01	Diana						04:36
	02	The Herald						12:14
	03	Drip Drip						10:55
	04	Song To Comus						07:31
	05	The Bite						05:26
	06	Bitten						02:15
	07	The Prisoner						06:15

(p) 1971 Original sound recording made by PRT (UK)
(c) 1995 BGO Records

BGOCD275

Glen Goring: 6-12 string guit, electr and slide guit, hand drums, voc
Andy Hellaby: Fender bass, slide bass, voc
Colin Pearson: violin, viola
Roger Wootton: ac guit, lead voc
Rob Young: flute, oboe, hand drums
Bobbie Watson: voc, perc

Comus - античный бог пьяного веселья, сын Бахуса и Кирки, олицетворявшийся одетым в белое юношей с факелом в руке. Он подстерегал путников и искушал их испить волшебной жидкости, которая наполняла жертв вихрем животных страстей. Джон Мильтон в 1637 году написал одноименную маску, текст которой желающие попрактиковаться в староанглийском могут найти здесь.

Как и ряд других британских групп конца 60х, COMUS был примечен и "пошел в народ" благодаря участию David'a Bowie. Именно он настоял на включении их в состав участников своего шоу в London's Purcell Rooms, что и стало отправной точкой карьеры группы. Однако на дворе был конец 1969 года, у самого Bowie хватало забот с собственной карьерой и его помощь тем и ограничилась. Тем не менее на COMUS обратили внимание люди из агенства Red Bus, которые и организовали группе контракт с лэйблом Dawn, прогрессивным подразделением Pye Records.

К началу 1971 года ситуация выглядела довольно многообещающей. В активе был готовый альбом, дожидавшийся релиза. В начале года группа появилось в серии передач "Субботний концерт" на Radio One и в музыкальной прессе стали появляться маленькие анонсы на тему "кометы Comus". Чтобы подготовить почву для издания альбома, группа обосновалась в Marquee и, когда маленькие анонсы разрослись до полустраничных размеров, группа впустила макси-сингл с композицией Diana плюс пара вещей, не удостоенных появиться на альбоме - In the Lost Queen's Eyes и Winter is a Coloured Bird.

Тогда-то и появились первые признаки того, что дела могут пойти далеко не так хорошо, как хотелось бы. Penny Valentine, одна из журналистов, знающих COMUS по шоу David'a Bowie в Purcell Rooms, оказалась единственным критиком, побеспокоившимся написать ревю на этот сингл - и она не была впечатлена. -Я должна признаться, что не смогла осилить первую дорожку, которая звучит как нечто между бешеной версией хора ведьм из "Макбет" и Марком Боланом, придавленным до смерти, - таков был ее обескураживающий приговор в журнале Sounds.

Большинство рецензий, появившихся после выхода альбома, были в том же духе:
"Трудно придумать, как продать подобный сорт музыки" (Record Retailer) "Это звучит как T. Rex на скорости 94 оборота в минуту" (Record Mirror) и т.п.

1971 год был нелегким годом для Великобритании. Инфляция, забастовки промышленных рабочих и почтовых служащих - все это оказало отрицательное влияние и на сферу музыкального бизнеса. Тщательно продуманные рекламные компании проваливались, отлаженная система заказов пластинок магазинами была ввергнута в хаос, составление чартов альбомов было парализовано. Как пишет Fraser Massey в аннотации к переизданию альбома на CD, "покупающая пластинки публика не была заинтересована. В это время ее, должно быть, не было дома - она покупала пластинки Дэвида Боуи"...

Провал First Utterance не мог не повлиять на музыкальную концепцию группы. 3 года прошло, прежде чем вышел их второй и последний альбом - и он был уже совсем другим... Достаточно сказать, что он вышел на Virgin Records - лэйбле, хоть и имеющем репутацию "прогрессивного", но занимавшемся прежде всего наиболее коммерческой ветвью жанра.



To Keep From Crying, c1974

-Down (like a movie star)
-Touch down
-Waves and caves
-Figure in your dreams
-Children of the universe (Real Audio)*
-So long Supernova
-Perpetual motion
-Panophany
-Get yourself a man -To keep from crying
-After the dream

Roger Wooton: voc, guit
Bobbie Watson: voc, recorder, percu
Keith Hale: piano, organ, elec piano, synth, marimbas
Andy Hellaby: bass, auto harp, efects, tape music
Gordon Coxon: drums, percu
also featured
Lindsay Cooper (Henri Cow): bassoon
Didier Malherbe (Gong): tenor sax
Phil Barry: bongos
Tim Kramer (Esperanto): cello

Субъективно:
Забудьте все критические высказывания в адрес First Utterance, приведенные выше, и послушайте этот альбом. Если уж говорить о "прогрессивной" музыке, прогрессивнее найти трудно. Ничего близкого по звуку я припомнить не могу - разве что наиболее агрессивные вещи на первом альбоме Spirogyra, да некоторые движения в ту же сторону на пластинках Catapilla и Curved Air. Роскошный инструментальный арсенал - преимущественно аккустический: гитарная вакханалия, скрипичные нервы от первой до последней вещи, контраст истеричного мужского вокала (Roger Wooton) и заоблачного женского (Bobbie Watson). Нетривиальная лирика - от некроэротической Drip Drip до мрачной готики The Bite ("блок поднимается - он вытягивается под веревкой на его шее; они тянут блок и христианин падает - он висит над своим грехом"). Вообще весь альбом пронизан духом эротики и безумия - а последнее, как известно, нередко соседствует с гениальностью.

