Moody Blues - Days of Future Passed

Bands like Move, Traffic and Moody Blues showed that you didn't necessarily have to come from Liverpool to be successful
(Ozzy Osbourne)

We thought the goal of our music was to reach the head and the heart, rather than the groin. The Stones aimed for vulgarity. But you always have to find a balance. "The Other Side Of Life" was actually an attempt to be vulgar
(Graeme Edge)

We were pretty good friends with the guys in Beatles. They came to our house with their ‘Sgt. Pepper's‘, and when we finished ‘Days Of Future Passed’ we needed their opinion. They listened to our record and were impressed. I mean, Sgt. Pepper's was a bit thrown together, while Days Of Future Passed I think was more of a concept album.
(Ray Thomas)

Birmingham Skiffle

The story of the Moody Blues begins with an R&B outfit in early-1960s Birmingham. In the UK, a musical genre of murky origins dominates the scene, driving guitar sales into the hands of kids ready to do anything to get up and perform in public. By the late 1950s, it's estimated that between 30,000 and 50,000 British bands had caught the skiffle bug, a form of folk music drawing on influences from blues, country and bluegrass. Skiffle traces its roots back to African-American communities, spreading through the southern regions via improvised instruments like the banjo or the cigar-box guitar. Having faded out in the 1940s, skiffle roared back to life on the other side of the Atlantic thanks to the new English jazz and swing scene, but above all to Lonnie Donegan and his sped-up version of Lead Belly's "Rock Island Line", an extraordinary hit in 1956. Donegan - also known as the king of skiffle - broke the dam, unleashing a flood of kids determined to start a band, without even needing to worry about technical skill or virtuosity. Skiffle is a popular, democratic genre, playable by anyone. From the glittering coffee bars of Soho to the more industrial Liverpool, skiffle groups were everywhere - so many, in fact, that it's frankly impossible to tell which of them would go on to become famous worldwide. Perhaps the Quarrymen, led by sixteen-year-old John Lennon? Or the Rattlesnakes, fronted by Barry Gibb? Or the oddball El Riot & the Rebels, from Birmingham?

Birmingham, like the rest of the UK, has returned to a peaceful, relaxed existence after the recent post-war tensions with the Soviet Union alongside NATO. By the mid-1950s, Albion's teenagers are immersed head to toe in the new sound arriving from the States. Born under the bombs in the emergency ward of the small hospital in Stourport, Worcestershire, seventeen-year-old Raymond Thomas has been playing harmonica for several years, the son of a music-loving Welsh miner. Having left school at the age of 14, Ray loves singing in the Birmingham Youth Choir, determined to form a band after some experience in local blues and soul outfits. Thanks to his grandfather's inheritance, he takes up the flute, broadening his instrumental skills in order to found the group El Riot and the Rebels, alongside his friend John Lodge. Not yet fifteen, John Charles Lodge is a far more studious kid than "El Riot", though the two share an unbridled passion for the music of Buddy Holly and Jerry Lee Lewis, the killer of rock'n'roll. There's an electric atmosphere in Birmingham, and not just because of the end of socio-political tensions: hundreds of kids like Ray and John spend hours between schools and youth clubs hoping to get noticed with their own music, not even all that convinced they can really make it. Destined to live off music for the rest of their lives and sell over 70 million records worldwide.
Swept up in American sound, Birmingham is teeming with fledgling bands. There are Danny King & the Dukes, featuring bassist Clint Warwick (born Albert Eccles), then Gerry Levine & the Avengers with seventeen-year-old Graeme Charles Edge on drums. And then there are Denny & the Diplomats, formed by singer and guitarist Denny Laine, shaped by gypsy jazz and his mentor Django Reinhardt. Countless English kids were utterly electrified by American rock'n'roll, from Elvis to Little Richard. United by a single goal: to play in front of an audience, like in the pubs where El Riot and the Rebels perform to an ever-growing following. Also drawing on Mexican tradition for their look, El Riot and the Rebels begin playing outside Birmingham too, rivalling the city's top band, Denny Laine's Diplomats.
It's the beginning of 1963 when the group is joined by Michael Thomas Pinder, just past twenty, a native of the Erdington suburb. Mike plays keyboards, having temporarily stepped away from music to follow in his father's footsteps and enlist in the British Army. At the camp in Germany, Pinder tinkers on the organ on Sundays, playing hymns for the rest of the troop, before being struck by the Beatles when they release the single "Love Me Do" in 1962. Mike decides to return home, getting discharged over a foot problem, ready to throw himself headlong into his hometown's varied youth scene.

In spring 1963, John Lodge decides to temporarily step away from band life to focus on his studies and earn an engineering degree, prompting Thomas and Pinder to form a new project: the Krew Kats. The two follow in the Beatles' footsteps by moving to buzzing Hamburg, seeking their fortune in famous venues like the Ten Club. Genuine marathons of five shows a day for over a month, alongside a couple of German musicians they don't get on with at all. The adventure is short-lived and unlucky: their permits end up revoked, forcing Ray and Mike to hitchhike toward Belgium in an attempt to get home. Back in England, they reflect on the problems they faced and realise it's time to get serious with proper musicians. While Birmingham dreams of being the next big thing after Merseyside, Thomas and Pinder convince Denny Laine, who doesn't want to head to Germany with the Diplomats and, more importantly, is willing to shift toward a more blues-oriented sound. Drummer Graeme Edge joins from the Avengers, while Lodge's university studies force the search for a bassist, settled upon in Albert Eccles, who has recently decided to change his name to Clint Warwick as a tribute to his favourite singer, Dionne, as well as to Western actor Clint Walker.

It's the late spring of 1964 when the Birmingham lads decide to move to London to go all in. Their first attempt to get sponsorship from the local brewery and pub chain Mitchells & Butlers Brewery falls through, which is why the name they'd initially chosen - not coincidentally, M & B Five - morphs into the smoother-sounding Moody Blues. A huge fan of Duke Ellington, Mike Pinder is fascinated by the track "Mood Indigo", and more broadly by the way Ellington's music can shape a listener's mood. And then there's the blues, a genre particularly beloved by Laine, who listens to Sonny Boy Williamson and Memphis Slim. The band christens itself to conquer London: it will be The Moody Blues Five.

N. 1 in England, Immediate Smash in U.S.A!

Anthony Michael Secunda, known as Tony, is a marketing genius applied to the music business, a native of Epsom, Surrey. A fresh-faced twenty-four-year-old, he has plenty of friends among musicians, managers and record producers, chief among them Alex Wharton - also known as Alex Murray - who started his career as a singer alongside Mickie Most in the duo The Most Brothers. Residents of the famous 2i's Coffee Bar in Soho, the Most Brothers recorded for Decca in 1957, before an early break-up the following year. Having reinvented himself as an actor in stage shows and small films, Murray became the youngest producer in the whole of the UK to work for a record label, Decca Records, in 1961. After placing several singles on the charts, as if fated for it, he found himself on a collision course with some Decca executives over the non-release of a single by English singer Matt Monro, subsequently put out by Parlophone and immediately reaching number 3 on the British singles chart. Returning from a trip to South Africa, and encouraged by his friend Most, he founded Ridgepride, his own production company, where he'd have full control.
When they go to see The Moody Blues Five live, hearing their mix of R&B and rock'n'roll, Secunda and Murray don't think twice: the group simply has to record a first single with them. Tony will act as manager, while Murray will handle the studio work, securing the band a string of shows at the ever-packed Marquee Club. Used to the big names of the era, one night the London audience finds itself watching a strange quintet of sideburned lads from Birmingham up on stage, playing the blues alongside the legendary harmonica of Sonny Boy Williamson. It's a spark that will lead the Moodies - as they're nicknamed by their ever-growing legion of fans - to move permanently to London, into a flat in Wolverhampton, and sign their first contract with Ridgepride. Euphoria runs high, the lads immersed in the capital's vibrant life amid one wild party after another, in the company of other groups like the Beatles and the Animals.
With no studio experience whatsoever, the Moodies record their first single for Decca, the languid R&B number "Steal Your Heart Away", from the repertoire of American bluesman Bobby Parker. For the B-side, they choose the original beat number "Lose Your Money (But Don't Lose Your Mind)", credited to Laine/Pinder. Released in September 1964, the record proves a commercial flop, immediately denting Murray's reputation as a hitmaker. But it's only a matter of time - just two months, in fact. In November, the Moody Blues try again with "Go Now", another cover from across the pond - originally by singer Bessie Banks - loaded with explosive gospel fervour. Pinder's hammering piano underpins perfect vocal harmonies led by Laine's soulful tones, driving English audiences wild and pushing the single to number one, helped along by heavy TV promotion via a promo film made by Murray himself.
As an ad in Billboard puts it, "Go Now" is England's number-one single, poised to smash in the United States too, where it reaches number 10 on the London label. It looks like the dawn of a great sonic adventure, but a sudden bolt of lightning tears through the calm: Pinder calls Ridgepride for an explanation over missing earnings from the success of "Go Now", only to find the line disconnected. The group heads to Murray's offices, only to find them completely empty. The harsh truth soon becomes clear: buried in debt, the company has gone bust, management vanished into thin air with all the single's proceeds. It's a major problem, not just because of the missing money, but above all because the band's contract is with Ridgepride, not directly with Decca. The only viable solution is to appear before Edward Lewis, boss of the English label, to ask him to let them sign a direct deal. Riding the wave of "Go Now"'s success, Lewis agrees, pushing the label to immediately capitalise on the single's momentum. The new 45, "I Don't Want to Go On Without You", a doo-wop-flavoured cover of the Drifters, is released. The track fails to repeat the success of "Go Now", stalling at number 33 in February 1965, later criticised by the band themselves as a rush job imposed by Decca.

