Ah, classic rock. And prog rock. The Seventies, in other
words. Tomorrow is the birthday of Ken Hensley, the writer behind most of the
output of the heavy-prog band Uriah Heep in their heyday from 1970-72. Not so
long, you say? Yeah, exactly, but in that time they did five albums and created
their trademark sound, thanks largely to Hensley’s cooking Hammond organ. My
aging heart goes pit-a-pat to Hammond organs even more than to Moog synthesizers.
And mellotrons! Loving—after all these years—the bands that rocked with this
stuff—and, in Heep’s case, power chords and high-pitched harmonies—is nerdy,
true. But it’s no nerdier than watching the various iterations of Dr. Who, or
reading Tolkien, or Game of Thrones. I mention such things because today’s song, from Demons and Wizards, tapped
into—for most of its tracks—the fascination with magic and magical beings that was
fairly rampant in the late Sixties/early Seventies. Perhaps it hasn’t fully
gone away since, with fantasy always good for comics, films, and multi-volume
page-turners. But for me it was a phase I identify with the close of middle school.
Seeing the band perform the song—or rather lip-synch the
song—on a TV show, as here, brings it all back: the silly rock costumes (silver
lamé boots, anyone?), the styled hair, the interesting facial hair, the open
shirts and tight pants, sometimes looking like boudoir loungewear. As a teen—almost 13
when Demons and Wizards was released—I was embarrassed by such get-ups, though
possibly a bit envious. In fact, I still remember walking to the department
store (quite a hike when you don't have a bike), buying it, and walking home, so enthralled with my idea of what the
album might sound like, with titles like “The Wizard,” “Traveler in Time,” “The
Spell,” “Rainbow Demon.” I hadn’t heard any of it, but was taken with the
cover, painted by Roger Dean, and made curious beyond bounds by those titles.
Could it be that two of my favorite things might combine: fantasy and rock? Yes,
to a certain degree. Uriah Heep didn’t completely live up to my own fantasy of
what the album might sound like, but it didn’t completely disappoint me either.
(It might be worth noting that I used to buy albums based on my expectations,
sometimes due to written descriptions; there were not many avenues to hear
music not played on the radio. The radio song from Demons and Wizards was “Easy Livin’”—which I may have heard once or
twice—but I assumed it was just a single—great example of the Hammond riff—and
that the wizardry songs required buying the LP).
The song isn’t exactly an exploration of the psyche of a
wizard as I was probably hoping to hear, but starts off propitious enough: He was the wizard of a thousand kings / And
I chanced to meet him one night wandering. Thoughts of Merlin imparting
esoteric secrets no doubt thrilled me, filled me with fantastic visions never
thought before. He told me tales, and he drank my wine / Me and my magic man,
kinda feelin’ fine. Huh?
He had a cloak of gold and eyes of fire [ok!] / And as he
spoke I felt a deep desire / To free the world from its fear and pain / And
help the people to feel free again. Oh,
so he’s a philanthropist wizard, not the kind I usually had in mind. But that’s
ok. I soon became enamoured of that acoustic strum, the Hammond, and the eerie
faeries singing “Why don’t we listen to the voices in our heart / Because then
I know we’d find we’re not so far apart / Everybody’s got to be happy /
Everyone should sing / For we know the joy of life / The peace that love can
bring.” Yeah, I know. Sort of the last
hurrah of hippiedom, but the music didn’t feel that way. Hensley's music and
Uriah’s sound was riding along the path that led from the “Stairway.” Wizards, Ladies who’re sure all that
glitters is gold. No, it wasn’t Faust,
but it wasn’t Black Sabbath either. And that was enough to make Demons and Wizards my favorite album of spring,
1972.Until I got hooked by Ian Anderson's demonic flute.
So spoke the wizard in
his mountain home.
No comments:
Post a Comment