The Becoming Led Zeppelin documentary has been criticised by some for its swift, wait-a-sec-what-happened-next conclusion, but there’s good reason for that. Ending as Led Zeppelin II is released, the timeline spares the filmmakers the onerous task of having to address the band’s Hammer Of The Gods years and all that entails, allowing them to focus on the music, which, as anyone who’s seen the film on a big screen can attest, sounds like it was beamed down from Olympus. And that’s why we’re here.
Jimmy Page, Robert Plant, John Paul Jones and John Bonham formed Led Zeppelin in 1968, taking their name from a prediction from Keith Moon that their band was almost certain to go down like a ‘lead balloon’. Their manager Peter Grant’s lack of confidence in the record-buying public’s pronunciation skills, allied to an innate instinct to think big, translated The Loon’s withering sarcasm into ‘Led Zeppelin’. And before you could say ‘swiftly signed to Atlantic, relentlessly toured’, they were the World’s Biggest Band that, for some reason, nobody you knew had ever seen on television.
Inexplicable anonymity aside, Zeppelin’s vastness was preposterous, and as their fame ballooned, their artistic vision expanded to match. Ever more epic live shows were marked by extensive improvisations by four virtuosi whose inspired ensemble interplay seemed almost supernatural in origin. Audiences broke records, albums camped out at the top of charts and during their 12-year existence, Led Zeppelin casually conquered Earth.
You’ve clearly got all of the Led Zeppelin albums already, so here’s the order in which they appear if you rank them from least-best to most-best.
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Classic Rock’s Reviews Editor for the last 20 years, Ian stapled his first fanzine in 1977. Since misspending his youth by way of ‘research’ his work has also appeared in such publications as Metal Hammer, Prog, NME, Uncut, Kerrang!, VOX, The Face, The Guardian, Total Guitar, Guitarist, Electronic Sound, Record Collector and across the internet. Permanently buried under mountains of recorded media, ears ringing from a lifetime of gigs, he enjoys nothing more than recreationally throttling a guitar and following a baptism of punk fire has played in bands for 45 years, releasing recordings via Esoteric Antenna and Cleopatra Records.
It’s difficult to imagine the world of prog without Yes, and all the interpersonal issues that punctuate the timeless music they’ve delivered down the decades. But if it hadn’t been for three quirks of fate in 1970 and 71, before they delivered The Yes Album, the world would have continued to turn without knowing what it was missing.
But as they worked on new music in the solitude of Langley Farm in Devon – a property Howe would later buy – their manager, Roy Flynn, arrived with some bad news: he’d run out of money and could no longer support them, and thus they no longer had management.
“There’d been nothing but big promises about how great we were going to be, but we were going round and round in ever-smaller circles,” drummer Bruford told Prog in 2021. “We were signed at the same time as Led Zeppelin and they were doing pretty well; and King Crimson had this astonishing first album – we were just knocked backwards by that and jealous as heck.
“There we were in our little damp farmhouse with fifty quid. That was two and half years or something into the band’s life. and we’d singly failed to produce.”
Howe’s input was helping, though; and keyboardist Kaye recalls the time fondly: “Steve and I used to go out and I used to drive around Devon. He and his guitar would create a lot of what eventually turned up on The Yes Album. Steve and I were pretty close at that time and a lot of good collaboration came out of it down there.”
Driving around presented the next problem: as a working band Yes spent endless hours on the road to and from shows, with tired drivers Anderson and Squire regularly falling asleep at the wheel. One night, near Basingstoke, the predictable incident took place. “It was tough driving in all kinds of conditions up and down the M1 and everywhere,” Kaye said.
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It was all but over. People have forgotten just how critical a time it was
Bill Bruford
“We hit a truck head-on in the pouring rain. I was in the passenger seat; the rest of the band were in the back. It was a full-on impact and the engine of our vehicle was pushed back into the cabin and broke my foot. It was scary.” Kaye had to perform for weeks with his foot in plaster while everyone was treated for shock – as seen on the cover of The Yes Album, which was taken just after their release from hospital.
The near-miss only compounded matters for the stressed band members. “It was all but over,” Bruford recalled. “People have forgotten just how critical a time it was then. We weren’t costing a lot – the rent of a house and a bit of food to keep body and soul together – but we were in deep trouble.”
YES – “Clap” written & performed by Steve Howe – YouTube
Anderson rose to the moment, the drummer continued. “It was Jon who was always on the phone, always hustling gigs; it was Jon who managed to find Hemdale.” That movie company included Brian Lane among their staff, and he’d become the band’s new manager. “Brian was like a branch of the social services,” Bruford laughed.
I’d known nothing but serious letdowns that I don’t even care to talk about… So when I joined Yes it was all very exciting
Steve Howe
Fate twisted for a third time, in a way that gave Lane another chance to shine via his experience as a record plugger. “Between January and March 1971 there was a national postal strike,” Bruford said, “which meant that the Melody Maker chart had to be suspended because they weren’t getting the returns back from the shops to be able to compile a chart.
“Who should step into the breach but a young Richard Branson? He had a chart, and so the newspapers of the day started printing his Virgin chart. The guy who owns the charts puts in what he wants. Brian said he’d get us in the charts. People talk, a couple of hundred quid changes hands – and before you know it, you’re in the charts. It’s that that got Yes going.”
