![]() ![]() But, thanks to the boundary-pushing college station keeping Genesis in fairly heavy rotation and to the eager prodding of a new musical friend at the time named Joe, the Genesis album that had finally broken through for me was Selling England by the Pound. (Perhaps needless to say, other prog standards like Pink Floyd, Procol Harum, King Crimson, Yes, and The Moody Blues were already locked in solid for me, but this radio station played them, too.)Īside from the title track, I hadn’t even yet heard all that much of Genesis’ latest release of that preceding year, the double-LP concept album, The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway. (The station could usually only be heard clearly during evening hours, so that added a distinct thrill of discovery, too.) Leading the troops were Focus, Tangerine Dream, Gentle Giant, Caravan, Nektar, Camel and, yes, Genesis. (I had remembered the cover artwork – a classical painting being slashed by a knife – more than the music on it.) So I went on my merry, oblivious way, following other paths into the deep weeds of psychedelic and prog.įast forward to 1975: Thanks to a prog-heavy format of a low-power, regional college FM station about 50 miles outside of city limits I had just discovered, I was suddenly all abuzz over a new regiment of off-the-radar bands. And, for what it was worth, there was even some lead guitar.īut my head was somewhere else at the time, I suppose, and that album just didn’t light much of a fire for me. Sure, I liked all the piano, organ and interweaving guitar and flute bits OK, and the lead vocalist had a distinctly theatrical voice that reminded me of the lead singer from the rock opera Jesus Christ Superstar. One such band that he breathlessly introduced to me was a keyboard-heavy and jangly, 12-string guitar group we all know now called Genesis. Of course, he was also surely reading the British music papers for his inside track. Quite often, they were ones that the adventurous local underground FM rock station had somehow overlooked. ![]() In this enticing, below-street-level section of a multi-level downtown bookstore, he would find and retrieve pirate’s gold in the form of albums from emerging British and Euro prog-rock artists. Somewhere in the mists of the early 1970s, a prog-rock enthusiast I rubbed musical elbows with for a brief time used to frequent an import record shop here in Cincinnati.
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