The EP The Moody Blues is indeed released in the spring, containing the four singles put out so far. The group tours extensively, expanding its audience across the UK, even opening for their friends the Beatles' final tour in front of thousands of screaming teenagers. In May 1965, the new single "From The Bottom Of My Heart (I Love You)" is released, with new producer Dennis Cordell-Lavarack, of Argentine descent. Blending barrelhouse-tinged western atmospheres with bluesy vocal touches, the track fares better than its predecessor, climbing the English chart up to number 22. Notably, the frantic ending features Ray Thomas's first outing on flute, an instrument he should already have played on the much-criticised "I Don't Want To Go On Without You".

In the summer of 1965 comes the long-awaited release of the debut album, The Magnificent Moodies. The term "magnificent" is lifted from a review in the Daily Mail, printed on the back cover alongside a short poem written by Donovan in support of the band. Heavily influenced by American sound, the album opens with a cover of James Brown's "I'll Go Crazy", straddling gospel, soul and beat. Led by Laine's warm voice, the Moodies range from the R&B sound of "Something You Got" (Chris Kenner) to more soulful textures like the romantic "Can't Nobody Love You". Mike Pinder takes centre stage with voice and piano on the languid "I Don't Mind", again from Brown's catalogue, while Ray Thomas's flute softens the loose-limbed blues of "I've Got A Dream".
As mentioned, the Moody Blues are a typical live band, still lacking much experience in the recording studio. That's why the debut album is, unsurprisingly, packed with covers, starting with the hit "Go Now!" through to Thomas's hypnotic, honeyed vocal on George and Ira Gershwin's "It Ain't Necessarily So". This was standard practice for many groups in the mid-1960s, but the Moodies do manage to slip in a few original numbers too: the pianistic waltz "Let Me Go", the syncopated stride of "Stop" and the typically American soul of "Thank You Baby". Nothing revolutionary, rather standard fare for groups chasing the Merseybeat wave in the Fab Four's wake. But Laine and co. show real command of their instruments, as on the raw, unleashed blues of "Bye Bye Bird" (Sonny Boy Williamson).

Ave, Mellotron!

After the extraordinary success of "Go, Now!", the album The Magnificent Moodies fails to make a dent in the charts, as does the follow-up single "Everyday", another soul-and-R&B number that barely scrapes into the bottom of the Top 50. But by the end of 1965, "Bye Bye Bird" reaches number three in France, further boosting the international audience already growing in the States. Straddling 1965 and 1966, a first North American tour kicks off, organised by new manager Brian Epstein. The group's relentless pace soon becomes unsustainable for bassist Clint Warwick, who wants to stay close to his family and decides to retire from the music circuit in the summer of 1966. But what really sends the Moodies into a panic is Denny Laine's departure a few months later, already tired of the musical direction the band had taken and eager to explore new musical opportunities - the most significant of which would be offered to him years later by Paul McCartney in Wings. While the band is falling apart - Epstein, too, will abandon management duties by year's end - Decca releases the single "Boulevard de la Madeleine", a Parisian waltz driven by piano and accordion. The more conventional, wailing beat number "This Is My House (But Nobody Calls)" is chosen as the B-side.
Down to just three members of the original line-up, Thomas, Edge and Pinder decide to bring back bassist John Lodge, who has by now finished his studies in the autumn of 1966. With Lodge recruited, the most important piece still needs replacing: Laine. Thomas turns to his friend Eric Burdon, who at that moment is putting together a new line-up of the Animals. Burdon hands Ray a stack of already-vetted applications, from which emerges the name David Justin Hayward, a native of Swindon, Wiltshire. Justin has just turned twenty, nicknamed "legs" for his height, smitten with his Gibson 335 and already a veteran of various bands since 1960. A Buddy Holly devotee, Hayward had become tied to the king of skiffle, Lonnie Donegan, through an eight-year contract as a co-writer of his songs. His most important experience had been with singer and guitarist Marty Wilde, having answered an audition call through an ad in Melody Maker. When he makes phone contact with Pinder about possibly joining the Moody Blues, Hayward travels to London and gets into a car with Mike himself to let him hear his single "Day Must Come, London Is Behind Me", a captivating blend of western atmospheres and bright country-pop vocals. Pinder is instantly convinced of his talent, deciding to bring him into the Moodies before even introducing him to the others.

Fresh off their new line-up, the Moody Blues spend a few months performing in Belgium, where their recent singles have won over local audiences and climbed the charts. They return home in early 1967, only to discover, bitterly, that the success of "Go, Now!" is now a distant memory. The rise of new musical trends has upended the tastes of British youth, between the hard rock of Cream and Jimi Hendrix and the Beatles' new forays into psychedelia. Nobody wants to hear the Moodies' scruffy R&B anymore, and lacking new releases, they struggle to find gigs to play live. Forced to play the cabaret circuit, one night they have a wholly unexpected run-in with a fan, who shows up backstage not for the usual autographs, but to hurl heavy insults at them. "You were rubbish, your music is garbage." Stunned, the five of them find themselves reflecting on what just happened: the kid has a point - they can't keep playing soul or blues covers, especially without Laine, who was perfect for that sound - they need to make the most of their two new members and reinvent themselves, experimenting with something new.

The Moody Blues find themselves back in the studio with the determination of a band absolutely set on recording new material. Pinder has some material already tried out with Laine, to be worked on in stereo for the first time, but above all to be entrusted to the skilled hands of Tony Clarke. Born in Coventry in 1941, Anthony Ralph Clarke started out, like everyone else, in the late 1950s as a musician in a skiffle band, before going on to work at Decca Records, first as a session man and then as a promoter. In 1964 he moved to the record production department under Dick Rowe, deepening his understanding of sound techniques, drawing in particular on symphonic and liturgical material. It's spring 1967 when Clarke - later known as "the sixth Moody Blues" - begins working with Pinder and co., starting from a single written by Hayward, an engaging blend of acoustic folk and early psychedelic touches. The sinuous clapping of "Fly Me High" overturns the band's old R&B rhythms, just as doo-wop beats and Beach Boys-style vocals get an update via Pinder's hammering piano on the B-side "Really Haven't Got the Time".
The band's studio work continues down the path of psychedelia, even more evident on the following single "Love And Beauty", released in September. Amid celestial vocal harmonies and fluid rhythms, the track doesn't storm the charts but marks a turning point for the group, introducing for the first time the Mellotron played by Mike Pinder. It's the keyboardist himself who pushes for the instrument's adoption, having briefly worked, before joining the Moodies, for the company that distributed the very first Mk I model. But in the early 1960s, Pinder can't afford an instrument that (in today's money) would cost over £20,000 - something he's finally able to do by the end of 1967, when the Mellotron becomes a fixture in the Moody Blues' sound.

There's a new problem, and a pretty big one too. By the end of 1967, the contract wrung from Lewis after Murray's disappearance is about to expire. Having failed to place any more hits on the charts, the Moody Blues owe Decca thousands of pounds they don't have. Their saviour is Hugh Mendl, whose standing within the label is enormous after trying to convince Dick Rowe to reconsider his stance on the Beatles, one of the biggest wounds in the entire history of record companies. Having worked with Bowie and Mayall, Mendl wants to save the Moodies through Decca's subsidiary label Deram, which is promoting its new audio format based on Deramic Stereo Sound. The group seems perfect for testing it out, on one condition: that they produce a rock version of Antonín Dvořák's symphony "New World". Only then can their debt to Decca be settled.