Starship Trooper: a. Life Seeker, b. Disillusion, c. Würm (2008 Remaster) – YouTube
The Yes Album reached No.7 on its release in February 1971, and went on to make No.4 on the official UK chart. It was their first release to see such visible success, and – along with the versatility and virtuosity demonstrated in the new music – secured the band’s future.
“Up until Yes, I’d known nothing but serious letdowns that I don’t even care to talk about,” Howe reflected. “Being left flat here, being turned down there, being accused of this here, being fired there – you know, losing out. So when I joined Yes it was all musically very exciting. Although I’d enjoyed cover versions, I couldn’t see a career being built out of them.”
“Our band’s chemistry was really coming together. This whole new world opened up to us and we were off drugs. And then Jeremy died”: The anarchic early years of one of rock’s most enigmatic groups, The Mars Volta
(Image credit: Peter Pakvis/Redferns)
Formed in 2001, The Mars Volta boldly took rock music where no band had gone before. Four years later, as they released their second album Frances The Mute, Classic Rock sat down with mainmen Omar Rodriguez-Lopez and Cedric Bixler-Zavala and uncovered the secret history – including death, drugs and Drive-Ins – of these enigmatic mavericks.
With hindsight, it was obvious something was wrong. It was a night in February 2001, and the Astoria in London was sold out. Famous faces flitted through the audience: Bush frontman Gavin Rossdale smiling a millionaire’s smile, Kate Moss gliding barely noticed through the VIP area. The air was charged with a sense of occasion; a sense that if there was a place to be in London that night, it was here.
The source of the excitement was At The Drive-In, a young band from Texas who were reaching critical mass and about to go stratospheric. Their brutal cocktail of hardcore punk and angry metal had the music press in a lather and their album Relationship Of Command was earning them a rabid following worldwide. They looked amazing, too – that none-more-black muso chic that so many bands aim for and fall short of, that they wore with ease. Then there were the Afros; most of them had a feral shock of hair topping their diminutive, rock-god frames.
But amid the on-stage histrionics, all was not well. There was an awkward vibe up there. Singer Cedric Bixler-Zavala, a punked-up ball of energy, shrieked the rap-like vocals on One Armed Scissors and Invalid Litter Department. At one point he ran across the stage, leapt onto the drum riser and sprung off again with a reverse scissor kick. Then he shouted venomously at drummer Tony Hajjar, who returned fire. Later he turned on the audience to vent his spleen about something, but their oblivious roar and the acoustics of the room drowned him out.
Guitarist Jim Ward ranted like a petulant prefect at the moshpit, which frothed with limbs. Lead guitarist and musical lynchpin Omar Rodriguez-Lopez averted his gaze, turned back to his amp, fiddled with the settings and shook his head, defeated.
(Image credit: Lex van Rossen/MAI/Redferns)
By the time they trooped offstage and the audience went ballistic, At The Drive-In seemed almost disconsolate. The air of being The Next Big Thing hung over them like a hex. The band split just weeks later. Some of the ex-members formed emo band Sparta.
Cedric and Omar are now two albums into their band The Mars Volta – an entirely different prospect altogether. Their 2002 debut EP Tremulant had pundits scrabbling for names such as Yes, King Crimson and Pink Floyd in a desperate attempt to categorise The Mars Volta’s singular sound. But such comparisons give a false idea of what The Mars Volta are achieving. Far from peddling ersatz prog, they are, in the genuine sense, a modern progressive rock band.
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This feature originally appeared in Classic Rock 79 (May 2005) (Image credit: Future)
With a real-life tragedy humming at its core, their second album, Frances The Mute, is a bold and impressive musical statement. If there were a concept album check-list, it would tick all the boxes: it weighs in at 77 minutes is comprised of just five songs (a ‘five-song cycle’, if you will); two of the tracks (Cygnus… Vismund Cygnus and the centrepiece Miranda That Ghost Just Isn’t Holy Anymore) are almost a quarter of an hour-long apiece.
There’s a central conceit behind the lyrics and a continuous theme running throughout the music. By turns languid and frantic, the album succeeds in adhering to both a punk aesthetic and the more holistic approach of ‘album rock’. It’s a demanding listen.
“We don’t want to be background music,” Omar says. “We want it to be like a film, like the stuff we like: you turn it on, you shut up, and listen from beginning to end.”
The Mars Volta – The Widow (Album Version (Edited)) – YouTube
Born in Puerto Rico, Cedric Bixler-Zavala and Omar Rodriguez-Lopez met when their parents relocated to El Paso, Texas. By the late 80s, while their friends were into Jane’s Addiction, Red Hot Chilli Peppers and Happy Mondays, they were skipping class in high school to rehearse in bands. They drew inspiration from the old-fashioned punk of The Germs, Black Flag and Circle Jerks, as well as the experimental sounds of Gong and Soft Machine. Their own ethnic identity also fed into the mix.
“What set us apart was our musical imagination,” Omar says, “and that comes partly from us being Hispanic kids growing up in the States. Traditional music is the centre of Hispanic culture, and as a kid I was into salsa and I was also into punk rock. True inspiration comes from the bastardisation of all this, of finding your place and just inventing things yourself to stay happy.”
