Category: Music (Page 1 of 2)

The 7 Types of Karaoke Singers

The 7 Types of Karaoke Singers

Karaoke is an art form I’m passionate about. Perhaps a bit too passionate.

After all, I’ve already written an essay (published) and a short story (unpublished) on this very subject. It’s the next best thing to actually singing karaoke, which I haven’t done in quite some time. Nonetheless, if I can’t do it, I’ll write about it.

With all that experience, there’s something I’ve noticed about karaoke singers: They come in archetypes. In no particular order, here they are.

No. 1: The Overqualifier

The Overqualifier is often a member of their community a cappella group, a karaoke regular, or both. Whoever they are, they’re way too good to be singing at karaoke, because their talent defeats the entire purpose.

I mean, in what other context are lousy singers not only accepted, but encouraged? Speaking as a C+ singer myself, we’re unwelcome in most places. I’m not even welcome in my own home, sometimes, like when I endlessly repeat lines from King Gizzard’s “The Dripping Tap” and my wife loses patience. Sorry, Sara.

What I’m trying to say is, there’s only one place lousy singers can sing publicly, and it’s karaoke. Talented singers get to sing everywhere else, including outdoor stages, concert halls, and TV shows with critical yet occasionally touchingly supportive British judges.

They’ll select an expert-level song, probably something from Wicked or something by Adele, and they’ll sing it note-for-note. If you’ve ever gotten dirty looks from the average joes in the bar after nailing the high note in Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody,” you might be the Overqualifier.

No. 2: The Drunk

The Drunk might be talented. They might not be. It’s hard to tell, because all that alcohol is making them sound like Chewbacca.

Still, the Drunk is not without a certain charm (so long as they’re not vomiting). After all, alcohol is an essential add-on to the karaoke experience, like amphetamines at an EDM show. That said, the drunk has a short shelf life. They can be entertaining for a while, but when they start slurring the words to “Wonderwall,” they should probably head out.

If you sing karaoke while drunk, you’re probably the Drunk.

No. 3: The Screen Starer

You know that moment when your cat stares into the corner of the room without blinking, and you look into the same corner, only you don’t see anything, but the cat keeps on staring, and after a while you wonder if a ghost is crouched in the corner staring back, and you whisper, “Loon? What is it? Is someone there?”, and your cat still stares at the corner for another minute or two, and then she finally stops and you realize you peed yourself a little? That’s essentially what happens with the Screen Starer. (The staring part, not the peeing part.)

The Screen Starer is someone who doesn’t sing karaoke often, so they’re a little nervous. They probably know the lyrics, but don’t trust themselves enough to overcome stage fright. As a result, they sing their entire song to the prompter, like a cat staring at a ghost in a corner.

If your contacts pop out because you went three minutes and 26 seconds without blinking because you were staring at the scrolling lyrics to Amy Winehouse’s “Rehab,” you might be the Screen Starer.

No. 4: The Boss

I don’t mean Bruce Springsteen, although a Boss might sing Bruce’s “Jungleland.” The Boss is that person who picks a lengthy rock epic, even when they shouldn’t.

If you would even consider singing any of the following songs at karaoke, you are the Boss: 

  • “Stairway to Heaven” by Led Zeppelin
  • “Free Bird” by Lynyrd Skynyrd
  • “The End” by The Doors
  • The double-digit-minute version of “All Too Well” by Taylor Swift
  • Any song from a live Phish album

The Boss can be intimidating because they only care about their own satisfaction. They want to sing a song, usually a long one, and they don’t care if you like it or not—you’re gonna hear it, anyway.

No. 5: The Downer

Similar to the Boss, the Downer has a complete inability to read a room. Thus, they select songs like Johnny Cash’s “Hurt” while there’s a bachelorette party going on in the corner.

If anyone’s ever inquired about your wellbeing after your karaoke performance, you might be the Downer.

No. 6: The Gesticulator

The Gesticulator isn’t as talented as the Overqualifier, and they know it. That’s why they gesticulate. They’re relying on theatrics to distract from their voice, which may or may not sound like Moe Szyslak.

The Gesticulator has a difficult balance to manage. Anything too choreographed seems trite, while anything too spontaneous seems chaotic. The best tactics often involve humor, such as doing the River Dance during the bagpipe solo in AC/DC’s “It’s a Long Way to the Top (If You Wanna Rock ‘n’ Roll).” Some Gesticulators employ props, such as chairs, martini glasses, or their own removed clothing.

If you’ve ever earned a cheer from a karaoke crowd by doing something other than singing, you’re probably the Gesticulator.

No. 7: The Scott Stapp

Look, anyone who has the gumption to sing Creed at karaoke deserves their own category, which I’ve named after Creed’s singer. Creed is the preeminent example of an unofficial subgenre I call “Douchebag Rock.” It’s basically any artist where their lyrics make you sound like an asshole just by singing them, yet everyone agrees they’re catchy enough to earn a pass. Nickelback and Matchbox Twenty are in there as well.

Truth is, I myself am a Scott Stapp. I hope you haven’t lost respect for me (if you hadn’t already). But have you ever tried singing the chorus to “One Last Breath” without tearing up? It can’t be done, I tell you.

There You Have It

Confession time: In addition to the Scott Stapp, I’m a Gesticulator and a bit of a Screen Watcher. Which type of karaoke singer are you?


Kyle A. Massa is a comedy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include five books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

A Fan’s Review of King Gizzard’s New Album “PetroDragonic Apocalypse”

PetroDragonic Apocalypse Pillow

Album artwork by Jason Galea, converted to a pillow (for fun) by the author.

They promised it would be “heavy as fuck.” They weren’t lying.

PetroDragonic Apocalypse is here, and it spits pure fire. It’s the latest album from my new favorite band, King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard, and I’ve got some thoughts about it.

Opening Remarks

Billed as a sequel to their 2019 thrash metal classic Infest the Rat’s Nest, PetroDragonic Apocalypse shares an unexpected lineage with a different Gizzard record: 2022’s Ice, Death, Planets, Lungs, Mushrooms and Lava. Ice Death is known for its long orchestrations, and we see them here with Petro, too; only “Gila Monster” runs shorter than five minutes. The rest are lengthier explorations, with “Motor Spirit,” “Dragon,” and “Flamethrower” all approaching double-digits.