Nights in White Satin

Led by Tony Clarke, the production team working on the Deramic Stereo Sound includes sound engineer Derek Varnals and English orchestra conductor Peter Knight, already well known in London's West End theatre circles. Knight has already had his first taste of the pop world with Anglo-American singer Scott Walker, by the time he arrives at Decca to test out the new Deramic sound. The English label has indeed already enlisted various bands from the most disparate genres - brass bands, orchestras, even balalaika ensembles - with the specific goal of testing the capabilities of the new system, but the Moody Blues, tasked with working on Dvořák, are the first attempt with a pop-rock group. Pinder and co. don't have many alternative options, they have to take the job, but on their own terms: they want full artistic control, encouraged by Knight himself, who has just discovered them live and loved what he heard. The band wants to record a whole album, something absolutely not budgeted for by Decca, who are generally quite rigid with their artists. Knight's proposal is simple and sparks the Moodies' enthusiasm: it won't be the band reworking Dvořák, it will be his orchestral arrangements underpinning the band's new compositions. Pinder will be free to use his Mellotron, and there will be no live, in-the-room recording between the band and the London Festival Orchestra led by Knight. The group also decides to upend the usual studio rhythms, skipping the standard spaced-out sessions and essentially locking themselves in the studio 24 hours a day for three weeks.

Days Of Future Passed marks a radical shift in sonic direction for the Moody Blues, now free of commercial pressure and able to unleash their most revolutionary talent. Starting with the cinematic strings that open the first suite "The Day Begins", the concept album is a journey of over forty minutes through a single day, with Pinder's narrating voice introducing the "Morning Glory" of a work that will make history in English music. The pastoral tones that introduce the following "Dawn Is A Feeling" flow into Hayward's melodic, melancholic vocals before turning psychedelic as the mellotron surges forward. The band's work is perfectly integrated with Knight's orchestral arrangements, in a constant ebb and flow of tones and rhythms, as in "The Morning: Another Morning", driven by Thomas's skipping, bucolic flute, or in "Lunch Break: Peak Hour", pushed along by an old-metropolis rhythm and detonated by bass and drums amid psychedelic liturgies and progressive shifts.
Released at the end of November 1967, the album might seem to go head to head with the Beatles' "Sgt. Pepper's", but only on the surface, since the Moodies carefully avoid reproducing that same orchestral, lysergic approach to pop. Days Of Future Passed is in fact not a pop record, nor is it a work of classical music, as Decca might have hoped. It's a unique sound never heard before in England, later filed by many under the progressive rock label. It's also the story of an ordinary man's day that further pushes the band's ambitions, on the acoustic intro of the mini-suite "The Afternoon", which opens side two of the record. Written by Hayward with "guitar and a joint", the afternoon composition is dominated by the shifting orchestral effects of Pinder's mellotron, guiding a musical meditation on the meaning of life. Interspersed with the romanticism of Knight's orchestra, the suite veers into harsher psychedelia on "(Evening) Time To Get Away", with its metaphysical falsetto drifting off into endless final swells.
The sonic architecture of Days Of Future Passed escapes any kind of listener-imposed classification once the exotic, ancestral percussion of "The Sunset" kicks in, before the epic string passage flows into "Twilight Time", a pounding piano figure over which vocal harmonies hover somewhere between heaven and hell. At the close comes the track that will grant the band immortality. "Nights In White Satin" is the masterpiece of a yearning Justin Hayward, who started from a trivial gift he received at nineteen — a set of white satin sheets — to set to music a stream of thoughts from a traumatic moment in his life. Later considered by some critics the first progressive song ever written, "Nights In White Satin" is a vocal ride toward solemnity, woven through with mellotron flourishes, Thomas's mystical flute, and simply perfect orchestral arrangements.

Having finished the record after a true tour de force, the band brings it to Decca, who have no idea what they're about to hear. The label's executives are expecting a rock version of Dvořák, only to discover, to their utter bewilderment, an absurd album that is neither pop nor, crucially, a rock version of Dvořák. "Nights In White Satin" is deemed too long to be a hit, in a market where anything over five minutes (not even counting the spoken-word piece "Late Lament/Resolvement", which brings the total length to 7:24) is considered sheer madness. Fortunately, Walt Maguire, a senior figure at London Records, Decca's American arm, steps in: he loves the Moodies' work and is convinced it can top the North American charts.
Days Of Future Passed is released first in the UK in mid-November, then in the States in March 1968. As if to confirm Decca's skepticism, the album peaks at just No. 27 on the British chart, but climbs to the podium of the US Billboard 200 the following year. The single "Nights In White Satin" only manages to conquer the Dutch market outright, reaching No. 1 there, though it's destined to be rediscovered with a second release between 1972 and 1973, when it will hit No. 1 in North America, earn a gold disc, and pave its way toward rock immortality.

Visions of paradise

Days Of Future Passed becomes a huge success in the United States, where, unlike in the UK, a sound like the one orchestrated by the Moody Blues is completely unprecedented. After the album's release in spring 1968, the Moodies fly to San Francisco to perform at the legendary Fillmore West, on a tour organized by a new New York agent that takes in a full circuit of clubs specializing in psychedelic music and, later, various love-in festivals. Having recently switched en masse to FM broadcasting, American radio stations fall in love with "Nights In White Satin", helped along by the stereo sound of London's Deramic process. The American audience follows suit, swelling the capacity of the venues able to host a band clearly on the rise.

Swept up by their success, the Moodies consider relocating to the States permanently, tempted by a tax regime far more favorable than the one back in England. But the new studio album calls them back to London, where preparations are in full swing at Decca with Clarke to capitalize on their recent success with a new concept album, In Search Of The Lost Chord. Released in July, the follow-up to Days Of Future Passed opens up into a true sonic orgy, dropping Knight's orchestral contributions but employing over thirty different instruments across the Moodies' ranks, including sitar, tabla, oboe and cello. The band now has real confidence in its own abilities, leaving Pinder's mellotron to act even more like a conductor pulling everything together. The search for a deeper, higher knowledge — both inward and outward — is reflected in another magnificent record, built around the folk-psychedelia of "Legend Of A Mind", the Ray Thomas-penned track about Timothy Leary and his devotion to LSD. Interwoven with mystical flute and raga rhythms, "Legend Of A Mind" is like the Tibetan Book set to music by the Moodies, the linchpin of a record that reflects on the universal themes of discovery and searching in all their possible forms. There's the exploration of the world on the pounding waltz-beat of "Dr. Livingstone, I Presume"; interstellar travel on the unsettling spoken-word piece "Departure"; the pursuit of imagination on the acid-tinged ballad "The Best Way To Travel".
The album certainly carries less emotional impact than the grandeur of its predecessor, but it delivers some grandiloquent moments of psychedelia. More influenced by hypnotic Eastern rhythms — above all the sitar-and-tabla mantra "Om" — In Search Of The Lost Chord doubles down on the band's ambitions at a historical moment entirely favorable to the prevailing musical tastes, especially in the States with the flower-power movement. And with birth and death depicted on its unsettling cover, the album earns a place of honor in late-sixties psychedelia, propelled by the vibrant rock'n'roll of "Ride My See-Saw", which shakes consciences in a bid to change the world over an almost heavy rhythm driven by guitar and bass. Spiritual growth is evoked in the tender melody of "Voices In The Sky", the second single chosen by Decca, led by Hayward's voice somewhere between a crooner and a romantic countrysinger. The synthesized baroque flourishes of "House Of Four Doors" weave together the pursuit of the zeitgeist, leaving it to Lodge to kick down the doors of perception, so that Thomas's mystical flute can step forward to paint the wondrous "Visions Of Paradise".

In Search Of The Lost Chord comes out in the summer of 1968, climbing to No. 5 on the UK chart. By now devoted to lysergic drugs and Eastern-style meditation, the Moody Blues ride the psychedelic wave, returning to the studio just a few months later, in January 1969. With the doors of perception now wide open, the band is influenced by the American writer Harlan Ellison's science-fiction story "I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream", set in a dystopian future where the Cold War has degenerated among the United States, the Soviet Union and China, each equipped with a mysterious Allied Mastercomputer to centrally command their armies. Freed from the pressure of their recent US tour supporting Cream, the Moodies can now work at a more relaxed pace, having by this point won over the initially skeptical Decca executives.