Omar and Cedric’s obsession with music first bore fruit with the five-piece hardcore rock band At The Drive-In in 1994. With their raw talent and a strong work ethic, word of mouth spread their name fast. Their third album, Relationship Of Command, produced by nu-metal svengali Ross Robinson, was released on the hip Beastie Boys’ label Grand Royal, and both press and public stood up and took notice.
“We’d been together for six years before the media hooked on to us,” Omar says, “and by then all the usual tensions had come up in the band and been recycled. Relationship Of Command was seen from the outside as this big record, but to us it was a very small record. We were retreading ground from our second album, In/Casino/Out.”
Listening to Relationship Of Command now, with its esoteric song titles like Rolodex Propaganda and Arcarsenal, it’s a precocious, accomplished and somewhat brash alternative rock record, with Robinson having smoothed its rough edges. But the cross-pollination of musical styles that Omar refers to – the punk/salsa link so prominent in their musical DNA – is all but absent.
“By the time it came out, we were pulling in different directions,” Omar explains. “It was split between the three of them and the two of us. Cedric and I wanted to incorporate those different rhythms, different languages and concepts.”
“But instead of just doing it,” Cedric, adds, “we always had to have a meeting about doing it. It’s the difference between being with a girl who just gets you right away and one who overanalyses everything. When you have to say your intent out loud so many times, you end up feeling stupid.”
At The Drive-In came to a stop as the band toured the album through Europe in early 2001. Three weeks after that portentous gig at London’s Astoria, they found themselves playing The Vera in the Dutch city of Groningen.
“The Vera’s still one of our favourite places to play,” Cedric says. “It has such a history, and it’s an honour to play there. But that night we were playing like a bunch of sheep, like robots. It was the first time I turned to Omar and saw he was just catatonic. Everyone could see that. Even the audience noticed it. We needed a break.”
Cedric Bixler-Zavala onstage with At The Drive-In at the Agora Ballroom on November 3, 2000 in Cleveland, Ohio (Image credit: Jason LaVeris/Getty Images)
Citing nervous exhaustion, they nixed the rest of the tour and returned home to El Paso, intending to put At The Drive-In on hiatus for six months and then return to it refreshed. Cedric and Omar went straight back out on the road with their ‘mistress’ band, De Facto, a side project they had started up with their close childhood friend Jeremy Ward, playing a mellow, guitar-free fusion of Latin music and dub. But with pressure from the label, management and other members At The Drive-In to cut short the sabbatical and resume touring, Omar and Cedric quit that band.
Fuelled by the excitement of realising their musical vision unhindered Cedric and Omar moved to California’s Long Beach and put together The Mars Volta. Their friend and De Facto sound effects man Jeremy Ward was in, and they sought other like-minded musicians. “We came up against a lot of that LA mentality,” Cedric recalls. “Guys who could play but were more interested in the photo shoot, the interview, the money.
“But by the time we were preparing to record the first album we were bankrupt. The other At The Drive-In guys formed Sparta, got signed and got an advance straight away. We were rehearsing at home.”
The Mars Volta’s 2003 full-length debut album Deloused At The Comatorium (co-produced by Rick Rubin) was recorded over three months in the abandoned mansion in Laurel Canyon where the Red Hot Chilli Peppers made Blood Sugar Sex Magic 12 years previously. Chilis bassist Flea even played on the sessions.
The Mars Volta – Inertiatic ESP (Radio Edit) – YouTube
Inspired by the suicide of artist Julio Venegas, the story of Deloused… unfolded inside the mind of its protagonist as he lay in a self-inflicted coma. Its multi-lingual narrative contained its own synthetic language. The band even wrote an illustrated book to accompany the story. The music’s dense, challenging blend of punk, psychedelic metal and Latin grooves indicated the daring but commercially dubious direction the band were taking.
The Mars Volta’s first concert was at an Anaheim club called Chain Reaction, a venue more in line with the Warp Records crowd and not a place At The Drive-In would have called home. They went on stage unannounced, did their thing, and remember the audience reacting – to steal a line from Bill Hicks – like a dog that’s just been shown a card trick.
But initial audience bemusement gradually changed to acceptance as the band supported the Chilli Peppers on their European tour.
“We were having a great time with the Chilli Peppers,” Omar enthuses. “We get along so well with those guys. Our band’s chemistry was really coming together. Halfway through the tour we found our current bass player, Juan Alderete, and everything started shining and this whole new world opened up to us and we were off drugs. And then Jeremy died.”
Jeremy Ward performs on stage with Mars Volta, London, United Kingdom, 2001. (Image credit: Getty Images)
In March 2003, one month before the album was due to be released, Jeremy Ward, their buddy, the sound effects whiz who played off stage out of the limelight, was found dead in his LA home following a suspected drugs overdose.
“You’ve gotta understand,” Omar says, “when we talk about our childhood and all these things we’ve been through, there is a piece of the picture missing.”
With this he gestures, almost subconsciously, to the empty space between himself and Cedric. “Jeremy had rough copies of the record,” Cedric says, “but he didn’t get to see the record come out and hold it in his hands like we did, and he didn’t see the book come out. But he’s inside the grooves of our records; he’s inside the circuitry of our amps; he runs through our veins. His influence and spirit will always be there.”
