I heard this album quite frequently when I was growing up . . . but I never saw the cover until much, much later.

My progressive-in-many-ways mother became a Genesis fan beginning with Nursery Cryme and dragged my somewhat reluctant father to Winterland when they dropped by to promote Selling England by the Pound on March 24, 1974 (Dad has an ever-growing mound of scrapbooks filled with ticket stubs from every concert they attended). Maman loved Foxtrot and was delighted when they closed the concert with “Supper’s Ready.”  Note: In my research, I stumbled across a guy who goes by the handle “Brit Rock by the Bay” who went to the same concert and published a piece combining his impressions (very positive) with photos of the action!

Back to the cover story . . . I never saw the cover because my mother hated it. She hated it so much that she glued construction paper on both sides and wrote GENESIS FOXTROT with a big fat marker on the modified sleeve. She had good company in her artistic assessment, as Gabriel, Rutherford, Hackett, Banks and Collins all expressed some discomfort with the artwork. My reaction when I finally saw the cover was a bit different: I broke out in giggles.

Ancient wisdom tells us “You can’t judge a book by its cover,” and the same holds true for albums. Dave Gregory of XTC (whose musical tastes and knowledge I deeply respect and admire) told Daryl Easley in Without Frontiers: The Life and Music of Peter Gabriel, “To this day, Foxtrot is a magical album. ‘Supper’s Ready’ became like an addiction. It had such a great sound and enough mystery to make you want to hear it over and over again . . . To this day, I will never tire of it.”

That Genesis survived long enough to record such a magical album is beyond remarkable. The core of schoolmates Gabriel, Rutherford and Banks formed a band with fellow students Anthony Phillips (guitar) and Chris Stewart (drums), and with the help of alumnus Jonathan King of “Everyone’s Gone to the Moon” fame, recorded their maiden album while still in their teens. From Genesis to Revelation bombed, in part because record store owners placed the album in the religious music section (Wikipedia). King had instructed the band to stick to pop, which didn’t suit their talents or their desire to become musical explorers. After that fiasco, the band split up and went their separate ways.

A year later, they decided to give it another go, incessantly rehearsing new songs and their stage performance, running through two drummers in the process. Charisma Records owner Tony Stratton Smith attended one of their shows and quickly added them to the Charisma stable. “Their potential was immediately apparent . . . the material was good and their performance was good . . . It was a long shot, because they needed time to find their strength . . . but I was prepared to make that commitment” (ibid). Their first album with Charisma (Trespass) was more Genesis-like, but failed to chart. Oddly enough, the album climbed to #1 in Belgium, leading to tours of several European countries.

Genesis finally stabilized the lineup with the addition of Phil Collins on drums and Steve Hackett on guitar, releasing Nursery Cryme in November 1971. Though the album has its rough spots and also failed to chart in the U.K., “The Musical Box” clearly fulfilled the potential that Tony Stratton Smith had detected early on. Collins and Hackett proved to be the missing pieces, and their stage act started to earn them a fair amount of press.

Though the process of recording Foxtrot was made all the more difficult because they could only work in the studio between gigs (and the producer initially assigned to them hated their music), they managed to work through all the hassles to finally make an album that hit the U.K. charts (#12). The response from the British public was essentially, “Hey, these guys are pretty good!” That realization eventually led to a re-release of Nursery Cryme, which made it into the U.K. top 40.

While I completely agree with Dave Gregory’s assessment of the music on Foxtrot, I noticed that he said nothing about the lyrics, which could have been stronger in spots. Some of the narratives are difficult to follow, and there are plenty of obscure references that only English majors can decipher. That said, the lyrical misteps are more than compensated for in the dramatic arrangements, the diverse melodies and rhythms, and the exceptional musicianship. Foxtrot marks the moment when Genesis found its strength.

*****

“Watcher of the Skies”: The drama begins with the ethereal sound of Tony Banks’ Mellotron, marked by contrasting left-hand and right-hand chords forming a distinctive melody full of imaginative twists and turns. The chord pattern is quite complex and would take up far too much space for me to lay it out, so if you’re interested, head over to YouTube, where KeepSynthin32 takes you step by step through this marvelous overture. The more important aspect of the intro is the mood it evokes—a combination of awe, wonder, mystery and ominousness.

As the Mellotron fades into the background, we hear faint sounds of percussion and low string guitar broadcasting a pattern in 6/4 time that successfully mimics Phil Collins’ idea of a rhythm in Morse code. As the volume increases, Mike Rutherford enters the fray with booming bass in sync with the pattern, strengthening the rising tension that peaks when the Mellotron disappears and all we hear is that incessant rhythm. It feels like my heart is ready to explode until the band executes a quick and nifty transition to the song proper. Whew!