The experience built up over the previous albums proves crucial for the new material that goes into On The Threshold Of A Dream, released in spring 1969. Opened by the synthesized atmospheres of Edge's unsettling narration on "In The Beginning", the first side of the album leans toward a more conventional rock sound, with Hayward's guitar hooks swinging between electric and acoustic on the vibrant "Lovely To See You". Ray Thomas's flute takes center stage on the psych-jazz of "Dear Diary", while Lodge's bass steers the country-tinged "Send Me No Wine". The Moodies dare to venture into near hard-and-heavy territory ("To Share Our Love"), conjuring western epic atmospheres through the interplay of flute, guitars and mellotron on the driving "So Deep Within You".
Side two of the record, meanwhile, pushes the band's ambitions into overdrive, opening with the Hayward-Pinder pairing setting acoustic rhythms against the grandiloquent effects of the mellotron on "Never Comes The Day" and "Lazy Day". There are echoes of the Middle Ages and the Renaissance in the magical mysticism of "Are You Sitting Comfortably?", with the spoken interlude "The Dream" opening the door to the tour de force of the suite "Have You Heard, Pt. 1"/"The Voyage"/"Have You Heard, Pt. 2". Across more than eight minutes, the Moodies anticipate progressive rock, somewhere between psychedelia and classical music, in a dense concentration of overdubbed orchestral arrangements and interstellar-voyage rhythms. A pyrotechnic finale that cements the band's role in the alternative, experimental scene of the late '60s, with an album that even manages to reach No. 1 in the UK and France.

The title of the new album provides the inspiration for naming the record label the Moody Blues found after spring 1969. Following in the footsteps of their friends the Beatles and Apple Records — and after first pitching the idea, unsuccessfully, to label-mates the Rolling Stones — the Moodies set up Threshold, mainly to gain more control over the fairly steep costs that Decca had never been happy to swallow, especially for cover artwork alone. It isn't a genuine break from the English label, which instead will act essentially as a mere distributor on the domestic market (while London Records remains in charge in the United States).
The very first album released on the Threshold label is the next one, To Our Children's Children's Children, recorded between May and September at Decca Studios with the ever-present Tony Clarke. The Moodies push their experimentation further, adding quadraphonic sound to their stereo setup, meaning four separate audio streams meant for playback through different speakers positioned around the studio. The album's new concept is inspired by the historic Moon landing of the Apollo 11 mission, confirming the band's new taste for interstellar, science-fiction themes. Indeed, the new musical adventure opens with the roar of a rocket ready for launch, reproduced on keyboards in "Higher And Higher", where Pinder's vocal is less a song than a new form of narration over the tight rhythms of Hayward's electric guitar.
Launched toward alien horizons, the album embarks on fresh sonic exploration with the harp that opens the melancholic "Eyes Of A Child I", while Ray Thomas floats weightlessly over the light, plucked notes of "Floating", read by some as yet another ode to LSD. After the brief acoustic watercolor of "I Never Thought I'd Live To Be A Hundred", Edge writes and drives the pounding groove of the instrumental "Beyond", opening the way to "Out And In", where Pinder's mellotron is literally launched into deep space to find out, like a hallucinating probe, what lies within and beyond the solar system.
There is, however, a general sense of less compositional clarity from the Moodies this time around, who certainly deliver beautiful, richly detailed arrangements, though perhaps burying the new studio material's potential under too thick a layer of overdubs. Yet the band is smart enough not to repeat the very long suites of before, instead fitting its many ideas into a shorter format, as on the galactic march "Gypsy (Of A Strange And Distant Time)", which merges an electronic drift with a riff bordering on hard rock. The early orchestral and cinematic tendencies return on "Eternity Road", while Lodge's "Candle Of Life" echoes the conventions of the romantic ballad with piano-driven grandeur. There are echoes of the East in the sitar of the hypnotic "Sun Is Still Shining", one of the album's most successful marches, before the ethereal closer "Watching And Waiting", released as a single at the end of October to preview the album. The single, which seems to want to update "Nights In White Satin" with a lunar theme, is ignored by radio, leading the whole album toward what was perhaps an expected commercial flop, even though it still reaches No. 2 in the UK.

A matter of balance

After founding Threshold Records in search of greater independence in production, the Moody Blues try to turn the small label into an aspiring major. Their first move is to sign a hard-rock band from Cannock, Staffordshire. Trapeze features bassist Glenn Hughes, guitarist Mel Galley and drummer Dave Holland. Formed in March 1969, Trapeze made their first TV appearance on BBC2, whipping up the crowd at Wolverhampton's Club Lafayette in July. Their single "Send Me No More Letters", a powerful symphonic soul-beat number, caught the attention of Apple Records, but Trapeze choose Threshold instead, convinced it will offer greater creative freedom. It's John Lodge himself who takes on production duties for the band's self-titled debut album, recorded at Decca Studios and released in May 1970.
If the Moody Blues are focused on recruiting new talent for their own label, it's also so they can take a step back and think about their own next artistic moves. The sheer quantity of instruments and layers upon layers of overdub effects that have filled out the last three albums are practically impossible to recreate live. The band is by now labeled as experimental music, psychedelia, progressive rock. What's missing, though, is the more conventional song format that could take the Moodies out onto stages across half the world, without having to drive themselves crazy trying to find improbable ways of translating their recent albums into live material.

This is how the next album, A Question Of Balance, comes to be, with overdubbing effects scaled back drastically in favor of a sound that can actually be reproduced on tour. Guitarist Justin Hayward takes the reins, with two rough pieces he can stitch together, starting from a riff in the style of The Who and a softer acoustic ballad. Pieced together overnight amid general excitement, "Question" is released as a single in April 1970: a huge success in the UK, where it reaches No. 2 on the singles chart. Music journalists approve, calling it an instant classic and highlighting a more "balanced" kind of rock, exactly as the band intended. The mellotron effects are now less flamboyant and more woven into the texture, as on the sinuous "How Is It We Are Here", while Ray Thomas's hardcore psychedelia gives way to a more folk, pastoral sound on the atmospheric "And The Tide Rushes In".
Compared to their previous work, the album might seem like a departure from form, but the Moodies actually succeed in balancing experimentation with a song format that's easier for listeners to digest. From the tribal rhythms of "Don't You Feel Small" to the fast-tempo "Tortoise And The Hare", A Question Of Balance seems to get down to business, with a harder sound driving more familiar textures, such as complex vocal harmonies and lysergic layers. "It's Up To You", for instance, is a classic number in its effective blend of folk, country and power-beat, while "Minstrel's Song" veers toward an irresistible pop song in the shape of a little march. The psychedelic tide embraces tropical folk on the following "Dawning Is the Day", breaking against the epic finale of "The Balance", between Pinder's narrating voice and magnificently woven symphonic swells from the electric guitar.
Released in high summer, A Question Of Balance hits its mark, reaching No. 1 in England and landing on the podium in the States, where it sells over a million copies. This time the success is deliberate: the Moodies return triumphantly to the stage with the new material in two historic performances at the Isle of Wight Festival in 1969 and 1970.

Meanwhile, studio activity never lets up, with the band ready to record a new album titled Every Good Boy Deserves Favour. Having taken on an increasingly important compositional role over the years, the Pinder-Hayward duo now try to involve the other band members more. The result is the unsettling "Procession", written by all the Moodies together with the ambition of telling the entire history of music in a little over four minutes. Considered one of the earliest experiments with electronic drums, the track is a strange mix of Eastern and Renaissance sounds in a futurist key, entirely instrumental except for the words desolation, creation and communication. Despite this initial collective experiment, the band doesn't let go of its more "commercial" side either, with the single "The Story In Your Eyes", which leans into hard-blues and rock'n'roll. Ray Thomas is left to slow the pulse down with the pianistic ode "Our Guessing Game", while Lodge celebrates the birth of his daughter by dedicating "Emily's Song" to her, a psychedelic romance enriched by cello lines beneath his dreamy vocal. The band continues to push toward Who-style sounds ("After You Came"), featuring Edge's first efforts as a songwriter, proof of greater collective involvement.

Side two of the album opens with the pastoral fingerpicking of the symphonic pop of "One More Time To Live", with baroque flute guiding the folk nursery-rhyme feel of "Nice To Be Here" and rarefied guitar weaving through the choral "You Can Never Go Home". Pinder's mellotron tears through the calm, soaring over a hard-rock riff, in one of the album's finest moments, which closes with the lengthy "My Song", opening in a classical orchestral vein before veering into interstellar territory amid apocalyptic percussion and cinematic symphonies.