Ward’s spirit certainly has had an influence on the shape of The Mars Volta’s second album, Frances The Mute, which takes its story from one of his most valued possessions. He had worked as a repo man, repossessing the cars of LA’s recalcitrant debtors. He thrived on the danger of the job – a bullet-proof vest was standard issue – and would come home with all sorts of treasures found in glove compartments and back seats: pictures of naked people partying, knives, drugs. Then one day he found a diary. It was the journal of a young adoptee, who had written in harrowing detail how desperate he was to find his natural parents. Ward brought the book to his bandmates.
“If you’re born with a broken heart, then you’ll spend the rest of your life trying to mend it,” Cedric offers. “If you look at a picture of Jeremy when he was 10 and then 27, he has the exact same look in his eyes. A haunted look. He related to the diarist’s loneliness, his disconnectedness.”
Frances The Mute sees them progress further down their own discrete path. It is an ambitious, self-produced work, rich in ideas and with a sweeping, cinematic scope. (Their love of film is pervasive: even their band name is a reference to Italian director Federico Fellini).
Within the five-song framework there are echoes of 70s prog, from the long guitar solos to the analogue tape effects and washes of ambient sound connecting the tracks. The lyrics are highly wrought, if quasi-intellectual, and some of them are in Spanish.
L’Via L’Viaquez revolves around 70s hard funk and dark, authentic salsa. Cassandra Gemini even breaks down into free jazz. Cedric’s dynamic vocal delivery is a whisper one moment, a scream the next. While there are elements of Can, Gong, occasionally even The Mahavishnu Orchestra, it sounds fresh, light on tricksy rhythm changes and awkward modulations, and spiked with the spirit of punk. Easy listening it ain’t, but it is an album you can really sink your teeth into.
“You should always challenge yourself as a musician,” Cedric says. “I don’t read reviews, don’t pay any attention to what goes around the music itself. Everything is secondary to the band, even the audience. When we play, the band is the audience. Sometimes it doesn’t connect, there’s no magic spark, and, well, you noodle. But when it does connect it’s fun.”
It sounds arrogant, and maybe it is. But their audience, swelling in size with the anticipation of new material, seems to understand. A world tour beckons, and once again Cedric and Omar find themselves in a hot-ticket band, but this time it’s on their terms.
“There’s definitely room for people to be disappointed,” Omar laughs, “because we’re completely selfish and we’re completely on our trip, and if the next album is purely instrumental and Cedric just wants to play keyboards, then that’s what were gonna do. None of the attention paid to us or the success of our records is going to stop us getting where we belong.”
This feature originally appeared in Classic Rock 79 (May 2005)
A music journalist for over 20 years, Grant writes regularly for titles including Prog, Classic Rock and Total Guitar, and his CV also includes stints as a radio producer/presenter and podcast host. His first book, ‘Big Big Train – Between The Lines’, is out now through Kingmaker Publishing.
Feature Photo: Raph_PH, CC BY 2.0 , via Wikimedia Commons
Lorde’s artistry has been defined by her ability to channel profound introspection and a unique sonic vision into globally resonant music, setting her apart as one of New Zealand’s most accomplished musicians. Born Ella Marija Lani Yelich-O’Connor on November 7, 1996, in Takapuna, Auckland, she grew up in the nearby suburb of Devonport. Her early interest in literature and music, nurtured by her poet mother, Sonja Yelich, shaped the foundation of her songwriting. By the age of 13, she had signed with Universal Music Group, an early milestone that would lead to an illustrious career.
OutKast, the Atlanta-based hip-hop duo comprising André “André 3000” Benjamin and Antwan “Big Boi” Patton, has left an indelible mark on the music industry with their innovative sound and eclectic style. Formed in 1992, the pair met during their teenage years at Tri-Cities High School in East Point, Georgia. Their shared passion for music led them to sign with LaFace Records, marking the beginning of a groundbreaking career that would challenge and redefine the boundaries of hip-hop.
Their debut album, Southernplayalisticadillacmuzik (1994), introduced audiences to a unique blend of Southern-fried funk and socially conscious lyrics. The lead single, “Player’s Ball,” not only topped the Billboard Hot Rap Tracks chart but also signaled the rise of Southern hip-hop on a national scale. Building on this momentum, OutKast released ATLiens (1996) and Aquemini (1998), albums that showcased their growth as artists unafraid to experiment with genres, incorporating elements of funk, soul, and psychedelia. These projects received critical acclaim for their originality and depth, solidifying OutKast’s reputation as pioneers in the hip-hop community.
In 2000, Stankonia propelled OutKast to new heights, featuring the explosive singles “B.O.B” and “Ms. Jackson.” The latter became their first song to reach number one on the Billboard Hot 100, earning them a Grammy Award for Best Rap Performance by a Duo or Group. This success was amplified with the release of the double album Speakerboxxx/The Love Below in 2003. The project, which included chart-topping hits like “Hey Ya!” and “The Way You Move,” achieved Diamond certification and won the Grammy Award for Album of the Year, a rare accomplishment for hip-hop artists.
Throughout their career, OutKast has been recognized with numerous awards, including six Grammy Awards out of sixteen nominations. Their innovative music videos have garnered multiple MTV Video Music Awards, with “Hey Ya!” winning Video of the Year in 2004. Their influence and success have been further acknowledged with nominations for induction into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, highlighting their significant impact on the music industry.
