Eleven years ago, I taped a series of conversations with my mother covering six of the seven albums from Days of Future Passed to Seventh Sojourn, skipping To Our Children’s Children’s Children because I had already reviewed that album. I posted the transcripts of those conversations in place of reviews and . . . it didn’t work out too well. Many Moodies fans misinterpreted our mother-daughter conversations as cheeky and not particularly helpful. I eventually marked those posts “Private,” essentially deleting them from the blog. 

In my fervent desire to avoid American music for the time being (if not forever, given the latest antics and the lack of any meaningful opposition), I thought it was a good time to revisit the Moodies with proper altrockchick reviews and allow them to earn a cherished spot on the menu bar. They should make it there by the end of the year.

*****

The contemporary and retrospective critical reactions to Days of Future Passed fully validate my refusal to review new releases.

Rolling Stone, 1968: “The Moody Blues, on the evidence of their most recent recordings, have matured considerably since “Go Now,” but their music is constantly marred by one of the most startlingly saccharine conceptions of “beauty” and “mysticism” that any rock group has ever affected. To be specific: Days of Future Passed claims to “have extended the range of pop music,” finding “the point where it becomes one with the world of the classics.” This is pure nonsense . . .

The whole execution of the album is so perverse that the only real surprise is the discovery that between the movie soundtrack slush there is some quite palatable rock which makes no compromises, even in the direction of orchestral accompaniment—as a matter of fact there is almost none on the rock tracks. Then why the Festival Orchestra? Why the hideous spoken introduction and conclusion? If this crap is supposed to be breathtakingly beautiful or the aesthetic raison d’etre of the album, god deliver us back into the hands of prosaic rock, like “Peak Hour,” or “Forever Afternoon,” or “Nights in White Satin.” Or even the triteness of “Twilight Time.”

This must remain the real curiosity of Days of Future Passed: what is obviously a fine, tight English rock group has chosen to strangle itself in contextual goo.

Rolling Stone, 2017: Days of Future Passed is listed as one of the Fifty Essential Albums of 1967 along with Sgt. Pepper, Are You Experienced?, Surrealistic Pillow, Disraeli Gears and others.

Whether it’s the shiny new thing that turns out to be a one-hit wonder, or a break with tradition that discombobulates critics stuck in yesteryear, a review of a recently-released album is often a fool’s errand. Critics often fall for the hype delivered in bulk by the promoters, or try to make something out of nothing because the particular artist’s management is a consistent ad buyer, or the artist is one of their personal favorites.

Although my father and I disagree on the value of some of his favorites, he has more knowledge about the music scene during the transitional years of 1966-1967 than anyone I know, so I asked him a question: “Other than Revolver and Sgt. Pepper, what albums told you that the times they are a-changing?” Since he lived in the Haight all through that period, I thought he would reply with several examples of the San Francisco Sound, but for one of the few times in my life, he took me by surprise. “The first is one nobody mentions—In My Life by Judy Collins. The arrangements and instrumentation opened up new possibilities in folk and folk-rock. The second is Days of Future Passed by the Moodies. The Beatles had used strings, but the Moodies took it to a whole new level—the marriage of classical and rock that had been hinted at was now a reality.”

My mother confirmed most of her husband’s perspective during our previously posted conversation when I questioned the notion that the music on Days of Future Passed was “classical.” “You don’t understand because you were not there. When I came to America, I was shocked at the ignorance of people my age when it came to classical music and jazz. I would meet people and tell them I listened to and studied classical music and they gave me these strange looks that said they thought I was a throwback, a square. They dismissed centuries of music in its highest form as something for old people and straights. While you are correct that Days of Future Passed is not classical music, The Moody Blues opened the ears of millions in my generation to the beauty of the orchestra, and after this record, my friends started asking me more about the classics. Almost overnight, I became chic!”

When I look back on my half of the conversation, I have to admit I was rather snarky at times and would have given the album a so-so review had I chosen to write one. That conversation took place over a decade ago, and since then, I’ve changed my perspective on the Moody Blues. Performing “Question” with Alicia at our wedding deepened my appreciation of all of their music, and even my metalhead wife has embraced the Moodies, often playing their songs while accompanying them on cello.