Banks and Rutherford wrote the lyrics while on tour in Italy while wondering what Earth would look like to an alien visitor. Combining that bit of musing with the superior alien races depicted in Arthur C. Clarke’s Childhood’s End and the Watchers in Marvel comics, they came up with interesting lyrics that Rutherford admitted “didn’t sing very well.” Peter Gabriel does his best with the sometimes awkward word placement, imbuing his vocals with passion and urgency.

The title was borrowed from John Keats’ poem “On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer,” in which he describes an orgasm (a poetic orgasm, to be sure) he experienced when reading George Chapman’s translation of the Odyssey:

. . . Oft of one wide expanse had I been told
That deep-brow’d Homer ruled as his demesne;
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken . .

Our Watcher is not an English poet but a member of an advanced alien species who notices a new planet swimming into his ken:

Watcher of the skies, watcher of all
His is a world alone, no world is his own
He whom life can no longer surprise
Raising his eyes, beholds a planet unknown

As it turns out, the planet is none other than Mother Earth . . . and our superior friend doesn’t like what he’s seeing:

Creatures shaped this planet’s soil
Now their reign has come to end
Has life again destroyed life?
Do they play elsewhere?
Do they know more than their childhood games?

And the Earthlings responded, “Yes, life again has destroyed life. We’re pretty good at that, huh?”

Still confident that Banks and Rutherford had a clear message in mind, I pondered over the next verse for a while before realizing that I didn’t know dick about lizards.

Judge not this race by empty remains
Do you judge God by his creatures
When they are dead?
For now, the lizard’s shed its tail
This is the end of man’s long union with Earth

I hate not knowing something, so I researched lizard behavior and found this tantalizing clue on PetMD.com: “Many lizards can self-amputate or ‘drop’ their tails, also known as tail autotomy. This is a natural self-defense mechanism that occurs when a lizard is grabbed by a predator or senses a threat.” The juxtaposition of tail autonomy and the line “This is the end of man’s long union with Earth” tells us that the threat is homo sapiens.

In the final verse, we encounter a different “watcher of the skies” in the form of a human being fascinated by the space race and looking to the stars as a possible way to escape impending doom. The superior being dismisses that notion as utter nonsense:

Sadly now, your thoughts turn to the stars
Where we’ve gone
You know you never can go
Watcher of the skies, watcher of all
This is your fate alone, this fate is your own

Placing the piece in context, the realization that we were destroying the planet with our cars and toxic chemicals took hold in the late 60s/early 70s. The first Earth Day was April 22, 1970, two years before the release of Foxtrot. Unlike our period of convenient stupidity, people believed scientists when they issued dire warnings and politicians took action to protect the environment. Shit, even Richard Nixon was intelligent enough to accept the data and reorganized various agencies into a central Environmental Protection Agency (soon to be crushed by Voldemort). “Watcher of the Skies” is not only an exciting and well-designed composition but also an unfortunately timeless piece of music, an impassioned plea to humans to get it together and fix the planet you have rather than doing something stupid like escaping to Mars with the Muskrat.

The piece ends as strongly as it began, with a circular reversal of the opening passage from the 6/4 Morse Code then back to the Mellotron and onto a closing flourish supported by a powerful drum roll courtesy of Phil “Do His Arms Ever Get Tired?” Collins. On record or on stage, “Watcher of the Skies” is one helluva opening number.

“Time Table”: Most Genesis compositions involve the whole team, but this gem was composed by Tony Banks all his lil’ ole lonesome. As is true of most piano compositions written by pianists with a command of the instrument, the chords are not guitar-friendly. The verse chord pattern is Ab-Dbm6-Bbm7-Cm7-Fm7-Ab-Ebm-C#m-F#-B/F#-C#/G#/Eb. You might get by if you eliminate the sixes and sevens, but you still might find it a bit tricky. Using a guitar also means that you’ll miss out on the opportunity to reproduce the sound of piano strings plucked with a plectrum, a brilliant bit of piano wizardry on the part of Mr. Banks, especially when applied to the 18th-century pianoforte introduction.

One could say that the song depicts the same table in two far-apart eras, but that would classify one as an idiot. The table is a paradoxical metaphor, a la “the more things change, the more they stay the same.” Change is often superficial, and the underlying patterns rarely go away. After the Civil War, African-Americans had the gumption to believe that they were really free, and in the early years of Reconstruction, they had the right to vote and some even held office. After the GOP caved on Reconstruction in order to install the unmemorable Rutherford B. Hayes in the White House, African Americans eventually had their rights taken away in the name of Jim Crow. The Fifteenth Amendment prohibited the denial of voting rights based on race, but it turned out to be a superficial change because the underlying belief in white supremacy did not go away.

