A Note in Support of Mr. Collins

Phil Collins!

There, I said it. You read it. Phil Collins.

For those of you nearing the age of AARP membership, or who have recently scheduled colonoscopies, there was a time when, love him or hate him, Phil Collins could do no wrong -- acting career aside. Hit after hit during the 1980s catapulted him from little-known drummer/singer of Genesis to mega-superstar of galactic proportions. For decades, the workaholic churned out album after album, project after project, and I'm not just talking about hit singles.

The guy made a concept album with Flaming Youth before The Who popularized the idea with Tommy (and a couple years before his future Genesis bandmates got into the act). He played drums on five albums with jazz/fusion group Brand X in the late 1970s while simultaneously and successfully taking over lead singing responsibilities in Genesis. He's been responsible for producing, collaborating with, and inspiring numerous artists throughout the years. And his inhuman drumming helped elevate the early fairytale music of Genesis out of English gardens into rock arenas and, ultimately, onto FM radio. The guy was a multi-talented, adaptable, unstoppable, impressive, all-around-enjoyable musical machine.

Then he became a commercial success and it all went to hell. Not because of him, though. He was just doing his thing and had enough business smarts to get paid good money for it, a fact that apparently pissed off some people and branded him a sell-out.

Now, after years of self-imposed musical exile, the guy's recent announcement that he plans to release a new album has certain critics freaking out like the devil is crawling out of hell to steal our children (or our chocolate, whichever scenario you find more terrifying). Honestly, what's the worst that can happen -- a crappy album? Or, perhaps, a really good album that you simply don't care for because it doesn't satisfy your taste in music?

I, for one, am looking forward to a new Phil Collins album. It doesn't matter if it's better than the best batch of songs he's ever pressed to vinyl or worse than the most middling soft rock he's ever been accused of compressing to MP3 format, I'm going to give it a listen because that's what a diehard fan does.

A diehard Genesis fan goes to see Peter Gabriel in concert even though Peter Gabriel hasn't released a decent album in 20 years. A diehard Genesis fan owns Mike Rutherford's solo albums (but is excused from anything after The Living Years). A diehard Genesis fan owns the three-and-a-half albums Tony Banks attempted after creatively flaming out in the early 1980s. A diehard Genesis fan owns all 473 Steve Hackett solo albums because he's the only former member of the group apparently not embarrassed by his progressive rock past.

Now, while I am looking forward to whatever music Mr. Collins chooses to release, I do have a small wish list I hope he takes to heart:

1. Get over it: You were overplayed and overexposed. Not your fault. You think Adele has never heard one of her songs on the radio and thought: "Good God, not her again." Your music would not have sold if people didn't like it, so stop being apologetic for your success. As for the critics who will never like anything you do, tell 'em to go screw.
2. Get out of your rut: Like many artists who achieve pop-star success, your sound essentially stopped developing when you struck it big. Maybe you think you know what people expect from you, or maybe you think every song you write that doesn't break the Top 40 is a failure, or maybe you just don't hear it. Whatever... Shake things up and forget about commercial viability. After all, you're wealthy enough to not have to worry about it.
3. Collaborate: Not that you haven't written some fantastic tunes, but some of your greatest achievements in music were in support of other people's ideas. All I'm saying is you don't have to do it all by yourself. Make new friends, call up some old friends, and get others involved in the creative process. (That doesn't mean rehashing your old sound with a young, hip producer -- please don't do that.)
4. Arena tours suck: Take a cue from your former bandmates and visit venues that are more intimate. My Lovely Wife and I took Our Daughter to see Peter Gabriel in Fairfax, VA, a few years ago with a few thousand other people and it was awesome. I got to see Steve Hackett's superb Genesis Revisited tour in a medium-size hall in Atlanta last year and it ranks as the greatest concert I've ever experienced. Much better than squinting from nosebleed seats a football field away just to see the Jumbotron.
5. Genesis Reunion: Stop thinking in terms of the trio versus the quintet. If you aren't up to the drumming, hire someone to fill in. We're cool with that. And just because Gabriel might not be interested doesn't mean we wouldn't like to hear Hackett tear through Firth of Fifth or pluck happily away on I Know What I Like. You could always do a one-off guest spot in their tours, or vice versa.

And, if you can't adhere to any of my other requests, please just try to have fun.

© 2015 Mark Feggeler

Mini Proggers

Anyone who knows much about me might know I am an avid Genesis fan. I love their newer material, which means the albums that are 19-36 years old featuring Phil Collins as lead singer. And I really, really love their older material, which means the albums that are 37-42 years old with Peter Gabriel as lead singer.

I don't care if loving the band dates me, or makes me incredibly uncool by most, if not all, modern standards of coolness. Go ahead. Judge and mock me. I can take it. I'm also a Mets fan, so I know a lot about hanging tough with an underdog and cheering for them at the top of my lungs no matter how vehemently the masses might ridicule them. Friggin' Yankees...

Most of the solo works by the individual members of Genesis from its many incarnations grace my collection in one form or another. Master guitarist Steve Hackett is my favorite, but I've already written that blog post. And yes, my Lovely Wife, he has a new one coming out this fall. (I'll try to be considerate during my 6-month period of obsessive replaying after it arrives special delivery from the UK.)

As time travels forward, my love of the band's music remains constant, even though the daily lust for it might wax and wane. From time to time, I put the discs aside, skip over the playlists on my iPod, and gravitate toward other genres. But never for very long.

Something about the overwhelming wall of sound from the melotron, the tinkling intricacies of the acoustic guitars, the screaming cries of the electric guitars, the simplistic complexity of the keyboards, the controlled chaos of the drumkit, the bass line that travels its own path through the song while somehow still supporting it, and the audacious pomposity of the lyrics -- for some reason it all blends together and calls me back like an old friend.

Lately, I've been reveling in the prog rock classic "Supper's Ready" from the band's 1972 album Foxtrot. Not only does the song contain every possible aspect of progressive rock that makes my Lovely Wife cringe, it has a running time of just over 23 minutes. On vinyl, that side of the album had only one other song, an acoustic guitar solo ("Horizons," also a classic) lasting only 90 seconds.

While I try not to subject my Lovely Wife to prog rock, our children are at my mercy. While Our Daughter, the teenager, is beginning to turn up her nose, the boys are still young and foolish enough to idolize me and, therefore, believe I have good taste. The Italian's standard response to seemingly every song I play is: "Can you put that on my iPod?"

So, it shouldn't have come as much of a surprise to me when, after having been subjected to "Supper's Ready" several times in the past few weeks, both the Italian and the German walked through the house this morning singing lyrics from the opening sequence of the song.

"Hey, babe, with your guardian eyes so blue-hoo," the Italian crooned.

"Hey, my baby, don't you know our love is true?" the German answered in turn.

My Lovely Wife rolled her eyes. I beamed at them from behind my bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats. Let her try and twist them round, round, baby right round with her Top 40 modern disco pop. So long as they display even a little fondness for 1970s rock opera prog, I'll proudly call them my sons.



© 2011 Mark Feggeler