So, yes, it’s time for a fresh look at the Moody Blues.

*****

After “Go Now” topped the charts in the U.K. and made the top ten in the States in 1964-1965, The Moody Blues went into an agonizingly slow death spiral. They had difficulty coming up with a strong follow-up, and it didn’t help that Decca released “I Don’t Want to Go On Without You” before the band had finished the recording. Though they maintained their popularity on the concert circuit, the management firm they were working with magically disappeared, kept all their earnings and left them virtually bankrupt. Brian Epstein took them on for a while, but in 1966, bassist Clint Warwick left the band, soon followed by guitarist and vocalist Denny Laine, leading Epstein to end their brief association.

When the replacement on bass didn’t work out, they brought in John Lodge, who had played with the band members in an earlier incarnation. Around that time, Eric Burton had been advertising for a new guitarist and was flooded with applications. Mike Pinder contacted him, and Eric recommended that he get in touch with a guy named Justin Hayward to fill the guitarist-vocalist void. Lodge and Hayward would eventually prove to be heaven-sent, but for the time being, the Moodies decided to keep wearing the blue suits that they were known for and made no changes to their basic R&B orientation.

But soon, they would get a genuine wake-up call . . . from their drummer:

“The first shows we did together were in Belgium,” says Hayward. “It was about the only place where there was still a demand for the band. When we got back to England, it looked like we had no future. We were getting dwindling crowds and decreasing money. It all came to a head when we did a show in Stockton during March 1967. We were so bad, a fan accosted us afterwards and told us we were the worst band he’d ever seen, and we’d ruined the night for him and his wife who’d paid £12 for a night out and had seen the dreadful Moody Blues!

“On the way back in the van, Graeme—who was asleep lying over the equipment at the back—suddenly woke up and said quietly, ‘That guy was right. We are rubbish!’ It was the moment we ditched the R&B covers, got rid of our Moody Blues suits and decided to stand or fall by our own songs. What did we have to lose?”

What was missing from their musical offerings was authenticity. As Justin Hayward described it, the problem with the early Moody Blues was that they were trying to be an American R&B band. “We hadn’t lived that life, “ says Hayward. “We had to write about our lives. We were from lower-middle-class families. We wanted to get stoned and have some enlightenment. That was it. I hadn’t gone through any hardships in the Deep South of America, I couldn’t honestly sing about it. I could sing about a middle-class boy from Swindon who wanted to have some fulfillment in his life and didn’t have any money. I could sing about that.”

“When you ain’t got nothin’, you got nothin’ to lose,” and the Moodies took Bob Dylan’s words to heart—even to the point of engaging in a bit of legerdemain. After releasing two singles of original compositions that failed to chart—and with their contract with Decca about to expire—the label threw them a life jacket. With the support of A&R manager Hugh Mendl, the band was given the opportunity to come up with a rock version of Dvořák’s New World Symphony to promote Decca’s new “Deramic Stereo Sound” format. In return, Decca agreed to wipe out the debts they owed the company for advances that failed to provide an ROI. They agreed with the understanding that they would have full artistic control, and with Mendl’s support, the suits gave their consent.

The truth is that the Moodies weren’t all that interested in covering Dvořák. They wanted to record their compositions, but to pull that off, they needed a few co-conspirators. Conductor and arranger Peter Knight was assigned to the project, and after seeing them perform their new songs live, he decided that both the Moodies and Decca would be better off displaying the new audio technology by combining their original compositions with orchestral backing. Producer Tony Clarke, who had produced those two “new Moodies” singles, happily joined the conspiracy. The new songs (which had made up the bulk of their recent stage shows) were recorded in five days; when they finished a song, they would hand Knight the tapes to compose the linking orchestral passages. Decca was completely unaware of the bait-and-switch until the album was completed. When the suits heard the album, they didn’t know what to make of it, but eventually gave the album the OK after consulting with their American colleagues.