Beyond their musical achievements, both André 3000 and Big Boi have pursued various projects. They starred in and produced the 2006 musical film Idlewild, which featured original music and showcased their versatility as entertainers. Individually, Big Boi has released multiple solo albums, while André 3000 has explored acting, appearing in films such as Four Brothers (2005) and Semi-Pro (2008). André 3000 also ventured into the fashion industry, launching his clothing line, Benjamin Bixby, in 2008.
OutKast’s enduring appeal lies in their ability to blend diverse musical styles with insightful lyrics, creating a sound that resonates across different audiences. Their willingness to push creative boundaries has not only garnered them critical acclaim but also a dedicated fan base that spans generations. As of 2025, their legacy continues to influence and inspire new artists, reaffirming their status as trailblazers in the evolution of hip-hop.
You tend to hear Tom Morello before you see him. One of the best compliments you could pay the inimitable guitarist is that you can’t always say whether you’re listening to someone playing a guitar, or some computerised trickery creating otherworldly sounds. His towering, iconic riffs are perfectly weighted with whammy-bar wizardry, dazzling divebombs and unmistakable lead breaks – all of it inherently Morello.
Born in Harlem, New York City in 1964, Thomas Baptist Morello is best known for his time with game-changing, politically motivated rap-rockers Rage Against The Machine, but his storied career and contributions to rock at large are huge. Together with vocalist Zack de la Rocha, drummer Brad Wilk and bass player Tim Commerford, Morello manifested his political beliefs and rock’n’roll activism in the form of the now legendary RATM. Their formidable form during the 90s made them one of the decade’s defining bands. But they weren’t built for longevity, and split for the first time in 2000.
In 2009, their 1992 single Killing In The Name, so potent in its message of defiance, inexplicably became the UK’s Christmas No.1, after a guerilla social-media campaign protesting against The X Factor’s festive dominance with crap ballads. It sold a record-breaking half a million downloads, and made a ton of money for charity.
Minus de la Rocha, Morello’s second stab at the upper echelons of rock came soon after with Audioslave, featuring ex-Soundgarden singer Chris Cornell. Morello also featured as a boss alongside Slash in the videogame Guitar Hero III: Legends Of Rock. (Bravo if you managed to get past A.I Tom on expert mode.)
In recent years – without a long-term band – Morello has advanced his own brand, releasing several diverse solo albums and stamping his trademark sound on a growing number of high-profile collaborations. He was even a member of Bruce Springsteen’s E Street Band for a time. In 2023 he featured on tracks by both Måneskin and Babymetal. Last summer he released a song with Def Leppard, and this year he’ll be directing the music at Black Sabbath’s Back To The Beginning show.
Despite reunions, the most recent in 2019, RATM rumours have continued to percolate, although Brad Wilk suggested earlier in 2024 that the band is over for good. Now 60, whatever Tom Morello does (or doesn’t do), his legacy as a trailblazing guitar phenomenon is assured.
…and one to avoid
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Copywriter, music journalist and drummer. Once fist bumped James Hetfield. Words for The Guardian, Gear4Music, Metro, Exposed Mag.
Having co-founded Styx in 1972, keyboard player and singer Dennis DeYoung wrote many of their finest songs, including Come Sail Away and The Grand Illusion, as well as the US chart-topping ballad Babe. Styx broke up following 1983’s poorly received concept record Kilroy Was Here, and although he was part of a reunion in 1990, DeYoung was controversially replaced by the band nine years later when a medical condition prevented him from touring. In 2019 he released 26 East, Vol. 1, the first of two farewell albums, and told Prog about his life and times.
How did you fall in love with music of an adventurous nature?
The vast majority of prog influences in Styx, when we had that going on, came from me. It had begun with Emerson, Lake & Palmer and Yes, but earlier than that there was The Moody Blues and some of the things The Beatles did. I was playing my Hammond organ, trying to be Jon Lord or whoever. That style of music gave a keyboard player a chance to show off like they were a guitar player – and of course I wanted some of that.
Do you consider your music to be progressive?
We brought some of that into Styx, but we were an American rock’n’roll band. I want you to write this: ‘The next prog rock lyric I understand will be the first.’ And also write: ‘He laughed’ afterwards! But we were never a fully-fledged prog band. I’d say we were a hybrid.
In the 1970s when Styx were labelled as pomp rock, did that bridle with you?
It all depends on the context. Rock critics have an impossible job: how do you describe music? It’s organic and touches our souls, so summing that up in words is pretty much impossible.
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Save for Vol. 2, which will follow, why is 26 East your final album?
Have you noticed that rock music is dead? Or that there’s no radio anymore? Not to say that people aren’t still trying to play it, but it’s gone. The internet has ruined it, or maybe rock’n’roll played its part – I don’t have those answers. Anyhow, I had to be talked into making a new record by Jim Peterik [formerly of Survivor] and Frontiers Records. They wore me down.
When somebody needed to yell at the children I hired a large Ukrainian woman. A voice is finite
Peterik played a massive part in that decision.
Yeah. Jim sent me a song called Run For The Roses that made me think, ‘Okay, you got my attention.’ And slowly it came together.
Even at 73 years old your voice still stands up magnificently.