The initial setting for “Time Table” is Jolly Old England in the not-so-good-old-days of unbridled monarchy, where we find the fortunate gathered around a work of superior craftsmanship:

A carved oak table tells a tale
Of times when kings and queens sipped wine from goblets gold,
And the brave would lead their ladies from out of the room to arbors cool.

A time of valor, and legends born
A time when honor meant much more to a man than life
And the days knew only strife to tell right from wrong
Through lance and sword.

Sigh. It all sounds so cinderellegant (Yay! I made another new word!) until that valor bullshit makes an appearance. Peter Gabriel echoes that sentiment in a passionate vocal performance in the chorus/bridge:

Why, why can we never be sure till we die
Or have killed for an answer,
Why, why do we suffer each race to believe
That no race has been grander
It seems because through time and space
Though names may change each face retains the mask it wore.

If there really were a God, I would have expected that by now he would have lost all patience with the beings he created and we’d hear a thunderous voice from heaven crying out, “When the fuck are you people going to grow up?” Alas, when we revisit the table a few centuries down the road, we find “a dusty table, musty smells, tarnished silver lies discarded on the floor” . . .  “And the weak must die according to nature’s law” because human beings are still at each other’s throats, as we are reminded in the reprise of the chorus/bridge. A tragic tale indeed, echoed in the melancholic plucked piano and sensitive arrangement.

“Get ‘Em Out by Friday”: In the DVD included with the 2008 box set of all five studio albums from the Peter Gabriel era (Genesis 1970-1975), three of the members expressed some dissatisfaction and disagreement in their assessment of this piece. Rutherford and Collins thought that the arrangement was too crowded, largely because they recorded the instrumental section before adding the vocals (Gabriel hadn’t written them yet). On his part, Gabriel felt that his lyrics were too wordy; Rutherford thought they were some of his best. From my perspective, I think the song’s time shift could have been introduced with greater clarity.

The funny thing is that all those assessments are true, but by golly, the song still works.

There are many reasons (or excuses) that explain why governments worldwide have failed in their attempts to address the fundamental human need for shelter. “Get ‘Em Out by Friday” deals with one of the more common causes: greed. The storyline is based partly on landlord problems Peter Gabriel was experiencing at the time, but most of the narrative deals with the practices of one Peter Rachman, who achieved notoriety in the late 50s and early 60s for exploiting his tenants by moving them from rent-controlled properties and into substandard housing free from government interference (a practice known as “winkling”). Rachman also ran a few brothels, but Gabriel wisely refused to cover that aspect to focus solely on the housing problem. Even if listeners knew nothing about Rachmanism (a noun that appears in the O.E.D.), I’m pretty sure most listeners can grasp what’s going on throughout the bulk of the narrative.

One aspect of Foxtrot I’ve always admired is the consistent differentiation of sound and style between tracks. The majesty of “Watcher of the Skies” with its dominant Mellotron and forceful rhythms is followed by the comparatively gentle “Time Table,” with plucked piano leading the way. “Get ‘Em Out by Friday” opens with Hackett’s soaring electric guitar opposite a rising counterpoint on the organ, and after a stutter-step-rest transition, Gabriel’s vocal is set to a driving rock beat. The song itself is a short play with multiple acts, requiring several mood changes expressed in the choice of instrumentation and Peter Gabriel’s ability to play multiple characters.

Gabriel’s voice is rough and tough as he slips into the Rachman role (credited as John Pebble, head of Styx Enterprises). We find him bullying a subordinate named Mark Hall (a.k.a. “The Winkler.”) urging him to get off his ass and get on with the winkling:

Get ’em out by Friday
You don’t get paid ’til the last one’s well on his way
Get ’em out by Friday
It’s important that we keep to schedule, there must be no delay

After a brief transition, the band eases into a slower tempo featuring Hackett’s arpeggiated guitar runs. Gabriel magically turns into the Winkler, and though he tries to present himself as a toff communicating in business-speak, his low-born accent exposes him as your average toady following the boss man’s orders:

I represent a firm of gentlemen who recently purchased this
House and all the others in the road
In the interest of humanity we’ve found a better place for you
To go, go-woh, go-woh

The verse is quickly followed by shifts in sound and voice, with Gabriel now playing the decent, average bloke expressing shock and tremulous fear over a background of melancholy organ:

Oh no, this I can’t believe
Oh Mary, they’re asking us to leave

Those fuckers!

Back in the office, head asshole Pebble keeps right on pushing:

Get ’em out by Friday
I’ve told you before, ‘s good many gone if we let them stay
And if it isn’t easy
You can squeeze a little grease and our troubles will soon run away

Somewhere during the musical interval, the poor couple was offered “a little grease” in the form of a bribe to move to Harlow Town. The female half (Mrs. Barrow, a.k.a “Mary”) ponders their fate and the senslessness of it all. This segment opens with Hackett’s arpeggios signaling the shift in narrative perspective; the reflective music that follows is set to a new chord pattern and melody.