Even if you were cursed with a tin ear, you will notice one aspect of the album that proved to be very important: none of the original songs were recorded with the orchestra; the “orchestral” passages on those songs come from Mike Pinder on the mellotron. That instrument would become an essential part of the band’s sound, and they were lucky that Pinder had worked for the company that built the instrument and knew how to build it and take it apart. They also had the good fortune to work with a brilliant engineer in Derek Valnals, who collaborated with Pinder and Clarke to devise a few workarounds that made the complex instrument produce consistent orchestral sounds. In an interview with Harvey Kubinek, Justin confirmed just how important the instrument was for him: “Well, Mike and the mellotron made my songs work. That’s the simplest way I can put it.”

The theme behind this concept album is easy to grasp: “Ultimately, it was agreed that the record would be a concept album tracking a day in the life of Everyman, with original songs relating to different parts of the day performed in chronological order, introduced and interspersed with orchestral music.” Though the Moodies have been both blasted and admired for their philosophical-metaphysical leanings, the narrative of Days of Future Passed is firmly grounded in the milieu of the lower-middle classes.

And who the hell says that lower-middle-class people wouldn’t appreciate a bit of enlightenment from time to time?

*****

“The Day Begins”—“The Day Begins”/”Morning Glory” (Knight-Edge): After ten or so seconds of silence, Pinder initiates a build on the mellotron that falls somewhere between gritty, cymbal-like and otherworldly, eventually giving way to an orchestral crescendo based on the melody of “Dawn Is a Feeling.” In the next segment, bright flutes lead the way into a brief preview of “Another Morning,” followed by a lush rendition of the main motif of “Forever Afternoon (Tuesday?).” The final orchestral segment is an extended exploration of  “Nights in White Satin,” duly expressed with passion and respect for the gorgeous melody. Though three of the songs were left out of the overture, Peter Knight chose the four with the strongest melodies, resulting in an exceptionally compelling arrangement.

What follows is Mike Pinder’s recitation of Graeme Edge’s poem, “Morning Glory.” Why Pinder and not Graeme, you ask? “At the time, Mike had a much more gravely kind of voice. Cigarettes and whiskey had modulated his cords a bit more than mine.” Well, as Noel Gallagher wrote, “All I need is cigarettes and alcohol,” to which I say “Amen.” Pinder’s reading is spot-on, with sensitive renderings of the different moods in the lyrical narrative.

Though the backstory regarding Graeme’s interest in poetry involves a teacher who turned him on to T. S. Eliot and Dylan Thomas at the age of ten, the language used in these lines has more in common with the English Romantic poets like Shelley and Keats.

Cold-hearted orb that rules the night
Removes the colours from our sight
Red is gray and yellow, white
But we decide which is right
And which is an illusion

Pinprick holes in a colourless sky
Let insipid flickers of light pass by
The mighty light of ten thousand suns
Challenges infinity and is soon gone
Night time, to some a brief interlude
To others the fear of solitude
Brave Helios, wake up your steeds
Bring the warmth the countryside needs

For those of you who slept through English Lit, Helios is the Greek sun god, a reference that makes for a nice transition to the dawn.

“Dawn: Dawn Is a Feeling” (Pinder): The London Festival Orchestra wasn’t really The London Festival Orchestra, but a name the band came up with to give the ensemble some credibility. As Justin related to Dennis Elsas on Best Classic Bands, “They were just a bunch of gypsies, what they called string players in London at the time. They were made up from a few different orchestras; they were great players. But the most important thing about that was Peter Knight who orchestrated and arranged the classical parts of the record was in my opinion the greatest romantic string arranger of the era.”

The introduction to “Dawn Is a Feeling” certainly confirms Justin’s assessment, a perfectly lovely arrangement showcasing flute, clarinet and strings—a nice, gentle way to greet the day. The vocals that follow are split between Justin and Mike, with the former taking the verses and the latter taking the bridge. The mellotron handled the “string section” in the song proper, and Pinder somehow managed to wheedle enough classical sound from the instrument to provide a sense of continuity. The orchestra returns for the close, where an oboe is introduced to restate the melody. From a musical perspective, the song hits all the right notes at just the right times.