Because I knew early on that I had got lucky I did everything possible to avoid screwing up my gift. I wasn’t a drug taker, an alcoholic or a smoker, and when somebody was needed to yell at the children I hired a large Ukrainian woman. A voice is finite – singers must respect that.
“To The Good Old Days” Official Music Video Ft. Dennis DeYoung (Formerly of Styx) & Julian Lennon – YouTube
The album offers some definite reminders of Styx, notably its Paradise Theater-style finale of AD 2020.
I’m most noted for being in Styx – shouldn’t I give people what they want? If you listen to East Of Midnight [a throwback to the band’s classic era] and don’t know what this is, then I can’t help you. I had that ending [AD 2020] in mind right from the beginning. I wanted to say goodbye in those last notes that you hear.
I really don’t care whether or not people remember me. The music is so much bigger
To The Good Old Days is a song you wrote as a duet with John Lennon’s son, Julian.
It’s important for me to say that The Beatles changed my life. I had never met Jules, and I never expected a response to my email, but he wrote back and said he’d love to do the song. He sang the shit out of it and I harmonised. And cooler still, Jules told me that he wasn’t doing music when I contacted him, and now he’s back in the studio.
In the album’s biography you say that To The Good Old Days is about “the sweetest days of my past with my fans, friends, family and forgiveness” – does that last part extend to the current Styx line-up?
I don’t believe that I have to forgive them; I’ve never said that. They replaced me when I was sick and then had to convince the fanbase that they hadn’t fired a sick colleague. They even said I had ruined the band, though why is still beyond me.
Nevertheless, I still believe that we should do one last tour for the fans. They’ve said a thousand times that they’re not interested, so what can I do? That reference to forgiveness was a more general one. All human beings are flawed.
Should these two albums turn out to be your grand finale, how would you like to be remembered as an artist?
Look, it’s very simple: I really don’t care whether or not people remember me. The music is so much bigger. If in 50 years’ time people are still getting what they need from what I have created then I’ll be very happy with that.
The 1960s was one long party for Dave Davies. While his older brother, Ray, observed and wrote about Swinging London from a distance, The Kinks’ guitarist was aptly dubbed Dave The Rave. He took an axe to a hotel reception desk; clubbed all night with wild friends like Keith Moon; and had sex with countless women (and some men).
“I was at endless parties,” he confirms today. “You can imagine what it was like in those days. It was wonderful and I loved it. But it was starting to wear me down, being with people I didn’t really know or trust. They were all pulling on my coat-tails and I’d end up with the bill at the end of the night.”
In 1967, his fourth year of Kinks hits and hedonism, Davies was still only 20 years old. To general astonishment, not least his own, he would turn his disillusion into his debut solo single, Death Of A Clown, and watch it follow The Kinks’ Waterloo Sunset into the upper reaches of the UK singles chart.
This landmark year began with Davies’ Danish girlfriend, Lisbet Thorkil-Peterson, becoming pregnant with his second child (the pair would marry secretly in April.) Looking around at the scattered bodies after yet another debauch, Dave The Rave finally faced up to the morning after.
“I thought: ‘I don’t even know or like most of the people here. What am I doing?’ I felt quite alone. It’s like when you come out of your first acid trip. You look around and people suddenly seem like they’re not real – like robots. And I heard See My Friends [The Kinks’ 1965 hit], they were playing it in the background, and I was thinking Ray and me should get together and talk. And I called him up, and it was late, so I didn’t go over to his house. I went back to my Mum’s house instead, the following day.”
Davies vividly recalls the next morning, when he wrote Death Of A Clown. “It’s a sunny day. Dry, not oppressive. But my head’s bowed, with a young man’s problems. I’d realised that life wasn’t all just laughter. It was sad as well – and hard. I started writing this little thing on the old family piano, about it all seeming like a circus roadshow. And I saw myself as a character in a circus, being exploited like the animals.”
The lyrics came quickly, in a Dylan-esque flow of surreal circus images of runaway fleas, a tiger that had lost its roar and a boozing, unhappy clown wearing caked-on make-up.
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“It was all a metaphor for the way I felt,” Davies explains. “Everything in the sixties had been spontaneous and easy and fun. Now I started to see the cracks. I was buckling under the strain of all this bullshit. As a boy I used to hate going to the circus, so the song’s also related to that. The main thing was that clowns were frightening – this guy pretending to be happy with a funny face but with something weird going on behind the scenes. The music business is very like a clown’s mask.”
Davies didn’t think he’d written anything special. “I thought maybe we could do it on a Kinks album. But Ray liked it and Robert [Wace, The Kinks’ co-manager] really liked it. He thought it would be good as a single.”
Ray added the striking, harp-like intro, played with a guitar pick on the treated strings of the Pye studio piano, and a short, wordless bridge. For this he was credited as co-writer.
“If I was a lot younger and I had the resources,” Dave sighs, “I could think back from You Really Got Me, to Lola, for which I wrote the whole of the basic instrumental phrases. Only a few bloody chords, I mean… Jesus Christ. That’s how I looked at it. But when he [Ray] does something he’s got to have all of it.”
