Genesis: Duke

Okay, I admit it: I have a soft spot for Genesis. There’s just something about them, something that I can’t quite place or identify, but their inoffensive pop lite songs are fun to sing along to, while their weird, spacey prog rock noodlings of the 1970s are musically interesting and appeal to me as both a drummer and an appreciator of progressive rock. But damn if they, individually, aren’t boring people, then I don’t know who is. (I make an exception to that statement in the form of Peter Gabriel, who at least continued with the weird, spacey music. The others are just pioneers of bland adult contemporary “rock”.)

I digress. Once upon a time, before they sold their collective soul to the devil by churning out ballads just dripping in sugary syrup, Genesis was a respectable rock band, who pushed the envelope of songwriting conventions and theatricality. Peter Gabriel was a man who used costumes as a way to shield himself from the audience looking at him; as a result, he created characters with such odd complexities that he, in comparison, seemed normal when stripped of the makeup and silly hats. His magnum opus with the band, The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway, is a sprawling and damn near inaccessible piece of art rock that, while admittedly patchy in some areas, is considered their best album – and I won’t disagree there. Then, he left, feeling that Genesis had effectively run its course, leaving four befuddled prog rockers with little clue as to their direction.

Keyboardist Tony Banks wanted to continue as a band, but distance themselves from lyrical compositions and focus on instrumentalists. Phil Collins, back when calling him a pioneer in the way of drumming didn’t illicit laughter, boldly stepped out into the limelight to become the band’s new vocalist and showman, but he didn’t have quite the same charm about him as Gabriel did. Nonetheless, the band expanded upon their prog rock roots, releasing two albums in 1976 that were actually pretty dang good – not Lamb Lies Down good, but just a notch or two under. Then, guitarist Steve Hackett split, citing creative frustration; some have pointed the blame at Banks, who was directing the band more toward synthesizers and keyboards, with less emphasis on guitars. Instead of replacing Hackett, the band soldiered on as a trio – meaning less cooks in the kitchen. Thus, the era of Genesis’s reign as radio-friendly pop kings began.

Duke dances a fine line between prog and pop. On the one hand, you have two of the most accessible singles Genesis released: ‘Misunderstanding’ and ‘Turn It On Again’. On the other, there’s still an attempt to tell some kind of story, or there’s at least a connection between some of the songs, musically and lyrically. This was a deliberate decision on the band’s part, with roughly half of the songs (‘Behind The Lines’, ‘Duchess’, ‘Guide Vocal’, ‘Turn It On Again’, ‘Duke’s Travels’, and ‘Duke’s End’) originally running together as a side-long suite, though the songs were broken up out of fears of comparisons to earlier works, as well as creating a weaker second side.

But where in the world did Genesis see themselves in 1980, the year Duke was released? Prog rock had become a dead duck thanks to New Wave, disco, punk, and the burgeoning fascination with New Romanticism. Bands like King Crimson, Yes, and Pink Floyd had to adapt or shut up, and most of them did … while Genesis merely plodded along, content with remaining mostly oblivious to the changes in the musical climate. That’s not to say that Duke is a bad album, or as unlistenable as its predecessor …And Then There Were Three…. On the contrary, Duke is (arguably) their best album since Peter Gabriel left the fold, with all elements meshing together in a way that previous albums had only hinted at. This is evident on opener ‘Behind The Lines’, with a thundering drum performance from Collins and a heavy reliance on synthesizers – but not the antiquated Moogs of the early/mid 1970s. Here, there’s a reliance on technology in moderation, and any fears that the band are going to diddle aimlessly for hours on end and squashed when Collins launches into the words only 90 seconds in. The song bleeds in effortlessly to ‘Duchess’, heralded with a blipping drum machine introduction, before kicking into a leisurely stroll as Collins bemoans the dreams of a fame-drenched dame, suffering for her art while dreaming of the days of old. (This is by far the best non-pop song on the album.) The first half of the mooted suite comes to a conclusion with the brief, Banks-penned ‘Guide Vocal’, an odd offering that hints at supernatural forces being the guiding hand behind the lead character.

Mike Rutherford’s ‘Man Of Our Times’ follows, and is a thick, dense rocker that has been criticized for being too thick and dense. It is impenetrable, that’s for sure, with Collins’ vocals lost in the din; while Rutherford penned some good compositions for the band, this is probably one of his least effective, as is the forgettable ‘Alone Tonight’, which appears later on the disk. Banks gets in the requisite keyboard heavy songs with ‘Heathaze’ and ‘Cul-De-Sac’, the former being a warm ode to summer, while the latter makes little impression, and I’m hard-pressed now to even remember how it goes. In fact, each member delivered a half-baked affair in addition to more developed and successful songs, and Collins’ sole decent offering is ‘Misunderstanding’, which heavily borrows the Latin samba of Led Zeppelin’s ‘Fool In The Rain’ (itself a better song altogether) while making light of a missed meeting between former lovers, a meeting that was apparently decided without by one half without the other half being completely aware. The other side of the coin has ‘Please Don’t Ask’, a song that is way too personal for a band record, and was reportedly left off Collins’ debut solo album, Face Value, for reasons I can’t quite fathom. (Imagine if Genesis had instead gotten ‘In The Air Tonight’!)

‘Turn It On Again’ is the most successful single here, though, with a jaunty, guitar-heavy melody, a memorable chorus, and an infectious rhythm (13/4, for any rhythm meisters out there). Rumor even has it that Rutherford was the man behind the words, though the music was credited to all three Genesisians. (“Genesisians” is a registered trademark of Sound Round.) It’s a shame, though, that the Earth, Wind & Fire brass section wasn’t called in to add their distinctive touch to this song, while they would on ‘No Reply At All’ the following year; instead of brass, Banks uses his rows of keyboards to approximate the sound synthetically, which is a shame, because it dates the song a little bit. Nonetheless, it’s one of the highlights among the attempts to create a concise package of songs.

On the other end of the spectrum, though, is the concluding ten minutes of ‘Duke’s Travels’ and ‘Duke’s End’, which incorporate elements from the first four songs originally planned as the Duke suite, and this is easily the most progressive the band get on this album. It’s not necessarily all that good, either, though it does go by at a fast clip thanks to its propulsive pace and deft drumming. (Go on, listen to those two songs – hell, this entire album – and try telling me that Collins isn’t a good drummer. I dare you!) Still, it’s easy to see why the most meandering part of the suite was left to conclude the album, especially as it’s mostly instrumental.

But that shouldn’t detract from the album whatsoever, because it’s still a nice balance between prog and rock, making all Genesis fans happy in the process. The same couldn’t be said of the remainder of the band’s 1980s output, but we’ll leave that for another review. In the meantime, enjoy Duke and try not to think of the image of Peter Gabriel, dressed as an old curmudgeon and pantomiming that he’s pushing a lawnmower across the stage as the band blast through ‘I Know What I Like (In Your Wardrobe)’. Those days are loooooong gone, my friends.

Essential listening: Behind The Lines, Duchess, Misunderstanding, Turn It On Again