In the summer of 1971, Every Good Boy Deserves Favour allows the Moody Blues to return to No. 1 on the UK chart, once again conquering the United States and Canada, where it reaches No. 2. The new sonic balance is paying the hoped-for dividends, with hardcore psychedelia having by now given way to a more accessible (and beloved) progressive pop. The band's fans are by this point spread across the whole world, devoted to the point of something resembling a mystical bond. Often led astray by the use of psychedelic substances, Moodies aficionados sometimes go as far as camping outside band members' homes, waiting for spiritual guidance to embark on some kind of space journey. One of the strangest close encounters happens with another fan before and after a show in Texas: the man enthusiastically welcomes the Moodies' arrival, convinced their live show will save the world by tearing down every regime and form of oppression. In the end, that same man runs up to them at the airport accusing them of being frauds, since the concert clearly hasn't put an end to suffering and oppression. It's this spark that leads John Lodge to write the next single, "I'm Just A Singer (In A Rock'n'roll Band)", an uptempo number driven by a frantic rhythm section that amounts to a brand-new manifesto: the Moody Blues are just a rock'n'roll band.

New horizons

Carried by the same rhythm as a speeding train, the single "I'm Just A Singer (In A Rock'n'roll Band)" delivers a rawer, more foul-mouthed version of the Moody Blues. The track is one of Mike Pinder's first experiments with the chamberlin — used to reproduce the saxophone played by Thomas in the video — the keyed instrument that was the forerunner of the mellotron, introduced by American inventor Harry Chamberlin in the early 1950s. The single fails to crack the Top 40 in the UK, but is particularly well received in the States, where it comes close to the Top 10 of the Billboard Hot 100. The second single, released in spring 1972, is "Isn't Life Strange", built around the baroque jig "Pachelbel's Canon", a suite running over six minutes that moves between electric detonations over symphonic atmospheres and Bee Gees-style vocal harmonies. Particularly well regarded by critics — it will later be included among the hundred greatest progressive songs of all time — the track doesn't break through commercially, but serves as an intriguing preview of the album Seventh Sojourn, released the following October.

Loosely inspired by Chaucer's “Canterbury Tales,” the album is, in fact, the current Moodies line-up's seventh sonic creature, opened by the militaristic rhythm section of “Lost In A Lost World,” completely stripped of any orchestral or lysergic overload. Pinder's dramatic vocals guide the band's new direction, which, chamberlin effects notwithstanding, almost seems weary of churning out little films in music. From Hayward's shy pop-soul ballad “New Horizons” to the aching melancholy of “For My Lady,” poised somewhere between Ireland and South America, Seventh Sojourn is a minimal record, yet one whose genesis was particularly fraught, owing to a general exhaustion within the band. Mike Pinder – who pens the skeletal, desperate and instantly prophetic “When You're A Free Man” – is sick and tired of endless touring. Graeme Edge is going through a painful divorce as he pounds his skins on the psych-folk sarabande “You And Me”. The only one who doesn't seem to be feeling the strain is Justin Hayward, who delivers another electro-acoustic gem, “The Land Of Make Believe”.
Despite topping the charts in the US and Canada, Seventh Sojourn is a record steeped in darkness, musical proof of a band that seems to have lost its magic touch, caught between anti-fanaticism rock'n'roll and more limited experimental ambitions.

With the new album out, the Moodies gear up for a massive world tour, not due to wrap up until 1974 after a stop in Asia. Between dates, Justin Hayward finds time to record a new track, a powerful, building baroque western titled “Island”. The single is meant to pave the way for an eighth album, but it will remain unreleased for decades, until it's finally included as a bonus track on a reissue of Seventh Sojourn. For the band, the traumatic moment of breaking up has now arrived, forced by egos and personalities so different they can no longer communicate. Together for almost a decade (at least Thomas and Pinder), the Moody Blues are worn out from endless touring and no longer have the energy to come up with new ideas as a truly united group. The most drastic decision has now been made: the Moodies are splitting up to chase new musical horizons.

The last collective effort before the hiatus is the release, in October 1974, of the first double-album compilation, This Is The Moody Blues. Together with trusted producer Tony Clarke, the band decides the collection should be mixed in an unusual way, with no gaps between tracks, creating a single, nearly 95-minute listening experience. From “Question” to the masterpiece “Nights In White Satin,” the album's four sides gather the best material from the seven records made since Hayward and Lodge joined.

Justin Hayward & John Lodge

With the Moody Blues broken up, Mike Pinder has had enough of the UK. He decides to move with his gear to California, where he's joined by Hayward, who by the end of 1974 is facing some pressure from Decca to keep recording original material. Pinder agrees to work with Justin alone, but when Tony Clarke and John Lodge also turn up in the States, he flatly refuses to have anything to do with the project. Hayward and Lodge, on the other hand, are still on excellent terms, so they accept Decca's proposal and head back to London to record the album Blue Jays, released in March 1975. With contributions from Providence – a symphonic rock sextet produced by Threshold Records – Hayward and Lodge recreate the Moodies sound together with Clarke, starting with the epic romanticism of “This Morning”. The album draws the attention of both critics and Moody Blues fans, packed with dreamy pop atmospheres caught between a return to psychedelia and orchestral flourishes. From the Beatles-esque “Remember Me (My Friend)” – one of the few tracks genuinely co-written by the pair – to the baroque ballad “My Brother”, Blue Jays stays true to the spirit of the old band's later work, including compositions ranging from folk (“Who Are You Now”) to country-pop (“I Dreamed Last Night”).
The record is nonetheless dominated by melodramatic textures and dense orchestral arrangements, as on the heart-wrenching “Nights Winters Years” or the cinematic drama of “Maybe”. The experimental spark typical of the Moodies is obviously missing, but the single “Blue Guitar” – released after the album and performed with 10cc – climbs the charts with a wonderfully successful blend of electric blues and symphonic soul. Hayward and Lodge take their new work on a short tour starting at Carnegie Hall in New York, all the way to Lancaster University, where they perform alongside Mel Galley and Dave Holland of Trapeze.

The duo's partnership doesn't last long, as the two split up to pursue solo careers. Justin Hayward's debut album comes out on Deram in February 1977, titled Songwriter. With Peter Knight back on board to handle the orchestral parts, Hayward recruits Trapeze's Mel Galley and Dave Holland and makes a record that showcases his talent, caught between mysticism and romanticism. It opens with the uptempo “Tightrope”, before the two-part title track, driven by hammering piano and well-placed electric outbursts. From the acoustic lullaby “Raised On Love” to the ethereal mysticism of “Nostradamus”, Hayward's work comes quite close to that of the Moody Blues in its chamber-music approach, but with a much more personal and intimate touch from the guitarist, now creatively free from the Moodies machine.

While Hayward nurtures his taste for romanticism as a solo artist, John Lodge unleashes his more rock'n'roll side on his debut Natural Avenue, released in January 1977. Produced by Tony Clarke with top-notch musicians – including drummer Kenney Jones – the album opens with the wild country-blues of “Natural Avenue”, swerves into funky rhythms on “Broken Dreams, Hard Road”, and shows a taste for soul-pop and glam on the closing “Children Of Rock 'n' Roll”. The record isn't entirely free, though, from attempts to revive a sound closer to the Moody Blues, working with an orchestra on the baroque “Summer Breeze, Summer Song” or the soaring “Who Could Change”. But the approach here is less solemn and fresher, as on the rendition of the classic psychedelic march-like “Piece Of My Heart”.

Graeme Edge Band

Wounded by the pain of his divorce, Graeme Edge gets in touch with Adrian Gurvitz, guitarist and songwriter from Stoke Newington, north London (some will remember him as an '80s hitmaker thanks to his ballad “Classic”). Gurvitz entered the music world at just 18 with the band The Gun, best known for the hit “Race With The Devil”, a fierce piece of hard rock released in October 1968 and covered by Jimi Hendrix at the Isle of Wight Festival two years later. After forming Three Man Army with his bassist brother Paul, Gurvitz toured with drummer Buddy Miles following Hendrix's death, and later met Ginger Baker, with whom he went on to form the Baker Gurvitz Army. Being the least gifted of the Moodies when it comes to songwriting, Edge asks Adrian to help him write new material for the debut album of his newly formed band, which also features Micky Gallagher on keyboards. Kick Off Your Muddy Boots is released on the Threshold label in 1975, opening with the funky-soul groove of “Bareback Rider”. Gurvitz's guitar talent enriches softer tracks like “In Dreams”, while “Lost In Space” veers toward hard-blues and “Have You Ever Wondered” returns to that orchestral taste applied to pop. The guitar lets loose in wah-wah fashion on the instrumental “The Tunnel”, driving the theatrical R&B of “Gew Janna Woman” with aggression and even flirting with the boldest glam rock on the closing “We Like To Do It”.