After all this time, they ask us to leave
And I told them we could pay double the rent
I don’t know why it seemed so funny
Seeing as how they’d take more money
The Winkler called again, he came here this morning
With four hundred pounds and a photograph of the place he has found
A block of flats with central heating
I think we’re going to find it hard

Gabriel (as Mrs. Barrow) sings that last line in a tone of rising panic, then quickly leaps into the phone booth to change costumes from a well-worn dress to a gabardine business suit:

Now we’ve got them
I’ve always said that cash cash cash can do anything well
Work can be rewarding
When a flash of intuition is a gift that helps you excel-sell-sell-sell

In the following verse, the Winkler takes the couple to their new digs and ends the conversation with a gut punch: “Sadly, since last time we spoke/We’ve found we’ve had to raise the rent again/Just a bit.”

Fucker!

The couple realizes that they have been royally fucked without the lube (“Oh, no, this I can’t believe/Oh, Mary, and we agreed to leave.”) and then things get a bit tricky. An extended instrumental passage begins with the rock-drenched mood attached to Pebble, then slows down a bit, queuing a wistful melody from the organ. The deceleration continues as Rutherford plays a simple riff on the bass, accompanied by light bells. Gabriel enters the scene with twin flutes playing in harmony, a passage that draws to a close with an impressive multi-faceted drum roll from Collins. Rutherford then repeats his bass riff, continuing to play a bit while Gabriel re-enters with a variation of the earlier flute passage. As the flute rises to its upper range, a rising synthesized swoop appears . . . and voilá, it’s 2012! If you’re confused by it all, just think of that swoop as the equivalent of the blurred, out-of-focus visual trick they use on TV to indicate a time change. Though Gabriel was seriously over-confident regarding technological advancement, I advise you to read the “Genetic Control” passage as an absurdist, satiric vision of one possible Orwellian future.

Adopting a rather snobbish tone of superiority, Gabriel speaks to the proles in the role of Genetic Control Spokesperson: “This is an announcement from Genetic Control. It is my sad duty to inform you of a four-foot restriction on Humanoid height.”

The scene shifts to a pub, where a new character named “Joe Everybody” makes an appearance. He quickly surmises what the bastards are up to:

I hear the directors of Genetic Control have been buying all the
Properties that have recently been sold, taking risks oh so bold
It’s said now that people will be shorter in height
They can fit twice as many in the same building site
They say it’s alright
Beginning with the tenants of the town of Harlow
In the interest of humanity, they’ve been told they must go
Told they must go-go-go-go

As there is no mention regarding where they are going to live without cutting off their legs, we can assume that the couple will join the legions of the homeless.

Meanwhile, John Pebble is up to the same tricks that likely earned him a knighthood, buying up decrepit properties, hoodwinking tenants, eventually selling off the properties and throwing the tenants into the street. The song closes with wise advice to the greedy and immoral:

With land in your hand, you’ll be happy on earth
Then invest in the Church for your heaven

I would say that this song gets my dander up but I don’t have any dander because my vanity refuses to accept dandruff. It pisses me off because I know from experience that screwing decent tenants is both counter-productive and unnecessary. My dad owned several rental properties that he snatched up during a rare downturn in the San Francisco housing market and over a period of four decades, never evicted a tenant. When his tenants faced serious financial issues due to losing their jobs or health problems, he let them live rent-free for a while, sometimes up to six months. He knew that in the long run he would more than make up for those losses through the appreciation of the properties. When I was a teenager, I thought he was crazy because teenagers always want their parents to buy them cool stuff and often I was told that we couldn’t afford it. Eventually I grew up and saw the wisdom of his ways, both from a social perspective but also from an investment perspective. He didn’t need to make a billion dollars; he just wanted to ensure a secure future for his retirement and his child.

“Can-Utility and the Coastliners”: The apparently unintelligible title makes sense if you can remember the name of the guy who allegedly tried to stop the tides. Okay . . . relax . . . it was probably the answer to one of the questions in a Saturday New York Times Crossword, perhaps in various spellings . . . now look at the title again and concentrate on those first three letters . . . can . . . no, not canasta . . . hint: we’re looking for the name of a king . . . ooh! ooh! (that’s another hint) . . . can—ooh . . . no, not King Canoe . . . one more teeny-weeny phoneme . . . can . . . nude? (nice try, you naughty thing) . . . can . . . NUTE! Yes, it’s King Canute, King of England, Denmark and Norway! His real name was Cnut because he was born during a time when a severe vowel shortage struck England.