Still, like Rat’s Nest, the album uses heavy riffs to underscore its apocalyptic lyrics, i.e. “coal-black cloud horizon,” “miasma of hair and bile.” You get the idea. The concept of environmentalism shines through once again, albeit in a fantasy milieu rather than the science fiction of Rat’s Nest or the aquatic bliss of Fishing for Fishies.

Petro emphasizes guitars and drums throughout, with a hint of synths and throbbing bass. Ambrose’s harmonica is absent, as is Stu’s flute (though honestly, the latter would’ve surprised me). A little disappointing, but certainly not enough to slay this dragon.

Now let’s take a track-by-track look.

1. “Motor Spirit”

Stu’s doing his best impersonation of a smoker on this song, which I’ll admit is not my favorite vocal delivery. Still, the riffs are nasty, especially when we enter the track’s third act at 4:55. The two-word lines here are effective: “Burnt rubber/Grave robber/Fire starter/Spark imparter.” Really makes you want to buy a Tesla.

2. “Supercell”

This one’s appeared on touring setlists for a while, so it’s nice to hear the “official” version. It’s pure energy, with a chugging central riff and a fun call-and-answer chorus featuring Amby and Joey. There’s a pretty cruel inversion of The Wizard of Oz in the first verse, too, with lines like “Bodies flying on a rainbow/Run Toto” and “Angle grinder, a welcome friend/Dorothy’s end.”

Such lyrics could get a little eye-rolley, but fortunately, Gizzard has a sense of humor about it. In an interview with SpinStu described Petro like this: “[It’s] about humankind and it’s about planet Earth but it’s also about witches and dragons and shit.” Even at their most dramatic, they show a healthy sense of self-deprecating self-awareness.

3. “Converge”

I’m actually one of the first people to hear this song—or see it, for that matter. They debuted it live at Boston Calling on May 28, and let me tell you, the crowd went nuts. Seriously. I almost got swallowed by the mosh pit.

The album version inherits that same energy, opening with rapid-fire mute-strumming and progressing into vaguely Shakespearean lyricism. Stu’s guttural bellow at 4:15 is a highlight.

4. “Witchcraft”

If MacBeth was a musical, it might’ve sounded like this. “Witchcraft” is perhaps the most fantastical they get on this album, complete with a guitar solo at 3:02 that conjures Ritchie Blackmore’s fretwork from Rainbow. I feel like there’s an excellent acoustic take on this track somewhere in the aether—or maybe that’s just wishful thinking after their June 4th acoustic show.

5. “Gila Monster”

This one feels the most like a Rat’s Nest track, waiting until the final 55 seconds to depart from its main theme. It’s also another number I saw live in Boston. I must say, there are few things in life more fun than screaming the word “gila” over and over.

6. “Dragon”

After initial skepticism, this has become my favorite track on the record. I never love when artists just repeat the song’s title and call it a chorus (feel’s like AC/DC at their laziest), and at 1:17, that’s where it seems like this track is going.

Yet at 2:42, we get an unexpected callback to “Tetrachromacy” from Polygondwanaland. Next, at 4:08, Stu growls these truly badass lyrics: “The eye dilates/The air gyrates/A gate in the sky/A portal to die,” leading into a chorus of evil backing vocals at 4:25. I assume they’re sung by Amby and/or Joey, though it honestly sounds more like a bunch of dwarves from Middle-earth (they’re speaking Latin, not Dwarven, but still). At 6:27, Cavs goes ham on the double bass drums.

I counted seven distinct acts in all, with the first and penultimate overlapping on a pseudo-80s-metal-style riff. This is an epic worthy of Mordor.

7. “Flamethrower”

The album’s closer is as heavy as the rest, though we get a surprising shift to spacier sounds at 4:19, first with Cavs on toms, then joined by some layered synths. At 7:40, we hear the return of “Motor Spirit,” fading out to the end. It’s a nifty callback, giving the album a circularity hearkening back to 2016’s Nonagon Infinity.

…Unless you have the vinyl edition, in which case you’ve got one more track.

8. “Dawn of Eternal Night”

This vinyl-exclusive, 14-minute epic is another collaboration with longtime Gizzard co-star Leah Senior, who you’ll remember from Murder of the Universe. So far as I can tell, there’s no digital version of this track, so alas, I haven’t heard it. Maybe someday I’ll dust off my record player—or perhaps they’ll play it live.

Closing Remarks

King Gizzard has greatly improved as metal musicians in the four years since Rat’s Nest. Where those songs were hook-based, four-minute compositions reliant on repetitive (albeit sick) guitar techniques, PetroDragonic Apocalypse is far more varied and daring. It reminds me of Black Sabbath’s Sabbath Bloody Sabbath, wherein the band leads each track with a heavy riff, then ventures off into new directions. It doesn’t always work—for example, “Converge” probably would’ve played better as a tighter song—but when it does, you get gems like “Motor Spirit” and “Dragon.”

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this little review of King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard’s PetroDragonic Apocalypse. Feel free to crank the volume.


Kyle A. Massa is a comic fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include three books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

Some Notes from Boston Calling 2023

12:57pm

As I near the Harvard Athletic Complex for the third and final day of the Boston Calling Music Festival, I hear a Red Sox game playing on the radio. As a Yankees fan, I’m obligated to hate the Sox, yet instead, the broadcast gives the city a pleasant, cozy feel. I must be going soft.

1:24pm

Outside the Athletic Complex, I’m feeling a bit lost until I spot a guy about my age and an older woman (his mother?), both of them wearing King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard shirts. I follow them. These are my people.

1:36pm

As I combine with the tide of eager concertgoers, two things occur to me. First, that I must look like a complete tool, what with my clear drawstring bag packed with SPF 50 sunscreen, water bottle, and box of tissues. Second, that I forgot to pack my cough drops. (I’ve got some sort of cold.)

1:43pm

Juice opens the day on the Red Stage. They’re energetic and fun, with three lead singers and a guy on electric violin who’s absolutely nasty.

I try to navigate around a metal barrier protecting the center of the viewing area, but I’m informed that’s reserved for VIPs. Now I feel like a pleb.

1:43pm (continued)

Not even a full minute later, I leave this note for myself: “And by the way, where are the bathrooms?” I consult the festival app, but my phone is getting sluggish and I realize it must be overheating. So am I, since there’s a high of 87. Next priority: Finding something to drink.