Pleased with the results of their debut album, the band gives it another go two years later, releasing Paradise Ballroom on Decca. The record opens with the sprawling title track, which winks at disco music with its wild funky rhythms. A progressive flavor echoes through “Human”, before the band returns to dancefloor cadences (“Everybody Needs Somebody”) and some rather uninspired R&B sarabandes (“All Is Fair”). The new sonic direction lacks bite, drowning Gurvitz's guitar talent amid country-pop melodies (“Down, Down, Down”) and flat symphonic soul (“In The Night Of The Light”).

Mike Pinder

Having moved to California, Pinder turns down Hayward's offer and sets to work on his own, with help from sound engineer Robert Margouleff. Enlisting several musicians from the jazz and fusion scenes, Mike holes up at Indigo Ranch Studios in Malibu to put out “The Promise”. From the soft-rock opener “Free As A Dove”, the record is crafted with the elegance typical of the keyboardist, as on the gospel-soul blend of “You'll Make It Through” or the country ballad “I Only Want To Love You”. Perched among synthesizers and his beloved mellotron, Pinder doesn't have the same vocal power as Hayward, and overall the record suffers from a lack of the sturdiness that Lodge's bass or Edge's drums used to provide within the Moodies. On “Carry On” the approach to pop-soul is noticeably too soft, while the electro-acoustic flourishes of “Air” fail to recapture the prog flavor so beloved on earlier albums. More interesting is the use of Eastern instruments, like the Japanese shakuhachi, on the lengthy “The Promise”, which unfolds in true Moodies fashion between orchestral passages, electric riffs and outer-space ascents.

Ray Thomas

The flautist starts a collaboration with Nicky James, a native of Tipton who was already part of the Brumbeat scene in the early '60s, precisely with Denny Laine & The Diplomats. Briefly a member of the early Moody Blues 5, he signed with Columbia Records to debut with his own Nicky James Movement thanks to the single “Stagger Lee”. After a self-titled debut album in 1971, Nicky joined the staff of Bernie Taupin and Elton John as a songwriter, later becoming part of Threshold Records' artist roster. Thomas is working on several solo tracks, but has to wait his turn, since the Threshold studios are booked first by Hayward and Lodge, then by Edge.
From Mighty Oaks is thus only released in mid-1975, with help from sound engineer Derek Varnals (from Tony Clarke's team) and orchestra conductor Richard Hewson. As on Days Of Future Passed, the album opens with an overture of the title track, which brings together in a single symphony the main sonic elements of the whole record. Over sweet notes of piano and acoustic guitar, “Hey Mama Life” tells of the new awareness Ray has gained after years of travels and experimentation. Thomas's voice is warm, like an Elvis-style crooner, and suits the album's style well, always balanced between British folk and orchestral progressive rock. Working alongside James, there's still room for a return to certain fifties-style sounds – the Hawaiian-flavored divertissement “Rock-A-Bye Baby Blues” – as well as sturdier, more pounding numbers like the soul-blues “High Above My Head”. The album flows pleasantly and freshly between bright lyrical classicism (“Love Is The Key” and “You Make Me Feel Alright”) and pastoral folk ballads (“Adam And I”, dedicated to the birth of his son).

Despite limited commercial success – none of the Moodies manage, during this hiatus, to reach the heights of the full band – Thomas and James give it another shot the following year with Hopes, Wishes And Dreams, with Terry James handling the orchestral arrangements. The album opens with the unusual funky groove of “In Your Song”, leaving Thomas's warm voice to guide the pop ballads “Friends” and “We Need Love”. The record continues along the path set by its predecessor, playing with cinematic western atmospheres (“Within Your Eyes”) and venturing into more uncharted territory, like late-'70s disco music (“One Night Stand”). From the barrelhouse rhythm of “Keep On Searching” to the waltz “Carousel”, Thomas and James don't let down their most die-hard fans.

The Day We Meet Again

It's 1977. Kept alive by collaborations and business dealings for the Threshold label, relations among the five Moody Blues lead to the inevitable proposal of a reunion. Decca is pushing for a new studio album, trying to revive general interest in the band with the spring release of the double live album Caught Live + 5. The first three sides of the record are direct recordings from the concert at the Royal Albert Hall in London on December 12, 1969. Faced with the essential unrepeatability of a live sound, the Moodies perform in the prestigious London venue at the peak of their popularity following the seminal Days Of Future Passed. From the thunderous electric symphony of "Gypsy (Of A Strange And Distant Time)," the album captures the live breath of an ambitious band travelling toward the big league. From the mysterious oriental dirge of "The Sunset" to the rhythmic breadth of "Never Comes The Day" and "Peak Hour," the Moody Blues' show at the Royal Albert Hall is a concentrate of technical prowess, an early triumph of progressive rock, closing with the pyrotechnic finale of "Nights In White Satin"/"Legend Of A Mind"/"Ride My See-Saw," which perhaps captures the very essence of the Moody Blues.

To round out the offering of Caught Live +5 – initially contested by the band itself, who felt it wasn't up to par after the first remixing job – the fourth side of the double album presents a total of five tracks recorded in the studio between 1967 and 1968 and not yet included on any official record. "Gimme A Little Somethin'" and "Please Think About It" blend Beach Boys-style vocal harmonies with pop that veers between psychedelia and vaudeville, while "Long Summer Days" leans on the mellotron over a waltz rhythm. As charming as these additions were, included by Decca to flesh out the album's fourth side and revive the Moodies after their split, they're minor tracks that add little in quality terms to the group's output up to In Search Of The Lost Chord.

On the verge of getting back together, the Moody Blues ran into no small problem. Mike Pinder had moved to California some years earlier, where he'd also found a new wife. He had no intention of flying to London to record new material with his old bandmates. Together with Tony Clarke, the Moodies instead flew to the Record Plant studios in Los Angeles in October 1977, beginning, full of hope and confidence, the sessions for what would become their return to the record business, Octave. But the Moody Blues' new adventure got off to a terrible start, as a sudden fire broke out at the Los Angeles studio, destroying almost everything, master tapes included. Frustration mounted, while Clarke's mind was elsewhere as he dealt with various family problems. Pinder suggested they all relocate to the Indigo Ranch Recording Studios in Malibu, where he'd recorded his debut solo album The Promise using brand-new equipment. As if cursed by fate, a fierce storm triggered a landslide and consequently a terrifying flood that buried the ranch in mud. The Moody Blues grew ever more despondent, wondering: maybe something's telling us that getting back together was a bad idea? But the ever-serene John Lodge had the solution to move forward, exorcising the episode with the hard-rock drive of "Steppin' In A Slide Zone," inspired by the great upheaval brought on by punk and a crucial turning point in the band's new direction. Classic instruments like the mellotron and chamberlin were indeed being replaced by the synthesizer, far more fashionable in the disco era. The problem facing the Moodies was, in the end, fairly simple: having defined the psychedelic and progressive eras, how could they return after a five-year hiatus and keep up with the frantic pace of current musical trends? The answer on Octave is ambivalent and not easy to grasp for fans of the band. Ray Thomas returns to his warm, pastoral, orchestral melodies in a more danceable guise ("Under Moonshine"), while Hayward sails through folk-ballad territory on currents reminiscent of Neil Young ("Had To Fall In Love" and "Driftwood").
More than a true collective effort, Octave feels like the strained result of different personalities only just reunited, still too on edge to recapture the magic touch of earlier albums. Whether that magic could even be easily recaptured in a completely different musical era is another matter. While Graeme Edge shows off the rock'n'roll he'd been experimenting with alongside Adrian Gurvitz ("I'll Be Level With You"), Mike Pinder's role is very much sidelined, limited to the melancholic yet flat "One Step Into The Light." The mysticism and compositional depth are thus missing from the Moodies' new sound, which has to rely on Hayward's lively touch to carry the album home. But the funk-soul of "Top Rank Suite" and the pop symphony of "Survival," well-crafted as they are, fail to relaunch the Moody Blues name into the orbit of the contemporary rock scene. The exception is the progressive march of the closing "The Day We Meet Again," which for just over six minutes offers a welcome trip back to a not-so-distant past.

