The power of an icon

Long ill with cancer, Greg Lake leaves us in the same year as the suicide of Keith Emerson. The supergroup par excellence is thus reduced to just its drummer, Carl Palmer.

When the keyboardist passed away, we asked ourselves about his iconic power and his role in the history of rock, so it's only fitting to do the same for the singer. Starting from the premise that Lake was the quintessential prog voice.

Sure, Peter Gabriel is much loved, but his albums with Genesis never conquered the American market the way ELP's did, and there's also that faint undercurrent of irritation over the distance he repeatedly put between himself and his progressive years.

And sure, Jon Anderson of Yes has one of the most beautiful voices rock has ever given us, yet it rubs many people the wrong way because of its ethereal, angelic timbre, the exact opposite of the tough, virile rock singer.

Greg Lake, on the other hand, wins everyone over: it's exceedingly rare to meet anyone who doesn't appreciate his gifts as a vocalist. Even those who fail to grasp the dynamic and melodic richness of ELP's music, dismissing it as a pile of circus tricks, have no choice but to bow to the sheer quality of his voice and the merit of his ballads. And that's without even mentioning the first two King Crimson albums, also marked by his presence, records that to this day no one dares to attack.

When prog matured, moving definitively from its introductory phase into adulthood, with the debut of King Crimson precisely, he was there. When it stormed the American charts, he was there. When it became a generational phenomenon, he was there. When it began to decline, for reasons unrelated to punk despite what we've been told for forty years, he was there too. In fact, it was right in that period that he landed his two best-selling singles: the Christmas ballad "I Believe In Father Christmas", released as a solo artist in November '75, and the rousing "Fanfare For The Common Man" with the full ELP lineup, in 1977. Both reached number 2 in the UK.

After that, he never reinvented himself in other guises. He didn't embrace disco music, he didn't embrace new wave; he only made one tentative foray into arena rock with his two solo albums, plus a brief stint with Asia that lasted the blink of an eye. He had no other hits, except the—relative, at that—success on the American market achieved with the Emerson Lake & Powell project ("Touch And Go" the single, a small gem of Eighties mood rock).

In short, his arc begins and ends in perfect step with progressive rock. He rode it to its peak, selling records by the truckload, with a couple of albums even hitting number 1 in Italy ("Tarkus" for three weeks and "Trilogy" for five). He sent a triple live album full of half-hour songs to number 4 on the American charts ("Welcome Back My Friends..." in 1974), a folly that wouldn't have been allowed for many other acts, and one that not only succeeded but ended up becoming one of their most iconic moments, a symbol of ELP's ambition and grandeur.

The unanimous praise for his talent, the arc of his career, the breadth of the audience he reached, and the pride he took in what he achieved (which, as we've seen, is far from a given). So many factors that, combined, make Lake a giant of prog first and rock afterward, bearing out the premise laid out at the start.

Like his two bandmates, Lake also impressed with his versatility. His voice could be as clear as crystal one moment and turn raspy without any apparent effort the next, in sudden plunges from heaven to hell and back again; it could turn baritone, deep, smooth, or vibrant. He was the perfect crooner on ballads ("Still... You Turn Me On", "From The Beginning", "Lucky Man"), but also the raspy blend of carnival barker and mad scientist on "Karn Evil 9"; the epic chronicler of the unease of "Epitaph" and the nervous breakdown of "21st Century Schizoid Man", but also the saloon clown of "Benny The Bouncer".

If his voice is what secures his immortality, at least among devoted fans, other aspects of him shouldn't be underrated either. Greg Lake was a fine guitarist (capable of the electric solos on "Karn Evil 9" and the memorable acoustic passages in the middle section of "Take A Pebble"), an excellent bassist (unlucky only in that he belonged to a band where the other two instrumentalists would have eclipsed anyone), and a student of the recording studio. He was the one who handled overdubs and produced the band's albums. Sure, it was Emerson who conjured up those sci-fi sounds from the synths and organ, but would they have had the same impact without the crisp sound and quality Lake gave them?

For nearly a decade, his mind was among the most vivid in the rock universe. Then he stepped aside, carving out a place for himself on the nostalgia circuit. And yet the echo of his death was considerable, with tributes pouring in from colleagues across the board, from Yes to the Who, from King Crimson to Renaissance, from Vangelis to Steve Hackett, who acknowledged the influence he exerted on Genesis.

Dating back to 1977 is a splendid, majestic orchestral chanson, "C'est la vie", in which Lake sang "Who knows, who cares for me"... but deep down he was well aware of just how untrue that really was.

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