1:53pm

I discover the bathrooms, which end up being a small village of portable toilets. On the way back to the Red Stage, I notice a woman in leather pants.

…Leather pants? I reiterate: It’s 87 degrees out. When does fashion supersede personal safety?

1:55pm

You know you’re in Boston when the line for the Dunkin Rewards Lounge is 100 people deep.

2:05pm

And now I purchase my first beverage of the day, a Truly Strawberry Banana hard seltzer. It costs $12.50, which really irks my inner cheapskate. What’s worse, it tastes not only bad, but slightly nauseating.

2:06pm

I find my way back to the stage to see Juice’s penultimate song. I decide their drummer looks like the son of David Bowie and Harry Styles.

2:19pm

There are some eccentric characters at this festival. Example: A shirtless guy with a green mohawk and tattoos of Pichu, Pikachu, and Raichu scattered across his back.

2:56pm

I next opt for a Twisted Tea, saving a whopping 50 cents compared to my previous purchase. This goes down much better.

3:30pm

The line for merch looks like a standing army. I give up on my idea of buying a new King Gizzard shirt.

3:41pm

I catch the Linda Lindas, again on the Red Stage (because it’s the only stage I can find). They urge people to “Stay hydrated!” Also, they ask, “Do y’all have a favorite kind of dinosaur?”

3:51pm

It’s hot as hell and everyone’s fighting for shade. I catch random snippets of conversation:

  • “Oh my god, I texted you, I said, ‘Where you at, bitch?'”
  • “I’m the Jacob that hates being called Jake.”
  • “Back in our day, it was weird to punch people in the face.”

4:02pm

Another Twisted Tea. I don’t feel so much as a buzz, probably because I’m instantly sweating out anything I put in.

4:14pm

I tally the shirts I spot. Gizzard count is at five, Taylor Swift count is at two. BTW, T-Swift isn’t playing at this event. I find it remarkable that her appearance in the film Cats hasn’t damaged her popularity whatsoever.

4:18pm

I search for the Blue Stage, because that’s where Gizz will be in about four hours. I catch a band called Brutus, a three-piece hard rock/heavy metal group that I like but don’t love. I sit on the grass with a bunch of other people, roasting like a turkey that’s paid for the privilege.

5:11pm

I return to my trusty Red Stage to find a band called Bleachers. With the singer’s tucked shirt and blue jeans, along with not one, but two saxophone players, I’m instantly reminded of the E-Street Band. Then the singer’s like, “I’m from New Jersey!”,  and he invites his dad onstage to play a song, and I’m wondering if his dad is actually Bruce Springsteen.

(Addendum: He’s not.)

5:55pm

There’s a hidden stage. It’s called the Orange Stage, and I find it more or less on accident. Ali McGuirk sings there with three backing musicians, and they’re outstanding. I enjoy them all so much I forget to take notes.

6:34pm

A hairy man passes me, points at my chest, and asks, “You ready? You ready? You ready?” It’s only when he passes that I realize he’s talking about Gizzard. (The shirt count is up to nine, by the way.)

6:47pm

The merch line has not moved. At all. For all I know, those are the same people who were there this morning, now forever locked in a Sisyphean struggle for a new t-shirt.

7:08pm

While standing between the Red and Green Stages waiting for Queens of the Stone Age, I see him again.

“You ready? You ready? You ready?”

This time I’m ready. I accept his fist bump and say something to the effect of, “Yeah!” My voice is reedy and hoarse, not from screaming, but from that annoying cold.

7:10pm

Re: Maren Morris: She’s very talented, but I just can’t do country. I’m sorry. I can’t.

She’s playing the Green Stage while I wait for Queens at the Red. There’s a definite schism between these two fan bases. Nobody on my side is clapping, or even reacting, to her.

7:20pm

Queens of the Stone Age hits the Red Stage, and it occurs to me that, as a musician, you’re frequently photographed with your mouth wide open.

8:01pm

I leave Queens early to get a good spot for Gizzard. That ends up being the front-right of the Blue Stage, about 10 rows back. My right shoe sticks to the concrete.

8:10pm

20 minutes until showtime and the band’s already here. They’re practicing a song I don’t recognize, though only a few of their instruments are plugged in; all I hear is Lucas on bass and Cavs on drums (we’re on a first name/nickname basis). Could they be debuting a new song?

8:20pm

Gizz goes live. People go crazy, including me. A swirling mosh pit emerges, and I back up to avoid it. At some point, I stop taking notes.

10:05pm

A mass swarm for the exits. Paramore is still playing on the Green Stage, yet this crowd doesn’t seem to care. I overhear someone behind me say, “Aderol and weed was the perfect mix for Gizz.”

Glad he had fun. I did, too, though without the assistance of substances (unless you count the Twisted Tea). They did indeed debut a new song, and I was one of the first people to see it.

Now I need to get some sleep (and possibly a shower). I steel myself for the walk back.


Kyle A. Massa is a comic fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include three books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

Remembering Gizzvember

King Gizzard

Anittoli18, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons

I’ve never joined a cult, but I suspect it’s something like being a fan of King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard.

They’re a real band. I’m not making up the name. It was the result of “a certain state of inebriation and a few laughs.” They’re nominally a rock band, though depending on the song or album, they also cover the following territory:

  • Psychedelic jams
  • Thrash metal
  • Microtones and polyrhythms (whatever those are)
  • Electronic dance beats
  • Boogie blues
  • Rap
  • Concept albums
  • Acoustic folk
  • Synth pop
  • Surf rock
  • Spoken-word narrative with musical accompaniment

They haven’t done a country album yet, though if they release one someday, I won’t be surprised.

If you’re a Gizzard fan, you don’t just dabble—you’re a devoted follower, an evangelist. You add the prefix “Gizz” to as many words as possible, i.e. “Last Gizzvember, I drank the Gizzade and joined the Gizzhive.”

There are six (formerly seven) leaders of this great Australian cult. Please allow me to Gizztroduce them.

Eric Moore (Drums)

Like The Grateful Dead and Allman Brothers before them, Gizz employed two drummers. I usually find this approach redundant, though it was cool to see Eric and his counterpart sit face-to-face at shows and mirror each other’s fills. Eric quit the band in 2020 to focus on managing his record label. (A drummer friend of mine claims he departed because he “couldn’t keep up” with Gizzard’s other drummer, but we’ll avoid speculation.)