The lyrics may seem a bit hyperbolic, but when you take into account that the title claims that dawn is a feeling, the hyperbole is fully justified:

Dawn is a feeling
A beautiful ceiling
The smell of grass
Just makes you pass
Into a dream
You’re here today
No future fears
This day will last
A thousand years
If you want it to

I’m not a morning person, so I put the song to a test. I set my iPad to wake up to “Dawn Is a Feeling” for a few days, and I’ll be damned—I woke up a happy camper before having my morning coffee and cigarette!

“The Morning: Another Morning” (Thomas): The opening orchestral passage begins with a sprightly flute, soon joined by strings and what seems to be a celeste. As the orchestra fades, John Lodge enters the scene, counting time on his bass before a reveille appears to kick the song into gear. Ray leads the way with a cheerful flute introduction, and though he would never be as inventive as Ian Anderson, he had excellent tone and knew how to make a melody come alive. In truth, I think Ray’s flute playing outshines the orchestra flutist, but since he or she is anonymous, I doubt that I’ve hurt anyone’s feelings.

I’m not a big fan of children’s songs unless they were written by Ray Thomas . . . which means I like two children’s songs: “Floating” and “Another Morning.” In both songs, he revels in their play and their healthy ignorance of time; here he subtly hints that adults could learn a lot from children and their innate creativity . . . before they grow up and have their creative minds stifled by social norms and unimaginative approaches to education:

Balloons flying
Children sighing
What a day to go kite flying
Breeze is cool
Away from school
Cowboys fighting out a duel
Time seems to stand quite still
In a child’s world, it always will . . .

Yesterday’s dreams
Are tomorrow’s sighs
Watch children playing
They seem so wise

Ray’s vocal is one of his best and John Lodge gives a boffo performance on the bass. I love the background vocals on the last two lines of the verses, which serve to highlight the most important message in the song. Kudos again to Peter Knight for arranging the strings in the restatement of the melody during the fade—a very moving passage indeed.

“Lunch Break: Peak Hour” (Lodge): The lengthy orchestral introduction may seem a bit off-kilter at first, as Knight chose to reintroduce the melody of “Dawn Is a Feeling” instead of quoting “Peak Hour.” The simple truth is that “Peak Hour” is the hardest rocker on the album, with little to offer from a melodic perspective. Instead, Knight set up an arrangement played to a quick tempo, marked by the use of brass instruments to convey images of city bustle, accurately reflecting the lyrical theme of the song.

After a brief pause, the song kicks in and godDAMN, John Lodge and Graeme Edge make for a great rhythm section, pounding away on those beats like they’ve been suffering from rock ‘n’ roll starvation. They really shine on the ass-shaking syncopated chorus that makes me jump for joy.

The theme is expressed through an acute observer of human madness and can be summed up in a simple question: “What’s the rush?”

I see it all through my window, it seems
Never failing like millions of bees
All that is wrong
No time to be won
All they need to do
What can be done

Peak hour (3)

Minds are subject to what should be done
Problems solved, time cannot be won
One hour a day
One hour at night
Sees crowds of people
All meant for flight

Driven by a heart-thumping beat, a brief crescendo of guitar and mellotron sums up the frenzy, leading to a full stop to allow the narrator to reflect on the experience, backed by mellotron and organ. The vocal harmonies here are as sharp as the harmonies on Odessey and Oracle (except when Lodge’s falsetto wavers at the end of the passage):

It makes me want to run out and tell them
They’ve got time
Take a step back out
And look in
I found out
I’ve got time . . .

What follows is a rhythmic build that moves from fast to faster to fastest, allowing Justin Hayward to get a few good licks in on the guitar and giving Pinder another shot at mellotron mastery. After a repetition of the second verse and chorus, the song ends in grand fashion with a powerful organ and a few closing whacks from Edge. Whew! In this case, there is no closing orchestral passage, in part because of the song’s incompatibility with orchestral arrangements and in part because the song itself was a great way to close side one.

