Roger Powell, Cosmic Furnace (USA, 1973)

Some of the electronic creators got a bit carried away by the wonders of electronics. Without questioning their technical ability and their engineering skills, and talking just about the music, they sometimes forgot about the meaning. The form is there, you can hear the intentions, but can’t feel the click. One of the big, big examples of this is Patrick Moraz, with the work he did on Refugee and then in his solo work, especially on the ominous “Story of I”. I bought his record as a young adult, hated it, sold it, and bought it again as declining adult just to confirm that my young self was right. It’s just too much self-indulgence.

Some would say that Rick Wakeman went the same way at some point, and they are right. When you are very good at your instrument it’s easy to indulge if you don’t know where your north star is. And he got carried away with all sorts of insignificant stuff that came to his mind. He got lost in ambient music and endless recreations of his former greatness (YES stuff and some of his early solo work).  

Some would say Keith Emerson did the same. I’d argue that Keith is a few notches above all the others, but yes, when the 80’s came everybody was a little foolish and wanted to be a keyboard star, 80’s style, even if they already were. But he is not to be confused with Walter-Wendy Carlos. Or others that will go nameless.

Some would say that Vangelis also went down that road. Have you heard his albums with Jon Anderson? ¾ of it could go down the drain and nobody would notice. But there’s all the rest, and although he wasn’t a wizard, he had feeling and emotion – even in his cold wave period (Albedo 0.39, for instance). And he was an explorer, moving from pop to emulation of symphonies to free jazz exploits (Hypothesis). He may have not got there totally, but he lived trying; and in many ways he got there (e.g. Blade Runner). So, there I’d disagree.

And then there’s Roger Powell. Protegé of Mr. Moog himself, player with Todd Rundgren and Utopia, Rainbow, Meat Loaf and Bowie, he had a lot of Powell on his hands. In 1973 he just set free this first solo release. It is a like a Chinese restaurant table where you get to mix a lot of different plates. Some seem tasty at the beginning, them a bit sugary, and you leave it on the plate. Some are just strange (chicken feet with oyster sauce? WTF? Etc). Some you just lose interest. So, what looked like an interesting tasting experience becomes boring.

Sometimes it’s the recipe, sometimes it’s the cook, or the ingredients. But in the end what reaches your palate is what you taste, and what you react to. On Trip Advizer (sorry, Julian Cope) this would get a 2,5.