Dave Davies – Death Of A Clown ( Original Footage 27 July 1967 Stereo Remastered From Vinyl ) – YouTube
Ray was feeling the strain of maintaining The Kinks’ success and thought Dave could ease that burden by pursuing a solo career. “I feel I should exploit him more,” he mused. Though Death Of A Clown was effectively a Kinks record in all but name, with the whole band playing on it, Dave’s Top Of The Pops appearance in a Charles II-style dandy’s jacket seemed to herald the arrival of a solo star. The single quickly became a Europe-wide smash. “I was surprised and very excited,” Dave remembers. “It came on the heels of Waterloo Sunset. It was phenomenal.”
As the song’s success became clear, Ray pondered going solo himself. Dave, by contrast, wasn’t ready to quit the comfort of The Kinks. He left a solo album unfinished. “I found it quite daunting,” he admits. “I thought Death Of A Clown was just a one-off. And Robert kept on saying: ‘You should do more.’ Susannah’s Still Alive [November ’67 follow-up] was a reasonable hit [reaching No.20]. But I was very into waiting for inspiration. I hadn’t learned how to make myself work.”
Ray Davies dismisses Death Of A Clown and the inspiration behind it in his autobiography, X-Ray, calling it “a nominal attempt by Dave to become a respected married man… Dave was destined to remain a clown”. Ray enjoyed introducing his brother on stage as “Dave ‘Death Of A Clown’ Davies” – like a sad one-hit wonder. “That used to be really upsetting,” Dave complains. “Something that was a big event for me, and a shedding of a lot of things in my life, had become an instrument of ridicule. It got to the point where I didn’t want to play it.”
The Kinks split in 1996. Dave Davies’s solo career was again interrupted when he suffered a massive stroke in 2004, but four albums followed in rapid succession, from Fractured Mindz (2007) to Open Road (2017). That solo flowering he flinched from in 1967 had recommenced at last.
“Life doesn’t get any less weird, the older you get,” he considers. “I enjoy writing more now. I was too busy having a good time in the sixties to bother.”
The original version of this feature appeared in Classic Rock 206 (December 2014).
“20/20” – Underneath single (B-side) (2008) “21 Things I Want in a Lover” – Under Rug Swept (2002) “8 Easy Steps” – So-Called Chaos (2004) “A Man” – Under Rug Swept (2002) “Ablaze” – Such Pretty Forks in the Road (2019) “All I Really Want” – Jagged Little Pill (1995) “Are You Still Mad” – Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie (1998) “Awakening Americans” – Hands Clean single (B-side) (2002) “Baba” – Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie (1998) “Bent for You” – Feast On Scraps (B-side) (2002) “Big Sur” – Havoc and Bright Lights (bonus track) (2012) “Break” – In Praise of the Vulnerable Man digital single (2008)
(C-D)
“Can’t Not” – Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie (1998) “Celebrity” – Havoc and Bright Lights (2012) “Citizen of the Planet” – Flavors Of Entanglement (2008) “Closer Than You Might Believe” – Jagged Little Pill 20th Anniversary Collector’s Edition (Demos) (1995) “Comfort” – Jagged Little Pill 20th Anniversary Collector’s Edition (Demos) (1995) “Crazy” (Seal cover) – The Collection (2005) “Death of Cinderella” – Jagged Little Pill 20th Anniversary Collector’s Edition (Demos) (1995) “Diagnosis” – Such Pretty Forks in the Road (2019) “Doth I Protest Too Much” – So-Called Chaos (2004)
(E-F)
“Edge of Evolution” – Havoc and Bright Lights (2012) “Eight Easy Steps” – So-Called Chaos (2004) “Empathy” – Havoc and Bright Lights (2012) “Everything” – So-Called Chaos (2004) “Excuses” – So-Called Chaos (2004) “Feel Your Love” – Alanis (1991) “Fear of Bliss” – Feast On Scraps (2002) “Flinch” – Under Rug Swept (2002) “Forgiven” – Jagged Little Pill (1995) “Front Row” – Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie (1998)
(G-H)
“Guardian” – Havoc and Bright Lights (2012) “Giggling Again for No Reason” – Flavors of Entanglement (2008) “Give What You Got” – Now Is the Time (1992) “Gorgeous” – Jagged Little Pill 20th Anniversary Collector’s Edition (Demos) (1995) “Guru” – Havoc and Bright Lights (Target Edition bonus track) (2012) “Hand in My Pocket” – Jagged Little Pill (1995) “Hands Clean” – Under Rug Swept (2002) “Havoc” – Havoc and Bright Lights (2012) “Head Over Feet” – Jagged Little Pill (1995) “Heart of the House” – Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie (1998) “Her” – Such Pretty Forks in the Road (2019) “Human Touch” – Alanis (1991)
(I-K)
“I Was Hoping” – Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie (1998) “In Praise of the Vulnerable Man” – Flavors of Entanglement (2008) “Incomplete” – Flavors of Entanglement (2008) “Into A King” – Big Sur 7″ (2011) “Ironic” – Jagged Little Pill (1995) “It’s a Bitch to Grow Up” – Flavors of Entanglement (2008) “Jealous” – Alanis (1991) “Jekyll and Hyde” – Havoc and Bright Lights (iTunes deluxe edition bonus track) (2012) “Joining You” – Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie (1998) “King of Intimidation” – Jagged Little Pill 20th Anniversary Collector’s Edition (Demos) (1995) “King of Pain” – MTV Unplugged (1999)
