Electric Light Orchestra – ELO 2 (1973)
It’s very me to pick the obscure, dense, impenetrable early Prog effort to represent a legendary mega-successful all-time pop act. But it’s not merely because I’m automatically more Prog-leaning. I continue to passionately feel that this is the most consistently excellent, powerful album Jeff Lynne’s rock meets classical supergroup ever made. There were higher peaks later on, but also, as is the nature of albums full of pop hits, always some more meandering filler. But this ambitious, cacophonous wild ride of an album is five fully fledged, occasionally beautiful, pccasionally raucous, always interesting and varied long-form pieces.
There are two more pretty, brooding, slow soothing pieces in Momma and Kuiama, which given they’re the two weakest, are fairly fantastic, showcasing Lynne’s mastery of tender melody (even if his own voice yet to fully blossom) and giving all the many sonic vagaries of such a big, grand band room to express themselves and develop. But the more frantic trio are really where this virtuosic and fundamentally rock ‘n’ roll band really dominates, on a ferocious yet very different pair of ‘Boogies’, and the album’s most enduring classic piece, a triumphant galloping rendition of Chuck Berry’s Roll Over Beethoven laced with snippets of Symphony No.5 itself.
Highlights: In Old England Town (Boogie No.2), Roll Over Beethoven, To The Sun and the Moon (Boogie No.1)
Greatest Moment: Extra hard to pick on this album for some reason. It’s so consistent, professional but cold and without an obvious shivers down the back moment. Either the very first notes of the whole album, and the immediate warning its sending of the ass-kicking to come, the way the orchestra then band kick in one after the other in Beethoven’s long, tense intro, or any of the spectacular dynamic changes in To The Sun and the Moon
King Crimson – Lark’s Tongues In Aspic (1973)
Can you believe this album is from 1973? King Crimson is always ahead of, or perhaps rather, divorced from its time. But the sudden step they and Prog music in general took here is easy to overlook in the fullness of time. On the one hand, it is another of these bonus albums unlucky to narrowly miss the final 52, on the other (but rather related) hand, few albums do more over-stimulating, over-heavy, cacophonous discordant damage to my mum’s cerebral cortex than this. It is just so so heavy, but also so unrelentingly unpredictably weird and original. Just imagine putting on such a landmark influential heavy album for your metalhead friend and getting six minutes of jangling percussion, tinny ringing and then a long solo violin sequence.
The varied mightiness of the bookending title tracks define the album. Part 1 is an avant-garde whirlwind of all kinds of percussive craziness and David Cross violin work, breaking occasionally, slowly, after maximum tension and build-up, into the heaviest riffage yet seen. Part 2 then redefines the standard again, with seven of the most ferociously savage minutes of perfect, punchy, intelligent, time-shifting pure metal imaginable. In between, the journey winds through the spectrum of sounds and emotions. Side A has the tender, lilting prettiness of Book of Saturday and the disquieting beauty in darkness emanating from the ghostly Exiles. Easy Money is some much needed levity and directness, but still dripping in self-assured cool, spiky energy, then The Talking Drum is a mad jazz funk bolero, building to a discordant peak that gives way to the ultimate dazzling metal denouement of Part 2.
Highlights: Lark’s Tongues In Aspic Part 1, Book Of Saturday, Easy Money, Lark’s Tongues In Aspic Part 2
Greatest Moment: Anything from Part 2, probably the huge simple breakdown mid-track where a long jam sequence ends on Bruford’s simple, powerful, one-of-a-kind snare sound, before everything stops and the heaviest all-time riff cuts back in, alternating with bass and drum duo power. TIME SEQUENCE. Or maybe it’s the way Part 1 builds to its crescendoes before breaking down into their own peak ferociousness?
Led Zeppelin – Houses Of The Holy (1973)
An output as consistent and legendary as Led Zeppelin is very difficult to choose from when it comes to whatever position in the hierarchy we’re talking about here, for the single-representation bonus round (how many come ahead in the Top 52? You’ll have to wait and see!) But I certainly have a soft spot for this album beyond some others that are often talked about more in critical circles. The reason in the end is simple. There may not be any 20 minutes anywhere in the Led Zeppelin discography as perfect as the melodic, powerful, virtuosic, Progressive peak of the first two minutes. The sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll blues band truly had evolved fully by now and were making sophisticated rock music at the absolute zenith of all recorded works. The opening pair in particular represent something special for people of my musical ilk. From the very opening seconds, The Song Remains The Same is new and different, jangling into almost Yes-like territory. Yeah, Plant’s vocals are basically awful, but is musically it’s the closest they ever got to a bonafide Prog band (in every good sense of the term). The Rain Song transcends all genres though, into a place of utter reverence. Maybe my all time favourite Led Zeppelin songs, it is seven minutes of astonishing Mellotron-washed beauty, with a Stairway-like structure of long acoustic sequence giving way to tension-releasing rock delirium.