“The Afternoon”—“Forever Afternoon (Tuesday?)” (Hayward)/“(Evening) Time to Get Away” (Lodge): When Justin appeared on the Ed Bernstein show in Las Vegas shortly after the announcement that the Moodies had finally made it into the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame, Bernstein asked him about the origins of what we all know as “Tuesday Afternoon.” “I wrote it in a park on an estate . . . called Lypiatt Park with beautifully tended gardens . . . my mother and I used to take my late brother and I there when we were kids . . . and I brought my acoustic guitar. I also had a dog named Tuesday . . . and I wrote it on a Tuesday afternoon.”

I love dogs, but I’m glad that Justin didn’t mention his pal in the song.

This is one of those songs where all the pieces fit together to create a composition of sheer beauty. As Justin wrote the song on an acoustic guitar, the chords are relatively easy, but the way Justin sequenced the chords was quite innovative: the song is mostly in the key of F major, but he never employs the chord for resolution, choosing to end the verse lines on D major instead. In the transitional segment with wordless vocalization, he uses a pattern of C-Ab-C to reach the key change to G major in the upbeat change of tempo in the bridge, ending that segment on A minor. The result is a composition full of chordal tension that continues to pique interest without compromising the achingly beautiful melodies. The presence of Pinder’s mellotron also helps to anchor the piece by providing a sense of continuity in his held notes and chords.

The lyrics and Justin’s vocals reflect the vulnerability expressed in the unresolved chord pattern, depicting a man “just beginning to see,” and finding comfort and inspiration in natural beauty.

Something calls to me
The trees are drawing me near
I’ve got to find out why
Those gentle voices I hear
Explain it all with a sigh

In the bridge, we find our hero in a self-reflective mood, where he has a revelation that there are two “me’s.” One has to do with his public self (the one he needs to leave behind) and the other his true self, searching for beauty, peace and understanding:

I’m looking at myself
Reflections of my mind
It’s just the kind of day
To leave myself behind
So gently swaying
Through the fairy-land of love
If you’ll just come with me
And see the beauty of
Tuesday afternoon

The song ends on a note of optimism with Justin scatting the melody while Ray echoes the melody on his flute. The transition to the orchestral passage is flawless, and the closing sequence with its passion-driven restatement of the melody,  followed by a gentler passage ending on a lovely celeste crescendo . . . well, it doesn’t get much better than that, my friends.

Given its juxtaposition to one of Justin’s most beloved compositions, Lodge’s “(Evening) Time to Get Away” doesn’t get the attention it deserves, but of all the songs on the album, it provides the best evidence to support the argument that the storyline is grounded in the experience of the lower-middle classes. The piece opens immediately after the celeste crescendo with Justin plucking the notes of an E minor chord on his acoustic guitar. That simple chord flips the mood from optimism to bleakness, a shift confirmed by the downcast lyrics in the first two verses:

Evening has come to pass
The time of day doesn’t last
Evening has earned its place today
I’m tired of working away

Working, living, it brings
Only way to have those things
Toiling has brought too many tears
Turn ’round all those past years

Lodge’s delivery of the line “I’m tired of working away” is poignant and heartfelt, evoking empathy for the plight of the workingman. The closing line of that verse ends on a hopeful D major chord, hailing the recuperative powers of a brief moment of free time in the chorus:

Evening time to get away
Evening time to get away
Evening time to get away
Till next day

The harmonies in the chorus heighten the narrator’s sense of relief, but alas, the absence of harmony on the last line reminds us that ’tis but a brief respite from the drudgery of the next day. The bridge with Lodge singing in falsetto doesn’t add much to the storyline or the composition (and it certainly wasn’t worth an encore), but the song ends on an upbeat note via the truncated fade of the chorus.