(L-M)
“Knees of My Bees” – So-Called Chaos (2004) “Lens” – Havoc and Bright Lights (2012) “Let’s Do It (Let’s Fall in Love)” – The Collection (2005) “Limbo No More” – Flavors of Entanglement (Deluxe Edition) (2008) “London” – Jagged Little Pill 20th Anniversary Collector’s Edition (Demos) (1995) “Losing The Plot” – Such Pretty Forks in the Road (2019) “Madness” – Flavors of Entanglement (Deluxe Edition) (2008) “Magical Child” – Havoc and Bright Lights (Deluxe Edition) (2012) “Mary Jane” – Jagged Little Pill (1995) “Missing The Miracle” – Such Pretty Forks in the Road (2019) “Moratorium” – Flavors of Entanglement (2008)
(N)
“Narcissus” – Under Rug Swept (2002) “Nemesis” – Such Pretty Forks in the Road (2019) “No” – Havoc and Bright Lights (Japanese edition bonus track) (2012) “No Apologies” – Now Is The Time (1992) “No Avalon” – Jagged Little Pill 20th Anniversary Collector’s Edition (Demos) (1995) “No Pressure Over Cappuccino” – MTV Unplugged (1999) “Not All Me” – So-Called Chaos (2004) “Not as We” – Flavors of Entanglement (2008) “Not the Doctor” – Jagged Little Pill (1995) “Numb” – Havoc and Bright Lights (2012)
(O-Q)
“Offer” – Feast on Scraps (2002) “Oh Yeah!” – Alanis (1991) “On My Own” – Alanis (1991) “On the Tequila” – Flavors of Entanglement (Deluxe Edition) (2008) “One” – Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie (1998) “Orchid” – Flavors of Entanglement (Deluxe Edition) (2008) “Out Is Through” – So-Called Chaos (2004) “Party Boy” – Alanis (1991) “Pedestal” – Such Pretty Forks in the Road (2019) “Perfect” – Jagged Little Pill (1995) “Permission” – Havoc and Bright Lights (Target Edition bonus track) (2012) “Plastic” – Alanis (1991) “Pollyanna Flower” – Thank U single (bonus track) (1998) “Precious Illusions” – Under Rug Swept (2002) “Princes Familiar” – MTV Unplugged (1999) “Purgatorying” – Feast on Scraps (2002)
Check out our fantastic and entertaining Alanis Morissette articles, detailing in-depth the band’s albums, songs, band members, and more…all on ClassicRockHistory.com
Brian Kachejian was born in Manhattan and raised in the Bronx. He is the founder and Editor in Chief of ClassicRockHistory.com. He has spent thirty years in the music business often working with many of the people who have appeared on this site. Brian Kachejian also holds B.A. and M.A. degrees from Stony Brook University along with New York State Public School Education Certifications in Music and Social Studies. Brian Kachejian is also an active member of the New York Press.
With the long-running US comedy show Saturday Night Live celebrating its 50th anniversary with a weekend of shows that included a Nirvana reunion of sorts, fans might be forgiven for wondering why Aerosmith weren’t at the celebrations.
After all, Aerosmith appeared on SNL four times, most recently in 2001, during the show’s 500th episode, when they played Jaded and Big Ten Inch Record before Jimmy Fallon – pretending to be Van Morrison – sang a St. Patrick’s Day message while drinking a pint of Guinness.
Prior to that, it was Falling in Love (Is Hard on the Knees) and Nine Lives in 1997, a mere four years after Cryin’ and Sweet Emotion enlivened the running order during episode 349.
Aerosmith’s greatest SNL appearance was probably their first, hosted by Tom Hanks. It opens with a sketch about the pre-nuptial agreement between Donald Trump (whatever happened to him?) and his soon-to-be-former wife Ivana. Then it’s Hanks’ monologue and a skit about the recently opened branch of McDonald’s in Moscow’s Red Square.
The recurring Waynes World segment follows, with Wayne and Garth (Mike Myers and Dana Carvey) interviewing Aerosmith’s roadie (Garth’s cousin Barry, played by an enthusiastic Hanks), before the band descend into the pair’s infamous basement.
After answering fan questions about their consumption of drugs and alcohol and the size of Steven Tyler’s lips, things turn to more weighty matters.
“With the recent developments in Eastern Europe, do you think that communism is on the decline?” asks Wayne. “Or is this just a temporary setback?”
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“Well, man, that’s a hard question,” responds Tyler. “But I would have to respond with a qualified ‘yes’. Although it seems that socialism is in repose until you remove the Stalinist-era apparatchiks, there will be no real change in the Soviet Union.”
“Nah, I disagree, man,” says bassist Tom Hamilton. “There’s never been a blueprint for the dictatorship of the proletariat, so there’s bound to be mistakes. However, if you study history you’ll see that since the rise of the nation-state socialism has been a historical inevitability, dude.”
Politics lesson over, Aerosmith join Wayne and Garth for a lively romp through the Wayne’s World theme, with drummer Joey Kramer reduced to tambourine as Garth sits behind the kit. Later, Kramer returns to his regular seat as Aerosmith take to the SNL stage to play Janie’s Got A Gun and Monkey On My Back.