There’s still the small matter of the spindly, perversely catchy semi-hit Over The Hills and Far Away, and the album’s most adored masterpiece No Quarter. The other four tracks are of course much maligned, but at least in two of those cases, unfairly, for D’Yer Ma’k’er is fabulously listenable fun and The Ocean sees the Page-Bonham massive riff, even more monstrous drum part double-trouble on as good as form as ever.
Highlights: The Song Remains The Same, The Rain Song, Over The Hills And Far Away, No Quarter, The Ocean
Greatest Moment: Every single gorgeous second of The Rain Song, particularly the first down-strum at the end of the opening verse which brings in the first wash of mellotron from John Paul Jones, and the off-kilter but somehow perfect for the mood jazzy triplet entry with whim Bonham begins to tease the final triumphant section to come.
Elton John – Goodbye Yellow Brick Road (1973)
Make no mistake. This is a serious classic, with as many iconic single tracks as any great album. But it is often a frustrating deal to listen to and to consider for review/ranking purposes. Nothing at all is bad, in fact it is a perfect microcosm of the relentless consistency of Elton John’s polish across decades of prolific work. But it does struggle to retain the attention across Sides 3 and 4, where every track does have some thankful unique variety about it, but somehow ends up samey as they share that similar slightly plodding and unmelodious feel Elton can be capable of. Sometimes, though I’m not sure how I’d structure it, I so wish this could be a single album, for it would be one of the all-time great conventional 45 minute records. Roughly half this album (the first half) is magnificent, both as the greatest sequence of famous Elton songs of all time, but just on any level, as serious, sophisticated, critically and commercially friendly, high quality pop rock.
Side A has the holy trinity of Elton’s proggiest ten minute tome to open things up, his sombre standard Candle In The Wind, and the album’s greatest masterpiece, Bennie and the Jets, which brings such a driving, energy to its perversely powerful plod live that any studio attempts to recreate it were deemed wisely moot for the purposes of this record. Side B then has the soaring title track and a pair of underrated gems, the folksy This Song Has No Title and the joyfully exuberant rocker Grey Seal. That both are laced with effective and tasteful dollops of mellotron while being two such favourites is eminently predictable of me. The rest of the album doesn’t so much vary, it’s all great, as it does fade into one mass other than the standout party classic Saturday Night. Each recent listen has felt more satisfying and coherent than the last, but I still can’t, even only a week or so removed from a spin, tell you much about the rest which unfortunately does still say something. But listen to the tracks and give them a chance, as I clearly need to still.
Highlights: Funeral For A Friend, Bennie And The Jets, Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, This Song Has No Title, Grey Seal, etc
Greatest Moment: The first ominous, encroaching chords of Bennie and the Jets pounding their way at you like some great anthropomorphised piano monster.
Abba – Waterloo (1974)
My Abba journey is a hilarious and I sense, far from solo one. As a child I felt somehow stubbornly obliged to hate them, as the default and overplayed favourite of my mum. Their iconic position as one of history’s great supposed cheap, bubblegum, pure pop bands, only served to alienate me further in my more pretentious teenage years. But as I’ve mellowed with age, opened my ears, benefited from the extreme familiarity I have with the music, and learned to appreciate and bond with my mother over this shared passion, I understand and value not just the undeniable professional pop quality of their well-crafted little gems, but the bonafide chops of Benny and Bjorn in particular as writers and players.
Though a couple of the later albums are patchier, any Abba album can fulfil their deserved qualification spot on this list. But I’ve gone early for Waterloo because I’m always gonna be a rock ‘n’ roll guy and so much of this album is just solid, punchy, very 1974 sounding crisp rock. Side A is a fun, varied, hop around genres, through pure pop, some funkier material, lighter folk and the closest thing they got to tacky comedy rock. But Side B is the reason why Waterloo will always be peak Abba for me. It is a perfect run of maybe the very best examples of pretty much everything they ever did well. Honey Honey is as quintessentially simple, lovely, light but melodically gorgeous as any early hit. Watch Out is as hard as they ever rocked. What About Livingstone and Gonna Sing You My Lovesong capture young Benny and Bjorn still at their most experimental, pushing their sonic boundaries with exciting panache, as moog, mellotron, and brilliantly stark dynamics abound. The quasi-closer Suzy Hang-Around (Waterloo strictly opens and closes the album, in Swedish and English versions) represents Bjorn’s only lead oval ever, and you can tell, but in a good way. His earnest, naive, sweet voice fits perfectly with Benny’s stirring harpsicord arpeggio. Unquestionably a pop masterpiece. Highlights: Waterloo, Honey Honey, Watch Out, What About Livingstone, Gonna Sing You My Lovesong, Suzy Hang-Around
Greatest Moment: The monumental sonic textures layered on Gonna Sing You My Lovesong, particularly as the verses crescendo into the huge mellotron-tinged choruses. It’s the most truly choral, spacious, genuinely epic sound they, or any band so supposedly rooted in traditional pop, would ever achieve, and it is beautiful.
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