Octave was boosted by the success of the single "Steppin' In A Slide Zone," but failed to climb higher than number six in the UK and thirteen in the United States. Already on the fringes during the making of the record, Mike Pinder announced to the others that he had no intention of going on the massive comeback tour already organized for between mid-1978 and 1979. The decision blindsided Thomas and Graeme Edge above all, who accused Pinder of going back on his word. But Pinder cited more pressing family commitments, while Decca told the press, rather vaguely, that he would be absent from the US tour.
The Octave World Tour was about to begin, and the Moodies needed a keyboardist. They found one in the thirty-year-old Patrick Moraz, a prodigy of Swiss origin who had just been dropped by Yes in the middle of recording sessions for their eighth album, "Going For The One." Raised in a family devoted to music, Moraz had begun composing at the piano at the astonishing age of five, winning the Best Soloist award at the prestigious Zurich jazz festival at just sixteen. His rock adventure began with Mainhorse in mid-1969, then with his own band Refugee – formed with Keith Lee Jackson of The Nice – and finally with Yes, who had found themselves needing to replace Rick Wakeman in spring 1974. This led to his meeting with the Moody Blues, who held an audition in London in July 1978, before setting off on the massive world tour so heavily promoted by Decca. Outgoing, even eccentric by nature, Moraz filled the group with fresh enthusiasm, and after the 1979 tour the time came to get serious back in the studio.

The Twins' Dream

With historic producer Tony Clarke no longer involved, the Moody Blues hired Pip Williams, an English ex-guitarist who had worked in the late 1970s with Status Quo on their "Rockin' All Over The World." After the tour ended, Moraz was considered to all intents and purposes a new member of the band, infuriating Pinder, who wanted to return to the recording studio, since his issues, he claimed, had only ever been about live shows. But the Moodies weren't forgiving, and Mike went so far as to file a lawsuit against his old bandmates in an attempt to stop them continuing their career, at least under the Moody Blues name. Pinder's claims posed no real threat – he would indeed lose the case – and certainly didn't halt work on the next album, Long Distance Voyager. Released by Threshold in 1981, the album marked a genuine turning point in the group's sound, finally abandoning orchestral flourishes and heavy mellotron use in favour of a more radical reliance on the synthesizer, stepping straight into the new decade.
Finally free of frustration and long faces, the Moodies could take flight with a new way of approaching progressive rock, updated and reworked in a fresh, clean style to suit the more commercial demands of the just-begun 1980s. "The Voice" is the call to this new adventure, built on an uptempo guitar line that drives the magnificent synth openings, with Hayward's flawless voice getting hips moving. Only partially a concept album about space travel, the record is a collection of songs crafted with great intelligence, like the melodic crescendo of "Talking Out Of Turn," riding an unforgettable vocoder and mini-moog bed played by a Moraz clearly at ease with any keyboard or knob-laden instrument. The big knockout blow comes with the following "Gemini Dream," a return to the Hayward-Lodge songwriting partnership, which effectively marks the shift from the much-maligned progressive dinosaurs (ask the more hardline punk-rockers for details) to prog-pop with a disco flavour, bordering on new wave. The groove is irresistible, and it was chosen as the lead single to launch the album, climbing the charts to within reach of the Top 10 – no small feat given the general disdain for seventies bands at the time. If the languid, hypnotic ballad "In My World" returns to the atmospheres of Seventh Sojourn, "Meanwhile" speeds up into beat-pop with Hayward's usual elegance. Edge offers proof of real compositional growth with "22,000 Days," an epic choral piece built on a single-note pulse that even stands comparison with Pinder's past experiments.
The album is a surprisingly unified statement compared to the previous Octave, with Moraz's instrumental contributions perfectly integrated. And what about Ray Thomas? He gets the job of closing out a near-perfect album with a three-part mini-suite, "Painted Smile"/"Reflective Smile"/"Veteran Cosmic Rocker." Between vaudeville twirls, circus carousels, and an unsettling bluesy pounding at the close, Thomas's composition might seem completely out of step with the rest of the album – yet it resonates perfectly, carving the Moody Blues name right into it.

Long Distance Voyager secured the group's return to number one on the US charts, while in the UK it reached the Top 5 on the Official Charts Company rankings. Energized, the Moody Blues went back into the studio in spring 1982, releasing their new album, The Present, in August of the following year. The lead single was "Blue World," written by Hayward with the most classic of downbeat pop melodies amid Moraz's synth-driven keyboard textures. The guitarist, always among the sharpest songwriters in the band, couldn't quite repeat his recent successes with the limp "Meet Me Halfway," and on "Running Water" – chosen as the third single – not even a strong vocal performance can save a bland arrangement. More effective is John Lodge's effort on "Sitting At The Wheel," which continues to experiment between synth-pop and new wave in an Electric Light Orchestra-style vein. The bassist also pens the ballad "Under My Feet," caught between country and syrupy pop, but it's Ray Thomas, once again tasked with closing out the record, who saves the album from outright disaster. Introduced by the oriental atmospheres of "I Am," "Sorry" is a fine progressive-rock gallop that showcases the flautist's typical taste for epic, dramatic arrangements.
Barely two years after the excellent Long Distance Voyager, The Present is nonetheless an unsatisfying effort, one that sets the band back on their journey toward the future.

After the Moodies set off on a new world tour, late 1984 saw the release of the extensive compilation Voices In The Sky: The Best Of The Moody Blues, on Decca in the UK and as the final release for Threshold in the United States (with a different tracklist) before the label's closure, at the group's own request. Constantly touring, the Moodies reinforced their lineup with a second keyboardist, Bias Boshell, one of the founders of the folk band Trees and later a collaborator with Kiki Dee in the first half of the 1970s. In March 1986 they took part in the charity event Heart Beat at the National Exhibition Centre in Birmingham, organized by ELO's Bev Bevan to raise funds for the local Children's Hospital. Among the many guests was none other than old acquaintance Denny Laine, who performed the band's very first hit, "Go, Now!".
From the second half of the 1980s onward, live shows became the only opportunity for fans to enjoy Ray Thomas's talent, as he was increasingly marginalized within the group's creative process. The new direction mapped out by The Present, leaning toward synth-pop, left no more room for instruments like the flute or dramatic orchestral arrangements, leaving Hayward and Lodge alone in control of the sound.

Indeed, on the following The Other Side Of Life – released in spring 1986 by Polydor, which had in the meantime acquired Decca – Thomas's contribution as a writer is practically nil. The Moodies decided to put themselves in the capable hands of producer Tony Visconti, who brought in synthesizer expert Barry Radman to tailor a new sonic approach capable of competing in a fiercely contested pop market following the MTV explosion. Following Visconti's lead, the group staked everything on the single "Your Wildest Dreams," written by Hayward and dominated by the synthetic textures of the Yamaha DX7, with a pop tempo pushed past 140 bpm. The irresistible chorus was spread virally by the video made specifically for MTV, in which the English band Mood Six was recruited to portray the group in its early years. The strategy worked, and the song became a huge hit in the United States, dominating the mainstream rock charts and even winning the Billboard Video of the Year award. Officially, this marked the end of the progressive era, buried under a more frantic, plasticky beat, as heard on "Talkin' Talkin'" and "Slings And Arrows." These are, nonetheless, the most effective tracks on an album marking a clear break, on which Edge's contribution is limited to coordinating with Moraz on the flat, monotonous "The Spirit." Lodge tries to match the originality of "Gemini Dream" with the heavy-synth "Rock'n'Roll Over You," though with a lack of focus that seems to grip Hayward too on the romantic ballad "I Just Don't Care."
More intriguing are the rhythm and harmonies of the danceable "Running Out of Love," followed by the album's second hit, the title track, which finds an unusually gloomy Hayward launching into a blues-tinged shuffle. Apart from the closing "It May Be A Fire," which recalls the melodic brilliance of Blue Jays, the overall impression on listening through is that the Moody Blues are trying to restart with a different sound, but with a worrying creative sluggishness.

Breaking Point

While the Moody Blues' sound underwent its most radical transformation yet with Tony Visconti's work and videos in heavy rotation on MTV, the American subsidiary London Records released the compilation Prelude, to satisfy long-time fans. An intriguing retrospective of B-sides and unreleased material from various albums, opening with the irresistibly colourful chorus of "Fly Me High," a single dating back to 1967. There's the baroque organ of "Cities," chosen as the companion piece to "Nights In White Satin," the dramatic drive of "A Simple Game," and the skeletal, panoramic atmospheres of "King And Queen" from the golden period between Days Of Future Passed and the subsequent In Search Of The Lost Chord. A compilation that's certainly unlike the usual fare, not exactly chart material but of real interest to the more dedicated fan.