No, I haven’t found any evidence of ancient graffiti reading “Cnut is a Cunt!” To the contrary, he was considered one of the wisest kings, largely because he knew how to cuddle up to the church officials who kept the historical records. The clerics were also kind enough to look the other way when he decided he needed two wives to satisfy his craving for cnuts.

The basis for Steve Hackett’s lyrics is the apocryphal story from the 12th-century manuscript Historia Anglorum, written by historian Henry of Huntingdon. One must not take the moniker “historian” literally, as the only review I could find of his work (in Wikipedia) reads, “Henry’s ear for telling detail is responsible for entertaining touches drawn from current legend and his own fertile imagination.” In other words, he made up a lot of shit. As his crowning work was not published for nearly a century after Cnut c-croaked, we can conclude that the story of King Canute’s attempt to command the waves is pure fiction. Though it may be a fairytale, it’s a great fairytale, and Steve Hackett was smart enough to perceive its relevance to modern times. Here’s the summary of Henry’s tale via Wikipedia:

In the story, Canute demonstrates to his flattering courtiers that he has no control over the elements . . . In Huntingdon’s account, Canute set his throne by the seashore and commanded the incoming tide to halt and not to wet his feet and robes. Yet “continuing to rise as usual, the tide dashed over his feet and legs without respect to his royal person. Then the king leapt backwards, saying: ‘Let all men know how empty and worthless is the power of kings, for there is none worthy of the name, but He whom heaven, earth, and sea obey by eternal laws.'” He then hung his gold crown on a crucifix, and never wore it again “to the honour of God the almighty King.”

Hackett’s compare-and-contrast pitted Canute’s humility against the second-rate, power-hungry world leaders of the early 70s who craved adulation but did little to deserve it. Let’s see . . . are there any power-hungry world leaders today who demand flattery and complete loyalty from their minions without doing anything to earn it? Hmm. If I think very hard, I might be able to supply a few names.

Interestingly enough, Hackett’s Canute goes through an experience similar to that of the lead character in Monty Python’s Life of Brian: the dummies refuse to accept that he is not god on earth:

They told of one who tired of all
Singing “Praise him, praise him”
“We heed not flatterers, ” he cried
“By our command, waters retreat
Show my power, halt at my feet”
But the cause was lost, now cold winds blow

Far from the north, overcast ranks advance
Fear of the storm accusing with rage and scorn
The waves surround the sinking throne
Singing “Crown him, crown him”
“Those who love our majesty,
Show themselves!”, all bent their knee

But he forced a smile even though his hopes
Lay dashed where offerings fell
Where they fell

As for the arrangement, I love the pastoral sounds of the earlier segments featuring 12-string guitar, flute and light organ, but when they abandon the pastoral for the powerful, I tend to lose interest. The contrasting moods simply don’t seem to fit.

“Horizons”: My metal-head spouse and cellist had never heard Foxtrot until I played it for her when we were living in Seattle. When “Horizons” began, she said, “Hey, that’s Bach, Cello Suite No. 1!” Sure enough, Peter Hackett freely confessed he had lifted the introductory melody from that suite, slowing it down a bit in comparison to the original. While watching a live performance on YouTube, I was struck by his dexterity, his ability to manage tone by changing his positioning relative to the F-hole and his precise string-dampening techniques. “Horizons” is a virtual ode to the beauty of the acoustic guitar when played by a master guitarist . . . and a nice way to ease into “Supper’s Ready.”

And godDAMN I wish I had his long fingers!

“Supper’s Ready”: This 7-part suite depicts the fantastical journey of two lovers through time and space as they assess the state of humankind and try to come to grips with the hows and whys of existence. Later, Gabriel would describe the piece as a personal journey through various scenes of the Apocalypse, which is nonsense, as only one scene deals with the Book of Revelation (he must have been reading Ian Anderson’s “How to Fuck with Journalists”). To help concert-goers follow the complex narrative, the band offered a program for sale with “explanations” of each segment, but forgot to print BUYER BEWARE on the cover. The “explanations” (in italics) only occasionally sync with the lyrics. Both Banks and Collins felt that Gabriel wrote the lyrics in haste, and Hackett felt that “The [lyrical] references are too far-flung. It’s totally ambiguous.” My mother bought a copy and found the program useless, but her focus was on the music, not the narrative.

As Dave Gregory opined, the magic is in the music, and from that perspective, “Supper’s Ready” is a triumph.

(Note: The time markers shown at the beginning of each piece vary slightly in different pressings.)

“Lover’s Leap” (00:0-3:47): “In which two lovers are lost in each other’s eyes, and found again transformed in the bodies of another male and female.”

