Genesis

In 1973, with the release of this album, one of the most luminous periods of progressive rock came full circle. After the extraordinary debut work of King Crimson

(“In The Court Of The Crimson King“), the equally magnificent and classically-inclined debut of Emerson Lake & Palmer with their self-titled album, and the symphonic grandeur of “Close To The Edge” by Yes, came this “Selling England By The Pound”, sealing the golden era experienced in those years by one of rock's most elaborate and evocative genres.

Genesis, with their romantic and baroque sound, far more polished and gentle than the three aforementioned works, had already shown they had reached maturity. “Nursery Crime”, “Foxtrot” and, to a slightly lesser degree, “Trespass” were works destined to remain milestones of a certain kind of rock. But it was with this record that Peter Gabriel and his bandmates achieved their most representative work, the album to hand down to posterity with the pride of knowing they had conceived a body of sound whose chromosomes would never be eroded by the passage of time.

The music of Genesis's “golden period” was characterised by a complex, intricately articulated sonic architecture: as in a great puzzle, each instrument triggered an action and reaction in another, generating an interweaving of sounds and melodies both in the background and in full view. In this grand mosaic of sound, everything was crafted with artistry to live a life of its own. You might hear the keyboards acting as the song's guiding thread, while in the background three seconds of guitar embroidery unfold; yet those three seconds were so essential that, had they not existed, the whole piece would have suffered and the entire sonic architecture would have collapsed.

Genesis's music was “colourful”, never the same twice: a triumph of fervid ideas bursting out in tangible, imaginative fashion. Music that immersed the listener in a different world, acting like a time machine projecting them towards remote eras, thanks to its distinctive “baroque quality”, never gaudy or contrived. Listening to these melodies with eyes closed, one is ideally transported into a world populated by dragons and fairies, castles and lush green gardens, as the album cover itself vividly attests.

Besides the lyrics, always mysterious and intriguing, it's also the band's musicianship that stands out: Peter Gabriel's masterful singing, which, like a sprite, hops from one song to the next with his distinctive interpretive grace; Tony Banks's keyboards, never showy or overblown; Steve Hackett's guitar embellishments, sketching sonic filigree with complete freedom; and let's not forget Collins's rhythmic style, which, like a beating heart, always managed to tap into the emotional core of each song.

The album's opening is dazzling: “Dancing With The Moonlit Knight” opens with an emphatic vocal from Gabriel, accompanied by Hackett's guitar, which immediately conjures a medieval atmosphere, right up until every instrument comes into play. Before long, the rhythm turns urgent and furious, and the electric guitar takes over with genuine flashes of brilliance; but it's only a moment: as in a relay race, the guitar hands off to Banks's distinctly progressive keyboards, with Collins's whirling drum rolls underneath. Suddenly everything calms down, the song no longer feels like the same piece, and we find ourselves projected into a new, reflective dimension: on these notes, the song takes its leave.

In “I Know What I Like”, it's Collins who calls the shots: a spoken intro with rhythmic sounds echoing each other in the background, a few moments, and then everything explodes into a catchy melody, with a chorus that's a genuine ode to joy; between breaks and returns of the main melody, the song moves along light and hummable. It's the album's most accessible track, and one destined to become a live staple.

A skilful piano introduction ushers in the following “Firth Of Fifth”, the album's masterpiece and one of the most memorable compositions in the Genesis catalogue. A break, the piano fades, and the band produces a single unified sound, in which every instrument is in complete harmony with the others. Gabriel, like an Oscar-worthy actor, majestically delivers the main melody, when suddenly everything falls silent, and a gentle flute quietly takes over, rhythmically accompanying the piece, until the eruption of Banks's splendid solo, which quickly passes the baton to Hackett for a supreme guitar lyricism. An absolute masterpiece.

In “More Fool Of Me”, on the other hand, an acoustic opening – with Collins delivering a lilting vocal – leads towards simpler, more pastoral atmospheres: here there's none of the typical Genesis-style orchestration, but rather more intimate, nuanced tones. A small yet great song, imbued with an innocent sweetness. Then, an opening march-like rhythm leads us into a bloody battlefield: that of “The Battle Of Epping Forest”. Gabriel's voice grows more urgent, supported by guitar interludes and piano “entrances”, until, as in a raging clamour of shouts and war cries, the song rises into a whirlwind of fast, refined technical prowess. But it's Gabriel who sings, and above all narrates the deeds he recounts in a style that shifts, as needed, between dramatic, ironic and mocking. This is a highly progressive track, perhaps the most elaborate and complex on the entire album. A suite built from frenzied sonic gallops in which the instruments seem to duel, or rather simulate the very deeds of the characters who populate the song's lyrics.

The following “After The Ordeal” is an instrumental piece, evocative in flavour and Renaissance in atmosphere. Hackett shows off seductive filigree work, the drums support him with a calm rhythmic backdrop, while a flute gathers courage and melodically brings the song to its conclusion.

Another milestone of the album is "The Cinema Show", where everything begins in a subdued, dreamlike way: an outstanding Gabriel is backed by a repetitive, and precisely for that reason sinuous, guitar arpeggio. Amid sudden, abrupt bursts of sound that heighten the sense of anticipation, the listener is carried into a landscape of epic sounds, where a nervous outburst from Collins on drums dictates sharper rhythms and cadences. Banks's keyboard work enriches the song's structure with baroque flourishes. The album closes with "Aisle Of Plenty", a melody that, in a kind of circular journey, brings us back to the beginning of the record, as if urging us never to stop listening to this legendary work.

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29/10/2006