“Evening”—“The Sunset” (Pinder)/“Twilight Time” (Thomas): The orchestral opening to this piece arrives with stunning abruptness before settling down into a gentler Mantovani-esque mode—not Knight’s finest moment. The orchestra gives way to the timpani-like drums that form the background for Pinder’s vocal. Though I rather like the mellotron and the eastern feel of the music, the lyrics cross the line into the inane and Pinder’s too-precise vocal doesn’t help matters. Fortunately, the piece doesn’t last too long, and a more suitable orchestral passage opens the way to a better song.

“Twilight Time” replaces the draggy rhythm of “The Sunset” with an emphatic rhythm set to a faster tempo driven by Pinder’s percussive piano chords and Lodge’s bass. The song maintains the G minor key of its predecessor while providing a stronger lead vocal from Ray and lyrics with vivid imagery. When listening to Pinder’s contribution, I don’t feel the sunset, but Ray makes damned sure that I feel the twilight:

Twilight Time, to dream awhile
In veils of deepening blue
As fantasy strides over colourful skies
Of form disappearing from view

In twilight time, dream with me awhile (2)

A nightingale plays a dark mellow phrase
Of notes that are rich and so true
An aerial display by the firefly brigade
Dancing to tunes no one knew . . .

Bats take to wing, like puppets on string
Prancing through cool evening air
In a sightless glide, no reason to hide
Away from the sun’s blinding stare

While his voice is heavily processed, Ray delivers an exceptionally strong vocal performance over a background of choral voices and mellotron. The repetition of the chorus in the closing moment fades rather quickly into a lovely orchestral restatement of melody and mood, ending with declining figures from flute, bassoon and a held note on the mellotron—a perfectly clean break that allows the listener to take a moment to prepare for the grand finale.

“The Night”—“Nights in White Satin” (Hayward)/“Late Lament” (Edge-Knight): 1967 was the year when two of the greatest closing songs in the history of the album were recorded and released: “A Day in the Life” and “Nights in White Satin”/”Late Lament.”

The song’s title came in the form of a gift from a girlfriend: a set of white satin sheets. Justin wrote the lyrics and music at the age of nineteen while sitting on a hotel bed in Mouscron, Belgium, where the Moodies had gathered to do a few shows and work on songs for the upcoming album:

“I wrote this song the summer before Days of Future Passed. It’s the only song from Days that was written before the recording sessions took place. I came home from one big night and sat on the side of my bed very early in the morning. I knew the other guys would expect me to have something to play the next day, because there was a session booked. They were always of the mind: ‘Oh, there’s a session booked. Justin will have something.’

“So with ‘Nights,’ I sat on the side of the bed and just wrote the two verses. I was at the end of one big love affair and the beginning of another. These are the things that boys, when they’re in the middle of love affairs, they think about. Every word in that song makes perfect sense to me, but trying to explain it to someone is difficult. [laughs] I mean, I lived every one of the lines in that song.

When Justin played the song for his mates, the response was “meh” until Mike Pinder asked Justin to play it again while he readied himself at the mellotron. The addition of “strings” made all the difference in the world, and the song was soon slotted for “The Night” on Days of Future Passed.

If Justin found it difficult to explain the lyrics, it’s likely that many listeners face a similar challenge. The key to interpretation is this: you have to remember what it was like to be in your late teens, when you have some of the trappings of adulthood but things haven’t quite come together yet. Displays of passion are followed by moments of doubt, you’re sure about this but not about that, and the thing you were sure of turned out to be ephemeral. Justin had a method for dealing with these bouts of uncertainty and anxiety: he’d write letters he never meant to send. These shifting feelings are captured in Justin’s lyrics and vocals, where he expresses a range of emotions: sleepless nights, elusive truths, isolation, confusion, and deeply felt passion.