As the backstory to this song was also the inspiration for the entire tale related in the suite, we’ll begin there, as you’ll never figure it out by reading the lyrics. “The Story Behind the Song -Supper’s Ready” from Mick Wall on Louder is far more comprehensible:

The rumour subsequently spread that the core of the lyrical narrative was based on a ‘supernatural’ experience Gabriel had gone through with his then-wife Jill; that Gabriel had been convinced she was possessed, and brandished a makeshift cross out of candlesticks, to which she reacted violently. According to Hackett, however, the situation was probably more prosaic. “I believe there’d been some drug taking going on. I believe she was having a bad trip at one point, and that Pete and a friend managed to talk her round and get her out of the horrors or whatever it was. So that’s a part of what the song was about, but in a way there’s a kind of redemption implication that goes with that.”

That version of the story is much more suited to the tender, compassionate chorus depicting Jill’s return to reality:

And it’s hello babe, with your guardian eyes so blue
Hey my baby, don’t you know our love is true

Gabriel claimed to have an equally odd experience the following night, when he saw “Six saintly shrouded men move across the lawn slowly/The seventh walks in front with a cross held high in hand,” as depicted in verse two. Apparently Jill welcomes him back to reality in the second chorus, “And it’s hey babe, your supper’s waiting for you/Hey my baby, don’t you know our love is true?” The two experiences led to his revelation (pun intended) that he should explore the supernatural and the struggle between good and evil in a kinda sorta modern version of Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress. I will note that no act of transmogrification appears in the lyrics, so we’ll just have to take Peter’s word for it that they became different people.

The music more than makes up for Gabriel’s creative lyrical license. The harpsichord-like sounds that dominate the music actually come from three 12-string guitars (played by Hackett, Banks and Rutherford) fed through two trusty Leslie speakers. The collective sound is mesmerizing, providing a lovely backdrop for Gabriel’s stellar vocals (double-tracked with Gabriel singing both the high and low parts). While all that beauty is streaming through your ears, you may not notice Rutherford’s non-continuous bass part, where he imbues the sound with deep warmth at all the right moments. The lengthy instrumental passage in the fade is a fascinating piece of work, mingling 12-string harmonies from Hackett and Rutherford and gossamery vocals from Collins and Gabriel. The chord patterns are well-constructed, with minor chords dominating the verses and major chords marking the chorus, but in both passages, diminished chords add spice and tension to the mix. As I am sadly piano-less for another month, I had to rely on the Internet for the chord patterns, and found some pretty good transcriptions at tocate algo, including chords for all the segments of “Supper’s Ready.”

“The Guaranteed Eternal Sanctuary Man” (3:48-5:43): “The lovers come across a town dominated by two characters: one a benevolent farmer, and the other the head of a highly disciplined scientific religion. The latter likes to be known as “The Guaranteed Eternal Sanctuary Man” and claims to contain a secret new ingredient capable of fighting fire. This is a falsehood, an untruth, a whopper and a taradiddle, or to put it in clearer terms; a lie.”

There is no mention of a secret ingredient, but there is a farmer, a fireman and a G.E.S.M. (who will appear again in the next segment). The G.E.S.M. seems to be a cult leader of sorts, peddling togetherness (“hand in hand”) and free love (“gland in gland”). Some members of the community identify him as a fraud (“Can’t you see he’s fooled you all?”) but the question implies that some have taken the bait. The music is relatively pedestrian in comparison to the other pieces in the suite, though I rather like the majestic melody. Hackett identified the two-line passage sung by children at the end of the song as a parody of an old Czech carol (“The Rocking Carol”) but does not connect it to the narrative.

“Ikhnaton and Itsacon and Their Band of Merry Men” (5:44-9:42): “Who the lovers see clad in greys and purples, awaiting to be summoned out of the ground. At the G.E.S.M.’s command they put forth from the bowels of the earth, to attack all those without an up-to-date “Eternal Life Licence”, which were obtainable at the head office of the G.E.S.M.’s religion.”

The transitional passage features a reprise of the melody in the verse lines from “Lover’s Leap,” reinforcing its role as the central motif and strengthening the overall continuity of the piece. Before we look at the song proper, I’ll take a moment to attempt a reasonable interpretation of Gabrielese.

“Ikhnotan” (a.k.a. Akhenaten) was a pharaoh in the 14th Century. The Egyptians loved him so much that when he bit the dust, they destroyed any hints of his existence: monuments, statues, and even his name on the list of pharaohs. He and his more famous wife (Nefertiti) had pissed off the masses by forcing them to accept one true god (Aten) during his tenure. I think y’all can figure out Itsacon, and you know about Robin Hood’s Band of Merry Men and will easily grasp that the use of the Merry Men is ironic and satiric once we get into the story.

