Alan Parsons Project

In the unfathomable limbo of critical neglect has also ended up one of the greatest sound engineers of all time, gifted with an original and unmistakable "touch", with a handful of records to his name that marked a new milestone for the marriage of rock and electronics. We're talking, of course, about Alan Parsons and his Project, suspended between the murky legacy of a progressive era now fading into dusk and a chilly futurism, distilled in its trademark electronic surges. A style that had already taken root on the dark side of Floyd's Moon, and one that would go on to happily contaminate planet Earth by the end of that volcanic decade, the 70s.

So why this amnesia, if not outright distrust? Perhaps Parsons ended up paying for his twofold "heresy": too pop-oriented for the prog-rock purists of the 70s, too pompous and polished for the punk and post-punk generations that followed. And while audiences never had a problem with it, guaranteeing him at least a decade of hits (most strikingly "Eye In The Sky" in 1982), it's been musicians themselves, in recent years, who have brought his sound back to the surface — even the most underground among them, like Gala Drop, who slipped a sample from "I Robot" into a track on their self-titled album from 2009, eloquently titled "Parson".

Of “The Dark Side Of The Moon“, the young Alan – already a sound engineer on the Beatles’ “Abbey Road” and “Let It Be” – had been the deus ex machina, despite the miserly pay (35 pounds a week!). The use of advanced recording techniques, such as the introduction of multichannel sound as opposed to quadraphonic production, and the invention of high-impact sound effects had shaped the true artistic DNA of one of the best-selling albums in the history of modern music, granting worldwide stardom to Pink Floyd.

But the bearded London multi-instrumentalist and composer was already looking for another way to translate his peculiar idea of music onto the page. His meeting with manager Eric Woolfson, already a producer for the Rolling Stones, and with Philharmonia Orchestra conductor Andrew Powell (at the console for Kate Bush's first two albums), gave him the right opportunity. From this partnership came the moniker The Alan Parsons Project, with Powell as arranger, while Woolfson and Parsons acted as composers and multi-instrumentalists, backed by ever-changing supercasts of singers and musicians.

After an interesting but cryptic debut (“Tales Of Mystery And Imagination Edgar Allan Poe”), inspired by the tales of the American master of the gothic, the ensemble adjusted its aim and hit the mark the following year with “I Robot” (1977), a new concept album this time set in the robotic universe of Isaac Asimov: the title itself echoes that of the famous short story anthology by the Russian-American writer, stripped of its comma for copyright reasons (Asimov himself, contacted by Parsons, could not authorize a faithful reproduction of the title, having let the rights to the work lapse).

The album's own liner notes make the narrative premise clear: “I Robot is the story of the rise of the machine and the decline of man, which paradoxically coincides with his discovery of the wheel… It is also the warning that his brief dominance of this planet is probably coming to an end, because man has tried to create the robot in his own image.” The concept is thus an exploration of philosophies on artificial intelligence, but also a parable on the depersonalization of society under the relentless push of scientific progress – a theme typical of those years of naive euphoria and cybernetic anxiety.

Engineer Parsons' laboratory of musical genetics gave birth to an imposing, multicolored automaton, just like the one depicted on the cover. Compared to the debut, the sound becomes more cinematic and futuristic, with greater use of synthesizers, but also more varied, opening up to rock, pop and even funk and disco. A daring gamble, at a time when the “ideological” barriers between genres (just think of the one between prog-rock and disco-pop) were almost insurmountable.

Like Jean-Michel Jarre, Parsons knows how to handle electronics in a melodic, catchy way without dissipating their cold, solemn allure, thanks above all to his mastery of arrangement. The operation succeeds perfectly on the title track: propelled by an obsessive rhythmic sample, it grows in intensity on the mystical emphasis of the choir, in a lush tangle of electric piano and synth, culminating in a cosmic apotheosis where traditional instruments such as the cimbalom (the Hungarian dulcimer) and the kantele (the Finnish zither) also come into play. But in truth it's all very much “played”: from the rhythm section (Stuart Tosh on drums, David Paton on bass) to Ian Bairnson's guitar and Woolfson's clavinet.

The album's first real surprise, however, materializes on the second track: “I Wouldn’t Want To Be Like You” is a sharp detour into funk-disco territory, with Lenny Zakatek's black vocals warming up a sticky melody and Bairnson unleashed on guitar, complete with an exuberant central solo. It would become one of the most successful hit singles in the entire Project saga. “Breakdown” also takes off from a funk-rock groove, but with an unpredictable final coup de theatre: an orchestral explosion and an epic choir (of androids?) that supplants Allan Clarke's (Hollies) voice, crying out “Freedom, freedom, we will not obey!”

Progressive, though, as mentioned, and Parsons doesn't give it up, either in the album's overall approach – as a single, multiform suite – or in its melodic lyricism: “Some Other Time” unfurls a poignant motif à la early King Crimson, for a duet between male and female voices, Peter Straker and Jaki Whitren, wrapping it in a fairy-tale atmosphere (the piano and synthetic flute intro, the 12-string acoustic guitar) and a majestic orchestral blanket, under Powell's skillful direction. A moved ballad, perhaps symbolizing one last act of human awareness under the looming threat of robotization. Even more subdued, “Don’t Let It Show” supports Dave Townsend's nostalgic vocal with a muted organ, before culminating in an orchestral coda whose ending is this time a bit too overblown. Completing the trio of ballads is the Floydian “Day After Day (The Show Must Go On)”, a sort of “Us And Them” for the age of urban alienation.

Parsons' eclecticism, however, doesn't stop there. “The Voice” is another disorienting number, a pastiche with a typical seventies flavor, driven by a relentless bass line, blending psychedelic hues via wah-wah guitar, a central pop-rock motif sung by Steve Harley (Cockney Rebel), and a dynamic funky orchestral section, punctuated by strings and handclapping, recalling the Temptations' “Papa Was A Rolling Stone”. And when Powell also puts his hand in (“Total Eclipse”, the only track credited to him alone), things venture even further out, into the realms of a spectral avant-garde, with a dissonant interlude for deathly choir and hissing synthetic strings, echoing Gyorgy Ligeti's neoclassical scores for “2001: A Space Odyssey”.

Humanity is by now lost in an abyss. The two mystical, shadowy symphonies of “Nucleus” and “Genesis Ch. 1 V. 32” seal the definitive supremacy of the machines. The first, an ambient-spatial soundscape à la Tangerine Dream, soars on synths and a relentless drumming like a runaway train. The second revisits the electronic atmospheres of the title track, ideally closing the circle, including another enchanted melody and a precious guitar counterpoint, rounded off with choir and orchestra. A new “revisionist” verse is added to the Book of Genesis: written, in all likelihood, by the robots, now the new masters of the world.

By a happy twist of fate, the album hit stores at the very same time as the cinematic boom of “Star Wars”, undoubtedly reaping benefits in terms of sales as well. On the thirtieth anniversary of its release (2007) it was digitally remastered, with the addition of five bonus tracks.

A complex and ambitious album, even overloaded with styles and ideas, “I Robot” set a new standard for electronic music, as dark and gothic as it is catchy. A striking symphonic architecture through which, thanks to the fusion of classical instruments and cutting-edge equipment, Parsons would contribute to the modernization of traditional pop-rock, anticipating the advent of contemporary electronic music and giving a considerable boost to the evolution of recording techniques.

In memory of Eric Woolfson (Glasgow, March 18, 1945 – London, December 2, 2009)

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24/01/2010