Michael Cavanagh (Also Drums)

Gizz’s current percussionist is incredibly versatile. It’s one thing to play varying genres using string and woodwind instruments, many of which can be customized to the music. It’s quite another to find the right grooves using the same drum kit for every song. Michael convincingly shifts from high-speed heavy metal (“Venusian 2“) to jazzy grooves (“Ice V“) to rap beats (“Sadie Sorceress“) to bluesy shuffles (“Fishing for Fishies“). I consider him the keystone of the band.

Lucas Harwood (Bass)

To borrow a concept from American football, bass players are the offensive linemen of music: They don’t get the glory, but they enable it for everyone else. So it is with Lucas. He’s the group member I know least about, though he’s no less talented than the other five guys (see his bass solo on “Mars for the Rich“). Fun fact: He used to be Lucas Skinner, but changed his surname to his wife’s when they married. (I read this fun fact on Reddit, so if it is in fact untrue, I apologize.)

Cook Craig (Guitar and Vocals)

To borrow another sports term, Cook is the ultimate glue guy. He’s perhaps not the flashiest fellow in the band, but he seems to be a beloved teammate. He most often plays rhythm guitar live, which is what I do, so I feel a personal affinity there. Cook also sings in a pseudo guest-star capacity, sort of like Ringo did in the Beatles. Try “The Garden Goblin” from Omnium Gatherum for an example.

Joey Walker (Guitar, Keyboards, and Vocals)

There are three guitarists in Gizzard, and from what I can tell, Joey’s the best of them. His solo on live versions of “Work This Time” is especially magnificent, as are his contributions to every jam on Ice Death. He also plays some excellent keys on a handful of songs, my favorite being “Magenta Mountain.”

Ambrose Kenny-Smith (Vocals, Harmonica, Keyboards, Percussion, Saxophone)

Ambrose’s harmonica is one of the coolest bits of Gizz. It’s featured most prominently on Fishing for Fishies, though it appears plenty on most other releases. He’s also the group’s best singer, in my opinion, with a unique and high-ranging delivery that makes songs like “Let Me Mend the Past” and “Straws in the Wind” live favorites.

I also give him the award for the most interesting adolescence. When introducing the song “Cut Throat Boogie” at Red Rocks in 2022, he said, “This one’s about when I was 16 and I went to a party, and my friend accidentally stabbed me in the neck with a broken bottle. But we’re all good now.”

Stu Mackenzie (Vocals, Guitar, Flute, Clarinet, Keyboards)

Stu is to Gizzard as Townshend is to The Who: He’s the band leader and primary songwriter. While his voice is less distinct than Ambrose’s, it’s more versatile, morphing from breezy croon (“Float Along – Fill Your Lungs“) to thrash metal growl (“Superbug“) with ease. Plus, his lyrics have inspired an overarching story dubbed the “Gizzverse,” which you can learn about on the King Gizzard Subreddit (we’re a cult, so of course we’re on Reddit).

Beyond singing, Stu’s musicianship is virtuosic. His flute would no doubt impress even the likes of Ian Anderson (try “Hot Water“), and his clarinet (try “Sense“) is equally skillful, if less frequent. My brother-in-law Dan describes him as a “musical genius,” and I think he’s right. For example, Stu once uttered the following sentence in an interview with Guitar World regarding Gizzard’s 2017 release Flying Microtonal Banana: “It’s kind of a Dorian mode with a half flat sixth and a half flat second, because that was the way my baglama was fretted.”

I don’t know what any of that means—but I like how the music sounds.

I should also mention Jason Galea, who’s done the album artwork for all the group’s releases. Like the band, Jason works in multiple mediums, from illustrated psychedelic excess (Oddments, Murder of the Universe, Sketches of Brunswick East) to photography (Paper Mâché Dream Balloon, Changes, Float Along – Fill Your Lungs).

So yeah. That’s Gizzard.

Have I mentioned how absurd their output is? Let’s put it this way: As of the writing of this essay, King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard has released 23 studio albums in 11 years (including five in 2017 and five more last year), making their average 2.09 albums per year. For comparison, The Rolling Stones have released 30 studio albums in 59 years for an average of one album every other year. If Gizz continues their pace over the same time span as the Stones, they’ll have a discography of 118 studio albums by the year 2071.

Now that you’re familiar with the cult, let me tell you how I joined. We’ll begin with a t-shirt…

#

One of my best friends from college owned a navy t-shirt depicting a man with cotton-candy-shaped hair, sunglasses, and Bermuda shorts. The man holds the wheel of a ship in one hand and a beer in the other. The trademarked phrase below reads “Old guys rule.”

While growing up, this was my unspoken attitude toward music. Old people rule. The music of my generation does not.

My favorite musicians were the following, in no particular order: The Who, Jethro Tull, Black Sabbath, The Beatles, The Doors. These were the artists blaring through wired headphones on my iPod Classic. I marked my enjoyment of music by years, starting in 1965 with The Who’s debut album, The Who Sings My Generation, and concluding in 1981 with The Stones’ last great record, Tattoo You. Anything outside that range was a hard sell.

My earliest reckonings of this old-music bias date back to the 2005 action film Saharaof all things. Based on Clive Cussler’s bestselling adventure novels, the movie stars Matthew McConaughey as Dirk Pitt, some sort of naval-adjacent investigator dude who works out frequently and needs a haircut.

This is one of those movies you hesitate to rewatch, fearing the veneer of nostalgia will wipe clean upon revisitation. Instead of recounting it, I’ll point to a specific scene, in which McConaughey and his goofy sidekick, played by Steve Zahn, speed through the titular desert by strapping wheels to a sailboat and riding a gust of wind across the sand.

My dad is a sailor. I haven’t asked him if this would actually work, though I suspect his answer would be some variation of “Hell no, and let me explain the physics of why not.” At any rate, my most vivid memory of the scene isn’t the visual—it’s the song that was playing.

I asked my mom if she knew said song, and she happily answered it was “Magic Carpet Ride,” one of her favorites. And so, for Christmas that year, a “Best of Steppenwolf” CD appeared in my stocking. The cover depicted the band in full 60s regalia: long hair, beards, mustaches, unbuttoned shirts, even an afro. I listened to this album constantly over the next few years, careful never to bump my CD player lest it skip (young readers, you have no idea what this was like).