Here are the necessary equations: Ikhnaton = crappy leader who rules by command rather than consensus. Itsacon = con man posing as a religious leader. Ergo, Ikhnaton + Itsacon = G.E.S.M. Like too many religiously-oriented leaders from history, the G.E.S.M. desires to eradicate the blasphemers, and our traveling couple just happen to stumble onto the scene. The music of the opening verse is quite interesting, loaded with indefinite major seventh chords that tickle our need for resolution. I also hear a restlessness in Phil Collins’ diverse drum attack, leading me to believe he is warming up in the bullpen, waiting for the call to enter the fray:

Wearing feelings on our faces while our faces took a rest
We walked across the fields to see the children of the West
But we saw a host of dark skinned warriors standing still below the ground . . .

A pregnant pause . . . no . . . the pregnant pause of a broad in month number 9 ready to explode segues into Banks playing a rising figure on the organ with Collins and Rutherford showing clear signs of wanting to get the fuck on with it . . . then Peter finally opens the dam with a musical shout:

. . . Waiting for battle!

The sound of the boys in the band letting it rip like there’s no tomorrow fills me with endless joy—the powerful drums, thumping bass, rough rhythm guitar and whirling organ at full volume is my version of heaven . . . if I can bring my honey and my leather.

Oops! In my ecstasy, I forgot poor Peter (as G.E.S.M.), who has a story to tell—-a coherent story, believe it or not:

The fight’s begun, they’ve been released
Killing foe for peace, bang, bang, bang
Bang, bang, bang

And they’ve given me a wonderful potion
‘Cause I cannot contain my emotion
And even though I’m feeling good
Something tells me I’d better activate my prayer capsule

Today’s a day to celebrate, the foe have met their fate
The order for rejoicing and dancing has come from our warlord

As the G.E.S.M. savors the carnage from a safe distance, I’m reminded of Andy Partridge’s thoughts expressed in “Dear God”: “And all the people that you made in your own image/See them fighting in the street/’Cause they can’t make opinions meet about God.” I will never understand why religious zealots, whether independent terrorists or government leaders, feel the need to kill human beings who don’t share their views and revel in their deaths. There’s only one word for that: sick.

I love Hackett’s electric guitar work in the pause between the last two verses—-progressive punk! And Phil Collins shifting from boom to steady calm in the flicker of an eye . . . absolutely amazing.

“How Dare I Be So Beautiful?” (9:43-11:04): “In which our intrepid heroes investigate the aftermath of the battle and discover a solitary figure, obsessed by his own image. They witness an unusual transmutation and are pulled into their reflections in the water.”

I could never figure out the source of the gloomy sound that seems to come out of nowhere in the intro to this piece until I read Mario Giamatti’s Genesis – 1967 to 1975: The Peter Gabriel Years. I was surprised to learn that the sound’s origin consisted of simple piano chords set to fade in the mixer so that all you hear is the sustain. Clever lads!

I wish I could say the same about the lyrics, but there ain’t much there there. What works for me is the musical shift from boisterous to tragic, forming a musical elegy following the bloodbath.

“Willow Farm” (11:05-14:15): “Climbing out of the pool, they are once again in a different existence. They’re right in the middle of a myriad of bright colours, filled with all manner of objects, plants, animals and humans. Life flows freely and everything is mindlessly busy. At random, a whistle blows and every single thing is instantly changed into another.”

In this case, the program notes do a better job of communicating an understandable narrative, as the lyrics are pure Jabberwocky, loaded with rhymes-for-rhymes-sake and wild wordplay. Hacket described the lyrics as “part Teddy Bears’ Picnic, part I Am The Walrus” (ibid). On a personal level, I was traumatized by the line “There’s Winston Churchill dressed in drag” and the foul image that stuck in my head for days. In a mad attempt to make sense of nonsense, the internet crowd has come up with their version of Jabberwocky in the form of “fake news.” No, Reddit readers, Willow Farm is not an asylum in England, but there is a Willow Court in Tasmania, an asylum for the chronically ill and convicted invalids. No, various music sites, the instrumental passage in the piece bears no resemblance whatsoever to Tchaikovsky’s “Dance of the Sugar-Plum Fairy,” melodically or instrumentally. We’ll add these bits of B.S. to the belief that Genesis is a band of devil-worshippers and move on.

This Peter Gabriel piece was not intended for “Supper’s Ready,” but made it into the suite because Banks perceived that the music opened the door to new possibilities. From Louder:

“When we started it we thought we were writing a kind of follow-up to The Musical Box, and it was going along quite nicely. Then we had this pretty-pretty song, Willow Farm, on its own, and thought, what if we suddenly went from there into this ugly, descending-chords sequence? No one would be expecting it. And once we got into that, we thought, well, we’re here now, let’s carry on, with freedom, and see where it leads us.”