Buoyed by the chart success of the mediocre The Other Side Of Life, Hayward and Lodge rode the MTV wave alongside Visconti. Polydor rubbed its hands together awaiting the new single, making its wishes for the band very clear: the songs would primarily have to be written by the two members best suited to commercial hits, while Moraz was free to indulge himself among sequencers and drum machines. It was clear by now that there was no longer any place for Ray Thomas, who remained entirely sidelined on the following Sur La Mer, released in summer 1988. The new single was a well-crafted piece of synth-pop: "I Know You're Out There Somewhere" served as a conceptual sequel to "Your Wildest Dreams" and, thanks to its video, managed to climb into the Billboard Top 40 in the United States. Moraz's textures pair finely with Hayward's voice, who by now was firmly in command of the band alongside Lodge's contributions. It's the only real highlight on an album bordering on inconsequential, weighed down by an overly repetitive sonic approach lacking the input of distinctive personalities like Thomas. Tracks like "Want To Be With You" and "River Of Endless Love" are smothered under a flood of synthesizers and interpretations that all sound much the same, somewhere between melodic and plastic aggression. The second single, "No More Lies," is rescued at the last minute by its electro-acoustic touches and a solid vocal performance from Hayward. The worrying thing is that one of the album's best tracks is "Vintage Wine," which has a more sixties-style sound reminiscent of Tom Petty. But that track is then followed by the electronic murk of "Breaking Point," entirely disconnected within an album that seems to lack any clear direction — a true breaking point, in the literal sense of the term.

After the release of a new compilation, Greatest Hits, the Moodies set to work on a new album at Olympic Studios in Mayfair, London. Everything seemed to be going smoothly until Patrick Moraz gave an interview to Keyboard magazine in which he voiced his growing personal dissatisfaction with working alongside the group. The new musical direction, he felt, was too generic, with Hayward and Lodge too controlling and unwilling to engage in dialogue in the studio. Distracted by organizing an event to musically celebrate the 700th anniversary of his native Switzerland's independence, Moraz was fired by the Moody Blues and replaced by Paul Bliss, alongside the already established Boshell. The group did not take it well, as Moraz would subsequently be credited simply as an "additional musician" rather than a full member. Always quick-tempered and eccentric, the keyboardist sued the Moodies in 1992, seeking half a million dollars in damages for the treatment he'd received. He would eventually receive around $78,000 following the civil case, which was broadcast live on American Court TV.

The massive studio effort – two further producers alongside Visconti, two new keyboardists, and a second drummer, Andy Duncan – produced yet another mediocre album, Keys Of The Kingdom. The new single "Say It With Love" tried to broaden the horizons of synthetic pop with melodic flourishes in a Paul McCartney vein, chasing a more airy-rock sound. But the charts didn't respond, dragging the whole album down with them. Without Moraz's complexity – genuinely underused throughout his time in the group – the tracks on Keys Of The Kingdom feel churned out with a cookie-cutter mould, soft but flavourless. Chasing a more mainstream sound, Hayward delivers an industrialized soul-blues number ("Once Is Enough"), while Lodge at least tries to recapture past glories with the bright pop tones of "Lean On Me (Tonight)" in a George Harrison style.
Ideas, then, are in short supply, with the group seemingly clinging to the need to stay relevant without currently having the creative means to do so. Even Ray Thomas's subdued return on "Celtic Sonant" fails to revive the album, caught between the usual warm crooner-style vocals and an atmospheric, Irish-tinged march. Things are made worse by the none-too-subtle borrowing in the pop track "Is This Heaven?," reminiscent of the Beach Boys to the point of dangerously bordering on copy-paste.

The new commercial flop didn't stop the band's live activity. The group was invited to the prestigious Montreux Jazz Festival, while continuing the experiment of a double keyboard lineup (Bliss and Boshell) and a second drummer (Gordon Marshall) to give extra support to Edge, who, due to an injury, could no longer keep up the pace behind the kit through long live sets. The event that caught industry insiders off guard was the huge concert in the stunning natural setting of the Red Rocks Amphitheatre in Colorado, celebrating the 25th anniversary of the release of Days Of Future Passed. On September 9, 1992, the Moodies took the stage for the first time with a full orchestra, the Colorado Symphony conducted by Larry Baird, tasked with opening the show with an overture of more than seven minutes weaving together some of the band's key past themes.
A Night At Red Rocks With The Colorado Symphony Orchestra was released in spring 1993, accompanied by an official video following the recording for the American broadcaster PBS. From "Tuesday Afternoon (Forever Afternoon)" to the inevitable "Nights In White Satin," the album sends shivers down the spine, successfully recapturing the spirit of the band's early work, blending psychedelic pop, progressive flair, and, naturally, symphonic digressions. The addition of a second keyboardist allowed the band to reinvigorate its live sound, bolstered by classic material and an ecstatic fan base. The success of the Red Rocks concert led the Moody Blues to focus increasingly on orchestral adaptations while touring, going on to work with various symphony orchestras around the world.

Strange Times

Following the commercial (and creative) failures of their previous two albums, the Moody Blues focus on live activities, buoyed by the success of their Red Rocks concert with the Colorado Symphony Orchestra. In September 1994, with the band once again deciding to put new studio material on hold, Polydor invests in a gigantic retrospective spanning five discs and over three hundred minutes of music. Time Traveller is consequently a must for Moodies fans, ranging from the now-timeless classics to a few rarities for the more hardcore devotees. "Forever Autumn" is the folk-pop track sung by Hayward for the double album "Jeff Wayne's Musical Version Of The War Of The Worlds", while "This Is The Moment" is the cover from the musical "Jekyll & Hyde", given a stadium-sized epic treatment for inclusion on the compilation "Soccer Rocks The Globe" to mark the 1994 USA World Cup.

The anthology released by Polydor is followed by two further compilations – The Best Of The Moody Blues and Anthology – largely inconsequential, before the band decides to return to the studio a full eight years after their last album. In search of new inspiration, the Moodies relocate to Recco, Italy, to work alongside composer and producer Danilo Madonia. Released in the summer of 1999 and entirely self-produced, Strange Times is launched by the single "English Sunset", which immediately catches observers' attention with an arrangement blending drum and bass and techno under Hayward's same gentle voice. The gamble pays off, especially given how many years have passed since their last mediocre efforts. The Moody Blues seem unwilling to take themselves too seriously, with simple, straightforward songcraft running from the carefree chorus of "Haunted" to the power-ballad "Sooner Or Later (Walkin' On Air)".
The new approach is accordingly less symphonic and less reliant on their usual keyboards, focused instead on crafting pleasant, fresh songs. "Wherever You Are" slows things down over electronic backing and near-new-age textures, while "Foolish Love" works both electric and acoustic guitars in the manner of Tom Petty. In particular, Hayward seems to have rediscovered his old spark and compositional flair, driving the harder rock of "The One" and bringing out chamber-music touches and old Beatles-esque influences on the little gem "The Swallow".

At the start of the new millennium a new live album is released, Hall Of Fame, recorded at the Royal Albert Hall in the same format as the Red Rocks concert, this time with the World Festival Orchestra. It is the last tour with the full lineup, as Boshell leaves the band the following year, replaced by Bernie Barlow. But the most significant departure is that of Ray Thomas in 2002, by then on the margins of the group and eager to leave the music business behind for good to retire from public life and deal with some serious health problems.

Reduced to a trio, the Moodies recruit guitarist and flautist Norda Mullen to keep performing live. In autumn 2003 the album December is released, a classic Christmas record that includes a cover of "Happy Xmas (War Is Over)" by the duo Lennon–Ono. Two years later comes a new double live album, Lovely To See You: Live, recorded at the Greek Theatre in Los Angeles in a more rock-oriented version without orchestra. After Live At The Bbc: 1967–1970, the more interesting (and historic) Live At The Isle Of Wight Festival 1970 is reissued by Eagle in 2008.

The spectre of the end begins to loom over the band. Clint Warwick, the Moodies' original bassist, dies in 2004 at the age of 63. In 2010 it is the turn of longtime producer Tony Clarke, followed by Ray Thomas in early 2018, just a few months before the band's induction into the Rock'n'Roll Hall of Fame. Their swan song on record is Days Of Future Passed Live, a live re-staging of what remains their masterpiece, recorded at the Sony Centre for the Performing Arts in Toronto in 2017. As if seeking to bring things full circle, Hayward and Lodge bring back, in live form, the name of their old friend Mike Pinder – up to that point excluded and rarely even mentioned in the setlists – while actor Jeremy Irons takes his place on stage for the narrated parts of the album that made them immortal.
In 2021 Graeme Edge also passes away at the age of 80, finally bringing the story of the Moody Blues to a close.

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