Steppenwolf was never my #1, but they opened the door for The Doors. This was another of my mom’s favorites. She introduced me to their greatest hits, then I delved deeper with my dad’s record collection. I delighted in the smokey poetry of Morrison’s vocals, the shimmer of Manzarek’s keys, the buzz of Krieger’s guitar, and the precision of Densmore’s drumming. They quickly became my favorite band.

I had to solidify my devotion the best way I knew how: With a t-shirt. My Doors shirt was an olive-green print with their hollow-letter logo overtop a sunset, a fleet of helicopters swarming across the horizon. I remember buying it at Target, in the section where they sell such frivolous crap. I believe the image came from Francis Ford Coppola’s Apocalypse Now, which featured The Doors’ “The End” in the soundtrack.

Now that I’d explored their discography and equipped myself in the proper attire, it was time to see the Doors live. Well, half of them.

At the Egg in Albany in 2010, original members Ray Manzarek and Robby Krieger were joined by Ty Dennis on drums and legendary session man Phil Chen on bass. Milijenko Matijevic played the role of Jim Morrison, and did so quite well.

My mom bought the tickets for my birthday, and my pal Jimmy and I attended. We were the youngest people in the crowd by several decades, and that was how I liked it. Now this is musicI thought to myself, nodding as a drunk, balding man in the front row gyrated to “L.A. Woman.” If I was born 40 years ago, that could’ve been me.

With live music now part of my repertoire, I turned to YouTube for more. That’s when I discovered The Who.

My love for this band was born half of music, half of spectacle. I’ve still never seen a group like them. Take their 1978 live rendition of “Won’t Get Fooled Again” at Shepperton Studios, for instance. Roger Daltrey swings his mic like a grappling hook while Pete Townshend slides across the stage on his knees and, of course, smashes his guitar. Keith Moon gives a lively performance, especially considering it would be his last; he died four months later of an overdose. John Entwistle is the only exception to the mayhem, though the barrage of notes rumbling from his bass remains unparalleled. Once I ordered a Who t-shirt on Amazon, it was settled: They were my new favorite band.

My aforementioned iPod Classic replaced the CD player in high school. With it, I’d watch downloaded YouTube clips of Who concerts during my bus rides. I’m sure the other students looked at me and thought, What a weirdo. While they were texting or sleeping or chatting with friends, I was watching Townshend swing his arm like a windmill.

Yet this was the appeal of my parents’ tunes. You don’t get it, but I do—that’s how my thinking went. Modern music is crap. Old guys rule.

There were exceptions. In my senior year of high school, I surprised myself by becoming quite partial to Lady Gaga. Sophomore year of college, Australian rock band Wolfmother caught my attention. A decade later, I discovered unofficial Led Zeppelin cover band Greta Van Fleet.

None of them lasted. (Except for Gaga—her Super Bowl Halftime Show was lit.) It seemed, for me, that modern music would never rival its ancestors.

Then along came a Gizzard.

#

November 2022 was supposed to be about writing, not music. For the third time in my life, I had committed to National Novel Writing Month. Of course, being the serial multitasker that I am, I needed work for my ears as well as my fingers. So, I decided to try King Gizzard.

At this point, I wasn’t yet a convert. I’d tried the album Fishing for Fishies about a year prior, and though I enjoyed its harmonica-based blues, my next listen, Infest the Rat’s Nestdidn’t go so well. Rat’s Nest is about as intense as it sounds. Chugging guitars, throbbing bass, lyrics about cheery subjects like planetary decay and self-immolation. It’s the type of stuff that would’ve concerned my mom had she heard it coming from my room in high school.

Though these records couldn’t be more different, they were both released in the same year. Boogie blues to thrash metal. That’s a transition most bands never make, let alone doing so in a matter of months.

This versatility appeals to longtime fans, but it can be jarring for newcomers. What is this band? I remember thinking, Are they Paul Butterfield or are they Metallica? Of course, the answer was this: both, and more.

A year passed, and while playing badminton one fall afternoon with Dan, my brother-in-law, I received a new recommendation.

“You should listen to Ice Death,” he said. “Great album.”

Dan is a fellow cultist, and so uses the appropriate nickname for Gizzard’s 2022 masterpiece Ice, Death, Planets, Lungs, Mushrooms and Lava. (I assure you, the font on the cover is quite small.) Here the band eschews blues and metal alike for an hour’s worth of improvised jamming, all based on different Greek modes of music.

I couldn’t tell you what that means, but true to Dan’s word, Ice Death is great. After listening to it for three days straight, I proceeded to a website called “Get into Gizz” (also at Dan’s suggestion), which helps one navigate the band’s expansive discography by offering personalized recommendations. I hopped from Gizzard’s high-energy I’m in Your Mind Fuzz to their acoustic wonder, Paper Mâché Dream BalloonFrom there, I floated to their psychedelic jazz album—yes, they have a psychedelic jazz album—called Quarters!

I could go on, but you get the idea. If you need a website to navigate a band’s discography, you must be in a cult.

This music propelled me through November, which came to be known as Gizzvember. I woke every morning at 4am, drowsy but ready to write, switching on the pre-loaded coffee machine, letting the dog out of her crate, sinking into the couch, sinking AirPods into my ears, then cranking the Gizz. We have Alexa in our house, so I commanded her to do the following: “Alexa, from this day henceforth, you shall play nothing but King Gizzard.”

She ignored my directive. She’s out of the cult.

#

Has King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard become my favorite band? Maybe. I still need a t-shirt.

But they are a secret language shared by Dan and me, one we’re both fluent in. They combine the aspects of music I so love in other bands: The energy of The Who, the flute of Jethro Tull, the thunderous riffs of Black Sabbath, the acoustic melodies of The Beatles, the double-digit psychedelic odysseys of The Doors. They offer a little of everything without feeling derivative.

Perhaps my greatest connection to the group is their artistic approach. In my writing, I wander from subject to subject. My first book was a supernatural mystery, my second was a short story collection, my third was a comic epic fantasy, and my fourth will be a collection of nonfiction essays.

GetIntoGizz.com describes the band as “genre-confused.” I think that describes me, too.

