SQUACKETT - A Life Within A Day

It's said that the earth was once inhabited by dinosaurs, and that they, for reasons still hotly debated, ended up going completely extinct. Some today like to apply this metaphor to that rock movement, so characteristic of the seventies, known to most under the label of progressive: in this context, dinosaurs are considered all those acts who, after giving life to visionary and fantastical works, died out all at once — some by turning the page entirely (Van Der Graaf Generator, Jethro Tull and King Crimson), some by vanishing into thin air (Emerson, Lake & Palmer), some by devoting themselves to pop of decent (Yes) or dreadful (Genesis) quality, achieving worldwide success in the process. Some (Marillion, Pendragon) tried desperately, in the midst of new wave and the disco era, to reclaim the glories of progressive, with even excellent results at times, but without ever managing to truly revive what was perhaps the most self-contained and concentrated movement in the history of rock. Progressive's hegemony began with "In The Court Of The Crimson King" and ended, ideally, with the creative death of Genesis in their swan song "Wind & Wuthering" — that is, Steve Hackett's last album with the band.

Yes, Hackett. That shy young man hidden behind heavy eyeglasses and a bushy mustache, reappraised today as one of the finest guitarists in rock history but never regarded in his time as the equal of the most celebrated names (Robert Fripp, Steve Howe, even Anthony Phillips). The same man who, having shed his role as the lyricist of "Firth Of Fifth", went on to build a solo career of the highest order, with a handful of genuine masterpieces, very few missteps, and a goal — fully achieved — of offering a contaminated, personal vision of progressive.

After a mild crisis during the '80s and early '90s, kept in check through ambitious classical guitar works, Hackett took back the reins of his career and produced some of the richest and most profound chapters of today's prog, not least last year's multifaceted "Beyond The Shrouded Horizon", maintaining a constant balance between roots, personality and influences. All of this backed by live performances that are genuine and technically stratospheric, where the man seems equipped with a time machine, apparently transporting listeners straight back to the '70s. Among the so-called dinosaurs, Hackett is perhaps the only, last specimen we can still admire in his original form.

"A Life Within A Day" is first and foremost the new Steve Hackett album. Here, though, he forges a partnership with another dinosaur, Chris Squire, the bassist of Yes, perhaps the greatest rivals of Genesis at the time. Squire, one of the most talented bassists of the entire '70s scene, the backbone embedded in the foundations of the shifting choral symphonies of Anderson & co. Squire, the only member never to have left the band's ever-changing lineup. But also the "least composer-minded" of the quartet, with only one solo work to his name, the excellent "Fish Out Of Water", dating back to 1975 and written during a break in the band's activity. Given this history, it's only fitting to attribute the reins of this project (Squackett, a rather unoriginal name born from merging the two surnames) mainly to Hackett: and indeed it's the now-fixed hallmarks of his recent productions that resurface predominantly on this new work. Hallmarks that, in his latest records, are always updated, in step with the times and rarely nostalgic, never obvious or static. Yes, but not here.

After a run of four outstanding albums (the aforementioned "Behind The Shrouded Horizon", the pure prog of "Out Of The Tunnel's Mouth", the near-world-music "Wild Orchids" and the jukebox-like "To Watch The Storms"), Steve's seemingly indestructible compositional engine appears to have evaporated into thin air. "A Life Within A Day" sounds static, devoid of ideas and, above all, old. There's no standout spark; the nostalgia translates into creative emptiness, often risking outright unintentional comedy. And to think the opening, entrusted to the title track, seemed to promise far too much: Steve's classic marching stride, here oppressive and almost dark, driven by a fired-up Squire and the guitarist's usual (ever-crystalline) solos.

Starting right from the bluesy "Tall Ships", though, introduced by the now-customary acoustic arpeggios, confusion begins to reign supreme: the genre simply isn't in Hackett's wheelhouse, and it's precisely in these excursions (one recalls the dreadful "Blues With A Feeling") that he's always delivered his worst results. The sunny "Divided Self" wants to be a colorful take on the most British kind of pop, but instead comes off as a threadbare little tune incapable of leaving any mark. "Aliens" brings things back to an acceptable level one last time, with a modern nostalgia worthy of Wilson's "Grace For Drowning", before the album collapses into the abyss over the remaining five tracks. "Sea Of Smiles" sounds lifted from the worst moments of early-'80s prog-pop, "The Summer Backwards" is the acoustic pop song Hackett now hands us constantly on every album, the only difference being Squire's dismal performance, swathed in vocoder to the point where his voice sounds like it was generated by software. "Storm Chaser" hits rock bottom, attempting to polish a glossy, grating melody with instrumental backing that makes banality its creed. "Can't Stop The Rain", again saddled with Squire's poor, labored vocals, sounds like a product of the worst solo-era Phil Collins, while the only merit of the faux-epic closer "Perfect Love Song" (the duo's only vocal duet) is that it manages to sound more pointless than outright bad.

It would be far too premature to think we need to prepare for the creative funeral of the last dinosaur, who, until last year, showed no sign of his nearly sixty-five years, vigorous and brimming with ideas more than many of his contemporary disciples. But it's equally realistic to view this record as an unexpected and enormous misstep, one that raises more than a few questions about the need to make it in the first place. The hope is that this was merely a temporary lapse, and that Steve soon returns to offering us memorable chapters like those that came before it. As for Squire, there's not much to add: his bass remains pure gold, just as Hackett's guitar does; his voice, by contrast, is among the main culprits behind the project's failure. As for the writing, there's little to pin on him. What we're left with, in the end, is an album that's empty, sterile and, above all, old at heart: a record we could happily have done without, preferring instead one more concert, whether from Hackett and his talented band or from Yes, who have recently returned to offer us nostalgic fragments of progressive's bygone glory.

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10/06/2012