The ugly chord sequence is E-D-C-Bb, with the Bb as the sour outlier. The piece is replete with sour notes due to the frequent use of descending half-steps, but the effect is more comic than tragic, mirroring the mood of the Lewis Carroll-like lyrics. The music is quite diverse in style and sound, with touches of Vaudeville, trains, explosions and the filtered voices of children. While it’s far from a masterpiece, I fully understand how “Willow Farm” fits into the suite from a theatrical standpoint.

“Apocalypse in 9/8 (Co-Starring the Delicious Talents of Gabble Ratchet)” (14:16-20:40): “At one whistle the lovers become seeds in the soil, where they recognise other seeds to be people from the world in which they had originated. While they wait for Spring, they are returned to their old world to see Apocalypse of St John in full progress. The seven trumpeters cause a sensation, the fox keeps throwing sixes, and Pythagoras (a Greek extra) is deliriously happy as he manages to put exactly the right amount of milk and honey on his corn flakes.“

The lovers actually went to seed in “Willow Farm,” confirming that trying to make the narrative pieces fit together is a full-time job and Peter Gabriel could have used an editor. The lyrics form an impressionistic picture of the Apocalypse with the usual references to Magog, dragons, fire coming down from the skies and the mark of the beast, but Gabriel adds a few flourishes by having the trumpeteers blast out rock ‘n’ roll and Pythagoras (what the hell is he doing here?) writing a new tune in blood.

Once again, it’s the music that matters. In stark contrast to the anything-goes arrangement of the previous segment, “Apocalypse in 9/8” is much more disciplined and coherent—quite an accomplishment given that initially Banks couldn’t identify the time signature to his extended organ solo and when Phil Collins entered the scene, he couldn’t name it either. Sometimes it’s best not to fret about what will wind up in the sheet music and just go with the flow, and I detect no rhythmic fuck-ups in the performance.

The transition to the opening passage is marked by an upward synth swoop, and what follows is a soothing bit of pastoral music in straight time, beginning with Gabriel on flute and Hackett on classical guitar. In the second go-round, a gentle, high-pitched organ makes it a trio; a second guitar appears towards the close, becoming more prominent in phase three. Collins makes a subtle entry in phase four, followed by a trumpet-like sound cueing a rising figure on Peter’s flute and WHAM! Collins and Rutherford provide a driving beat in 9/8, giving Gabriel a platform for his apocalyptic ramblings.

The band keeps driving for a couple of bars, forming an intro to Tony Banks’ show-stopping organ solo. I’m usually not a big fan of organists, but Tony Banks is so damned good on the instrument that I stand in awe of his talent. The major challenge presented by the organ involves the ability to play clean notes in addition to sustained notes. Too many organists get sloppy, hold their fingers down for too long and muddle what should have been clear and clean. Despite the difficulty of playing in an unusual time signature set to an up-tempo rhythm, Tony plays those notes with exquisite precision.

After Gabriel completes the second verse, the band keeps on driving to a declining chord pattern, eventually making a clever transition highlighted by tubular bells from Phil Collins. Once the transition is complete, the music (and our two travelers) come full circle to what really matters in this crazy world: love of another human being.

And it’s hey babe, with your guardian eyes so blue
Hey my baby, don’t you know our love is true?
I’ve been so far from here, far from your loving arms
Now I’m back again
And babe, it’s gonna work out fine

“As Sure as Eggs Is Eggs (Aching Men’s Feet)” (20:40-23:05): “Above all else an egg is an egg. ‘And did those feet . . . ‘ making ends meet. Jerusalem = place of peace.”

My mother and I have had a standing argument for years. I argue that Genesis should have ended the piece with the closing verse of “Apocalypse in 9/8)”; she argues that “As Sure As Eggs” is necessary to complete the musical and lyrical narratives. “What lyrical narrative?” I ask. She responds, “The central characters have taken a journey through the human experience. They have experienced fear and love; they have encountered evil in the form of deception, violence and narcissism. While they return as one, they also need to believe that good will win out over evil after all is said and done. Hence the ‘New Jerusalem,’ a place of peace.”

We have agreed to disagree, so I’ll leave you with the closing verse so you can share your thoughts on this mother-daughter squabble.

There’s an angel standing in the sun
And he’s crying with a loud voice
“This is the supper of the mighty one”
Lord of Lords, King of Kings
Has returned to lead his children home
To take them to the new Jerusalem

Despite our differences, I will concede that the fade leading to the end of our story (and the album) is magnifique. 

Despite the occasional bumps in the road, Foxtrot is a remarkably satisfying listening experience with melodies and imagery that stick in your head for days. I only wish I could have seen them play it live, as video lacks the feeling of “YOU ARE THERE” that makes live music so compelling.

Now I have one more dilemma to solve. Do I include the album cover on my next version of the header array, or take a picture of my mother’s reconstruction job? Stay tuned!