So, if you’ve made it this far, you’re ready to join the cult. Right this way, friend. Around these parts, every month is Gizzvember. Let me just find you a pair of headphones…


Kyle A. Massa is a comic fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include three books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

The World Without The Who

The Who

Heinrich Klaffs, CC BY-SA 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons, modified by the author using Canva

Full disclosure, reader: This won’t be an objective piece.

Not that any entry in this series has been (or will be). Still, I thought I should state that upfront, because when it comes to this subject, I am entirely biased. The Who is my all-time favorite band.

Though I’d rather never contemplate a world without them, we’ll do it here to highlight their importance. In a world without the Who…

…The Incredibles Wouldn’t Exist

In 1999, a guy named Brad Bird directed a movie called The Iron Giant. Due to the critical success of that film, Pixar Animation Studios gave Bird the greenlight to write and direct another animated feature: The Incredibles. We all know what happened next: Reddit users posted numerous memes about Elastigirl being thicc.

What do the Who have to do with all this? Well, Who guitarist Pete Townshend adapted The Iron Man, a novel by Ted Hughes, into a musical of the same name. Warner Bros. purchased the film rights to that album, and it soon became Bird’s The Iron Giant.

Therefore, no Who, no Incredibles. You’re welcome, Reddit.

…Punk Rock Would Be Gone

The Who was one of the chief inspirations behind punk rock, particularly the aggressive, power-cord-slamming style of guitarist Pete Townshend. Bands such as the Clash, Sex Pistols, Green Day, and the Ramones have either covered songs by the Who or cited them as influences.

So, by extension, this world we’re imagining would also miss classic tunes like “Rock the Kasbah,” “Anarchy in the UK,” and “American Idiot.” And who could forget everybody’s favorite Ramones song, “Pet Sematary”?

…What Would CSI Do?

They have like 10 spinoffs, and all of them bastardize Who songs for their opening credits. I’m still waiting for CSI: Portland, which would use something weird, e.g. “Boris the Spider.”

…No More Animal from the Muppets

That’s because Animal is based on the Who’s original drummer, Keith Moon.

Moon really was some sort of animal. For example, on his 21st birthday, he committed the following acts at a Holiday Inn in Flint, Michigan:

  • Got very drunk
  • Chipped half his front tooth
  • Started a food fight
  • Set off numerous fire extinguishers
  • Drove a Lincoln Continental into the swimming pool (this claim has since been disputed)

This all cost an alleged $24,000 in property damage, which was worth quite a bit more in 1967. Most of us get sloppy on our 21st birthdays—but not 24k-sloppy. For comparison, here’s what I did on mine:

  • Drank legally
  • Dined at Ithaca’s finest restaurant: Sammy’s Pizza
  • Capped off the night with some Call of Duty: Black Ops

I suppose my Venn diagram overlapped with Moon’s on the “got very drunk” part. But hey, nobody ever based a Muppets character on me.

…Yet.

…The Rock Opera Would Be a Lost Art

The Who’s Tommy was the first. Without its pioneering presence, would we have such classics as David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust, Pink Floyd’s The Wall, or The Simpsons’ Simpsons Christmas Boogie? I think not.

…Smashing Guitars Would Be Considered Vandalism

Yes, Mr. Townshend was the first man to smash a guitar for the spectacle. He was inspired to do so by artist Gustav Metzger, who destroyed his own work as a mode of artistic expression. Pete did the same, forcing the band to glue their instruments back together in their early days, when they lacked the funds to replace them.

…In the Year 2010, a Vegetable Platter Might’ve Been Saved

During Super Bowl XLIV, the Who played the halftime show. And somewhere, some overenthusiastic viewer did a Pete Townshend windmill air-guitar move, knocking over somebody’s veggie tray at their Super Bowl party. I’m almost certain this happened.

My friend Jimmy maintains this was the worst halftime performance in Super Bowl history, but as I’ve said, I’m biased. I’ll admit, Pete’s shirt kept flying up during those aforementioned windmill moves, revealing his old man stomach beneath.

Yet still, it’s hard to get much worse than 2019, which featured shirtless Adam Levine, 30 seconds of Travis Scott, half of Outkast, and for some reason, SpongeBob SquarePants.

…Young Kyle Would’ve Gotten More Sleep

I recall one night in high school where I stayed up late listening to Tommy and getting very emotional, I think after being rejected by a girl or something. Emo much?

Oh, and also, I downloaded all the Who’s DLC songs on Rock Band 2 and played them ad nauseam in my dad’s basement, usually at night. If you thought the Who’s cover of “Young Man Blues” from Live at Leeds was good, wait ’til you get a load of mine.

…Sports Teams Would Have Shorter Pregame Playlists

I swear, every time I tune in to a Giants game, they’re playing “Baba O’Riley.” Of course, they never play “My Generation,” because that would offend the geriatric fans.

That reminds me of a story. You may not have known this, reader, but I’m in a band. We’re called Hurricane Betty, and we once played a pool party at a dude’s house (we dubbed him “Cabana Bob,” owing to his sick backyard cabana). Sometime during the party, Bob announced one of his guests was celebrating their 60th birthday. Everyone sang “Happy Birthday,” and all was well.

Two songs later, we played “My Generation.” My brother-in-law Dan (and our band leader) changed the most famous line in the song to this: “I hope I die before I turn 60.”

Paradoxically, Cabana Bob still invited us back the following year. Probably couldn’t find another band that would play for free.

…The World Would Be Far Less Interesting

Speaking for millions of fans throughout the world, I’m glad the Who exists. Now please excuse me while I go queue up a little Quadrophenia.


Kyle A. Massa is a comic fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include three books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

You can read more from the “World Without” blog series here. And if you want to see a specific topic, email kyle@kyleamassa.com.

The Illusion of Effortlessness

talent

Jordan’s jump shot. Aretha’s voice. Shakespeare’s wit. Cage’s acting.

These people and their talents have one thing in common (except the last one—that was a joke). They all appear effortless.

As someone who loves writing, I’ve noticed this phenomenon in my chosen craft. I’m listening to an audiobook by Neil Gaiman right now, for example, and all I can think of after every story is, Wow. He’s so talented. I’ve gotten into the audio game of late, and even Neil’s reading feels effortless.