Nights in white satin
Never reaching the end
Letters I’ve written
Never meaning to send
Beauty I’d always missed
With these eyes before
Just what the truth is
I can’t say anymore

‘Cause I love you
Yes I love you
Oh how I love you

Gazing at people
Some hand in hand
Just what I’m going through
They can’t understand
Some try to tell me
Thoughts they cannot defend
Just what you want to be
You will be in the end

The arrangement is simply marvelous and full of delightful surprises. The orchestral introduction is the most economical on the album, and in many ways the most effective. The mix of warm flute, a rising and falling figure from the string section and a touch of piano is all the song needed. Edge, Lodge and Justin’s acoustic guitar appear in sync with the orchestral fade, establishing a low-tempo rhythm set to a simple Em/D chord pattern and played at normal volume. Pinter wisely holds back on the mellotron until the third line of the first verse, providing counterpoint figures with the necessary satiny sheen. Edge and Lodge then subtly cue the players and vocalist to ramp up the power for the chorus, further strengthened by wordless background vocals. The pattern of soft/loud will continue throughout the song, soft on the reflective verses and bursting power on the chorus. After two go-rounds, Ray gets a shot at a flute solo and absolutely nails it with a warm, gentle flute for most of the performance and a thrilling held peak note at the end. In the final go-round, Pinter demonstrates the multi-faceted capabilities of the mellotron, introducing new layers of sounds to add variety to the mix. The band’s performance on this rendition of the chorus is so strong that you reasonably assume that the boys are about to wrap things up, but apparently they felt that not all the passion had been spent. Pinder’s mellotron produces slices of urgency in sync with Edge’s pounding drums, and Justin gives it his all in another round of the chorus. “Okay, now we’re done,” you think, but suddenly the orchestra enters the scene at full power to punctuate the close with a stirring restatement of the melody. After easing things up a bit, the appearance of a bowed string bass proves to be another feint, as Knight leads the orchestra in a crescendo-filled blast of orchestral strength before guiding the players through the falling notes of the diminuendo that leads to the final piece.

We are now in the very early part of the new day when all is dark and quiet. I’m not exactly sure which instruments support “Late Lament” (likely celeste, xylophone, triangle, or similar instrument), but the combination of relative quiet and twinkling sounds calls up images of a dark sky full of stars on a clear night.  When Mike Pinder begins the poem with his deep voice uttering the words, “Breathe deep,” I follow his instructions to the letter and take a deep breath—an excellent suggestion after the intensity of “Nights in White Satin.” Graeme Edge added two new verses to “Morning Glory” to create “Late Lament,” and the additions prove to be especially moving:

Breathe deep the gathering gloom
Watch lights fade from every room
Bedsitter people look back and lament
Another day’s useless energy spent

Impassioned lovers wrestle as one
Lonely man cries for love and has none
New mother picks up and suckles her son
Senior citizens wish they were young

I feel for the people who can’t afford anything more than a one-room apartment and find themselves trapped in a cycle of poverty; I envy the impassioned lovers and deeply regret that there are people whose lives are bereft of love; I hope that the mother withholds her feelings of annoyance from having to wake up at an ungodly hour and tends to her baby with love and care; and I feel for the elderly who are often forgotten in our youth-oriented cultures. I thought I’d cried myself out to the beauty of “Nights in White Satin,” but these images proved me wrong.

In this context, the verse from “Morning Glory” takes on a deeper meaning:

Cold-hearted orb that rules the night
Removes the colours from our sight
Red is grey and yellow, white
But we decide which is right
And which is an illusion

Yes, we live in a universe indifferent to our plight, but we have choices. We can choose between illusion and truth, and I lament the fact that too many humans choose to live in a world of illusions because they can’t face the truth, and use lies to support those illusions.

This album of exceptional beauty and insight ends with a closing flourish from the orchestra, followed by the ringing sound of a gong, an instrument with unique resonance often associated with spirituality and enlightenment. . . and we can all use more enlightenment, no matter where we reside in the class structure.

Given that the band was headed for extinction, the stunning change in musical style, and the many obstacles they faced in sharing Days of Future Passed with the masses, it’s a miracle that the album turned out to be a masterpiece. The Moodies were lucky to connect with people who believed in what they were trying to accomplish, but the factor that I would identify as the key to the album’s success involved a fundamental truth: you’re always better off being yourself than trying to be someone you are not.