already he's had two chart
albums in America. Fascinating, isn't it?
We can put all this down to one of two factors. The first is the
traditional Yankees' bad taste. They're so gullible there that they'll
buy anything. The second -- the one I choose to believe -- is that
Parsons has joined the elite party (Fleetwood Mac, Electric Light
Orchestra) that, for all their blatant quality, have been ignored in their
own country. Bearing in mind what happened with both ELO and Fleetwood
Mac, I don't have to tell you what to do.
But, please, don't buy "Pyramid" because you think the Americans are one
up on you. Buy it because you ARE missing something.
Buy it because in Alan Parsons and his immensely interesting projects, you
will find some of the best music in that field that you're ever likely to
find. And goddamn it, if that doesn't encourage you, buy it because it's
British, made in Britain by British musicians.
Having been a Parsons' Project fan since "Tales Of Mystery And
Imagination," his first album, I am completely open to his ideas. I
actually get off on a producer making an album as if it were a movie,
calling on the musicians that fit the parts.
"Pyramid," I'm told, is part of a trilogy and the last album, "I Robot,"
is in fact the third piece of the jigsaw. It is, by the way, pure
coincidence that science-fiction has become fashionable at the same time
as Parsons decided to cut a feature album on the very subject.
I'm not, however, completely engrossed by the theme. Like his other
albums, it's the music that grabbed me first. That there should be an
interesting plot is merely an added bonus.
Parsons once again brings his knowledge of the Beatles, Pink Floyd,
Cockney Rebel, Pilot and John Miles -- all of whom he has produced or
engineered -- to bear on his own work.
Hence on this album, you find a charming concoction of melody and
experimental sound and this contrast is no more apparent that on the
opening two tracks, "Voyager," an enchanting instrumental, and "What Goes
Up...," pure pop for future people.
Though there are various sources of derivation, however, it's in the music
as a whole that Parson's (sic) project establishes its own identity. The
songs are solid, notably on the first side, "Can't Take It With You,"
which features a blasting sax solo by some unknown player, unfortunately
not listed in the credits.
The second side is admirable mostly for two instrumentals on show. The
first, "In The Lap Of The Gods," starts life as a drowsy, hypnotic piece
before the spell is broken by a marching army of sound.
The second, "Hyper-Gamma-Spaces," is a more traditional disco-oriented
track but funkier by far than anything Space or Jean-Michael Jarre could
ever attempt. A tantalizing keyboard sweep through a constant riff.
All of this is played superbly by the musicians on hand and once more
illustrates the depth of talent belonging to that superb guitarist, Ian
Bairnson, and his Pilot sidekick, David Paton.
I might add one criticism that I would like to see Parsons go for more
individualistic performances on his next project. The singers, despite
their outstanding performances, are rather anonymous.
All the same, an excellent album from a brilliant motivator.
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