Of course, it isn’t. Mastery conceals years of practice spent honing a craft. We’ll never see the millions of shots Michael Jordan missed to perfect his form, nor the countless hours Aretha Franklin spent in church singing her favorite songs, nor the numerous revisions Shakespeare no doubt made to his plays. And even Nicolas Cage probably practices his freakouts.

This illusion can be understandably frustrating, especially for those striving for equivalent mastery. I want to become a full-time writer someday, so when I read a superb book that’s sold millions of copies, I always feel a little jelly.

Why can’t it be that easy for me? I wonder. Why can’t I have that kind of natural talent?

Here’s what I need to remind myself: Effortlessness is an illusion.

That’s not to say natural skill doesn’t exist; some musicians are born with perfect pitch, for example. But no one achieves mastery from innate skill alone. Practice, dedication, and perseverance are essential, no matter how effortless the final product might appear.

Why write this? Because I forget it all the time, which makes me think others do, too. Sometimes we envy people for their skills, all the while forgetting that we could achieve the same proficiency—or even surpass it—by working hard. Natural talent is places some further ahead than others before the starting gun sounds. But hard work can close the gap.

Next time you compare yourself to someone else, remember that effortlessness is an illusion. They got where they are by working hard—and that means you can do the same.

Unless you want to act like Nicolas Cage, that is. No amount of practice will get you there.


Kyle A. Massa is a speculative fiction author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their cats, and their dog. He has written two books and numerous short stories, both published and yet-to-be published. He enjoys unusual narrative structures, multiple POVs, and stories that make readers laugh.

How the Cosmic Eating Contest Went Awry

Writer

(Disclaimer: the title of this blog post has nothing to do with its content. Rather, it’s meant to get you to read the piece. Apologies to those interested in cosmic eating contests.)

I went to an art show last week with my mom. She entered a painting of my aunt’s cat (it was the best one there, in my opinion). Before the winners were announced, we browsed through the other paintings. Each had a title, and one in particular caught my eye.

Its name was: “Waiting for the Slutty Nun.” I needed to see this piece.

No, I don’t have a thing for slutty nuns. Rather, the title was so outrageous, so striking, that I couldn’t not be interested in the painting. I wasn’t the only one; people chattered about the piece before they’d even seen it.

For me, this experience reinforced the idea that a good title is essential for any piece of art. An accurate label isn’t enough. If we want to get people excited about our work before they even see it, a good title is essential.

For writers, the title of a book or story is often the first point of contact between the reader and the work. If they’ve never heard of you or your writing before, you want to make a good first impression. A great title sparks that initial interest—which is exactly what we’re looking for.

Furthermore, a good title can help our work stand out from others. For instance, let’s say you wrote a truly outstanding crime novel. It’s suspenseful, unpredictable, and exciting. Plus, it’s unlike other crime novels because it takes place on the moon. Clearly, this is a pretty unusual story. Yet if you give it a generic title like “The Murder,” you’re not showing how your piece is different from others.

Lastly, great titles are perfectly paired with their stories. I’m thinking of Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451. Imagine if that book had a different title, like The Firemen or The Book Burners. Wouldn’t it just not be the same? No other title quite captures the essence of the story so perfectly (451 degrees Fahrenheit is the temperature at which paper ignites, by the way). Plus, that title would never fit quite right on any other novel. Fahrenheit 451 is the perfect name for that book, and only that book.

For us writers and artists in general, I think agonizing over the perfect title is well worth it. Let’s not settle for the generic—let’s be inventive. Evocative. Bold. Or, if you’re a nun, maybe even a little slutty?

What Ever Happened to the Guitar?

Electric Guitar

After watching the latest Superbowl halftime show starring Katy Perry and her dancing shark pals, a single question occurred to me: what ever happened to the guitar?

The instrument still exists. However, you’ll remember that there was no backing band at the halftime show, and therefore no guitarist. In popular music in general, the guitar seems to be an afterthought. And even the tracks that do use guitar lack that certain style of playing, that self-indulgent five minute solo in the middle of the song, that boundless vocabulary that seems able to touch on each and every emotion one can feel.

In the 50’s, 60’s, and 70’s, the guitar was in its prime. Guys like Eric Clapton, Jimi Hendrix, and Jimmy Page were pioneering the sound that later guitarists would aspire to. These guys spoke through their instruments, weaving stories for the ear. There was Clapton’s voyage into unknown seas in “Tales of Brave Ulysses,” Hendrix’s trio of rousing solos in “All Along the Watchtower,” and Page’s ascension to the titular kingdom in “Stairway to Heaven.” When played by a master, there is no other instrument that can make the listener feel with such depth.

But what happened to all the masters?

Certainly, there are still guitar gods alive and well. Clapton and Page are still around, Metallica’s Kirk Hammett still plays a nasty axe, and there are numerous others beside. However, all of these artists made their names decades ago. Back then, they were the most popular acts. Nowadays, though still popular, their songs aren’t really top-chart hits.

The most popular artists of today are the Katy Perrys, the Lady Gagas, and the Adeles of the world. All are talented in their own ways, but they and the other top attractions of today are missing the guitar that so heavily influenced music in the 50’s, 60’s and 70’s.

I’m not saying that rock music or music with guitar solos is a superior form of artistic expression. (Well, I kind of do think that, but I’m trying to be objective here.) I’m just pointing out the fact that around the turn of the century, the guitar seemed to vanish from popular music, in favor of pre-recorded beats and electronic synthesizers.

So where did the guitar go?

It’s hard to say. I think that the decline of the instrument is due in large part to the purpose of modern popular music. Of course, music’s pretty much always been made to dance to–but especially now, popular songs are written to be club anthems. The top hits are usually between two and four minutes, have a constant and repetitive beat, and feature lyrics about–you guessed it–partying.

Will we ever see the likes of Page, Clapton, and Hendrix again? Time will tell, I suppose. For now, I think I’ll stick with my vinyl and keep the radio off.

Lana Del Rey’s “Ultraviolence” is an Excellent Listen, But…

Lana Del Rey

I usually don’t do a lot of music reviews on my blog. However, I wanted to talk about the new album Ultraviolence for two reasons. One, Lana Del Rey is possibly the only modern artist I’ll listen to, and two, because I’ve never had this sort of reaction to an album before.

Musically, I think it’s marvelous. The melodies are haunting and instantly memorable, and the instrumentation is solid. You have to hand it to Del Rey; she’s produced an album without a radio-friendly single and without the electronic beats most popular artists use today. I think she’s a truly unique artist–no small feat when you look at all the clone pop stars around now.

Dan Auerbach of the Black Keys provides veteran support on guitar and production. His low-key, sombre chords fit the music quite well, particularly on “Brooklyn Baby” and “Ultraviolence.” Del Rey’s lyrics layer flawlessly over top, painting black and white noir scenes in the mind of the listener, scenes filled with empty west coast homes and alluring femme-fatales.

So much to love, and yet…

While most of the lyrics are wonderfully moody and atmospheric, some are downright troubling. Take for instance, the following lines from the title track:

I can hear sirens, sirens

He hit me and it felt like a kiss

I can hear violins, violins

Give me all of that Ultraviolence

Some will argue that Del Rey sings as a character, and that these lyrics are merely lines  in the David Lynchian domestic hyper-drama her character stars in. I’ll admit, that’s not a bad argument; no one would fault a filmmaker for portraying violence onscreen, as long as that violence is necessary to the story, and (in most cases) as long as it isn’t glorified. But what troubles me about these particular lyrics is that Del Rey’s character seems to be welcoming the abuse as affection.

Furthermore, “Ultraviolence” clearly references the controversial 1962 pop song “He Hit Me (And it Felt Like a Kiss).” Originally recorded by The Crystals and produced by Phil Spector, the song received limited airplay for obvious reasons. Here is one of the more shocking verses:

He hit me and it felt like a kiss

He hit me and I knew he loved me

If he didn’t care for me,

I could have never made him mad

But he hit me and I was glad

Wow.

When it comes to art, I don’t get irked by a lot. I almost always support an artist’s right to create and exhibit his or her work, no matter how sensational or controversial it might be.

But this song is just hard to listen to. Its lyrics are made even worse by the bright triangle chimes in the background and the vocal harmonies that seem to cheerily echo the song’s twisted message.

Of course, “He Hit Me” was written long before Lana Del Rey was even born. But she’s referencing it without really condemning the message. On the contrary, she seems to be promoting it.

It’s 2014. Haven’t we come farther than that yet?

Some may argue that these lyrics will set a bad example for young listeners; that young girls might think their boyfriends don’t love them unless they hit them, and that young boys might strike their girlfriends in an effort to show affection. I personally don’t buy this argument. Kids are smart. For the most part, they already know what’s right and wrong. In most instances, music, video games, TV, or anything else really aren’t going to change their behavior too drastically.

Ultimately, it’s up to the listener to decide what she or he thinks. What I will say is this: I really like Ultraviolence. I think it’s an excellent album. But I’ll probably never listen to it without a certain hesitancy.

And I’ll definitely never be comfortable with singing along with the lyrics.

Wishbone Ash: The Best Band You’ve Never Heard Of

Image courtesy sam-musiclovers.blogspot.com.

Don’t ask me why, but I’ve recently developed the strange habit of logging into YouTube and searching for obscure rock bands from the 60’s and 70’s–the weirder the name, the better. Some of the best I’ve discovered so far include “Gandalf,” “Lucifer’s Friend,” and “Bulbous Creation” (what the hell a bulbous creation is, I have no idea). Okay, I admit, some of these sound really weird. But, as they say, don’t judge a book by its cover. In fact, it seems to me that even the bands that never made it in the 60’s are still better than most of the acts around today. But that’s just my opinion…

One of the better groups I found with this method is a four-piece by the name of “Wishbone Ash.” Two random nouns smushed together to make a band name? Sounds good to me.

A British rock band founded in 1970, Wishbone Ash originated as a power trio named “Tanglewood.” Their lineup featured Martin Turner on bass, Steve Upton on drums,  and Martin’s brother Glenn Turner on guitar. After Glenn quit, manager Miles Copeland III put out an ad for a replacement guitarist. Instead of one, they found two: Andy Powell and Ted Turner. After extensive auditioning, the band decided to keep both. As members of Wishbone Ash, Powell and Turner became a seminal twin-lead guitar pair, pioneering the style made famous by such bands as Judas Priest, Iron Maiden, and Thin Lizzy.

I chose 1972’s Argus to be my introduction to the band, partly because it’s their most commercially successful album and partly because it’s the only complete album of theirs on YouTube.

Forty-five minutes later, I was blown away. These guys absolutely rock.

Right from the opening track, I got a sense of a professional, tight group. The nine minute rock odyssey “Time Was” starts things off with some soft acoustic picking. Then we get some surprisingly tender vocal harmonies from Martin and Ted Turner (no relation there, by the way). Just when you wonder where the electric guitars are, both blast in and take things to a new level. It’s a solid track, and it showcases the band’s versatility.

Next comes the sombre “Sometime World,” followed by the cheery “Blowin’ Free.” This was a concert favorite of the band, and for good reason–the bouncy riff is instantly recognizable, and it gets stuck in your head.

I consider the next track to be a high point of the album: the seven-minute epic “The King Will Come.” Andy Powell’s guitar tone during the intro sounds almost like pipes, and Upton’s marching snare matches the feel nicely. After about a minute, the song explodes into a killer riff by Ted Turner. Equally impressive solos from both guitarists fill the song out. After listening to most of their catalogue, I remain convinced that “The King Will Come” is Ash’s best.

Afterward comes the reserved “Leaf and Stream;” a nice song, but probably the weakest track on the album when compared to the others. “Warrior” features even more impressive guitar work (notice a pattern here?), but the song that solidifies Powell and Turner as true guitar legends is the closing track, entitled “Throw Down the Sword.”

Priest and Maiden might have made the twin-lead style famous, but I argue that Wishbone Ash did it better than anyone. The solo at the end of this song proves it. For the final two minutes, we’re taken on a musical journey by two outstanding guitarists. It’s amazing how the solos entwine, then diverge, then rejoin one another, almost like threads of silk woven into one. The combination of emotive phrasing and impressive fretwork is what makes this dual-solo really shine. But if you truly want to get a sense of just how good it is, you’ll have to listen to it yourself.

Argus vaulted Wishbone Ash into my upper echelon of all-time favorite artists with just one listen. The band produced some other strong efforts throughout its career (check out Pilgrimage, There’s the Rub, and New England), but, in my opinion, none of them quite matched the brilliance of this album.

So do yourself a favor. Buy Argus and take a listen. You won’t regret it.

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