Второй альбом группы To Keep From Crying гораздо ближе к "правильному" рафинированному фолк/артроку и за исключением пары вещей (Down - a la Family и Children of the universe - слушайте аудио фрагмент) в основном напоминает по стилю The Herald - самую элегантную и "причесанную" композицию с First Utterance - только, увы, уже без скрипки. Неудивительно - изменился лэйбл, изменился продюссер, изменились времена... Участие в записи таких фигур как Lindsay Cooper (Henry Cow), Didier Malherbe (Gong), Keith Hale (будующий участник Hawkwind) не меняет ситуацию - не то чтобы этот альбом был плох, будь он единственным, я бы даже его рекомендовал послушать, но в свете существования First Utterance... В общем, второй их альбом вполне можно пропустить.

Рейтинг:
First Utterance - 10/10
To Keep From Crying - 6/10


Дмитрий Шумаков


==============
http://www.btinternet.com/~rubberneck/comus.html

A Million Fleshy Things: The Songs Of Comus - by Chris Blackford

Comus emerged from the now much maligned, polystylistic ferment of late 60s/early 70s British progressive rock, though few now remember them. They quit after a second LP in 1974. I have to thank Vernon Joynson's wonderful encyclopedia, The Tapestry Of Delights, for bringing their extraordinary 1971 debut First Utterance (Beat Goes On BGOCD275 CD) to my attention.

This six-piece certainly lived up to their name. In Greek mythology Comus is the god of revelry, the son of Circe and Bacchus. Comus is also the title of a dramatic poem by the renowned 17th Century English poet, John Milton, and the poem's central theme - female chastity tempted in the archetypal 'wild wood' of moral perplexity by the demonic enchanter, Comus - sets the tone for First Utterance, especially 'The Song To Comus'. 'Diana', another allusion to Greek/Roman myth, also describes the threat of insatiable lust to virtue. Other vulnerable innocents face abusive power in songs about brutal murder mixed with Gothic eroticism ('Drip Drip'), Christian martyrdom ('The Bite') and mental illness ('The Prisoner') - all described with disturbing candour. The acerbic lyrics and Roger Wootton's vocals (echoes of Family's Roger Chapman) convey terror and hysteria with alliterative force; there's often a sense of sadistic pleasure in Wootton's tone which gives the album a nasty, yet compelling edge. This is certainly no idealised, Hippie evocation of a mythical, bucolic past. Even Wootton's cover artwork, as memorably grotesque as Barry Godber's for King Crimson's debut, suggests a darker direction. And the angular dissonance of Andy Hellaby's bass guitar and Colin Pearson's violin on 'Bitten' sounds very much like free improvisation in action, though sadly it only lasts a mere two minutes.

Throughout, the musicianship is thoughtful and applied to well crafted arrangements with instrumental episodes that present a considerable dynamic range - poignant, lyrical pastoral-folk, typified by the purity of Bobbie Watson's high vocal register, skewed blues and chamber rock, to some of the most menacing acoustic guitars, violin, hand drums and bass, I've heard from this era. First Utterance is certainly one of a kind, and one of the most inventive and distinctive works to come out of the 70s progressive rock movement. A minor classic.

In his informative sleevenotes, Fraser Massey puts forward a resourceful, if not entirely convincing, case as to why Comus and First Utterance didn't make the big-time. Disruptive postal strike of 1971 apart, selected unfavourable press reviews remind us of the basic, inescapable fact that Comus' music was an acquired taste; too damn spiky and unruly for the average folkie, yet too concerned with intricate arrangements and acoustic instrumentation to fire up a hard rock fan. A headline tour supporting hugely popular progressive folk-rockers Jethro Tull would have been just the ticket to raise the profile; however, it's unlikely that Tull management would have risked serious competition from such a stylistically idiosyncratic outfit.

If the Comus story had ended here, all would have been gloriously perfect. One audacious album left to tantalise posterity's obscure-vinyl junkies into posing the unanswerable question: what would they have done next? Unfortunately, perhaps, Comus answered this question themselves by producing a second album - one that devotees of the first would not have expected or hoped for.

Accomplished musicianship from more or less the same line-up, plus guest appearances by Henry Cow's Lindsay Cooper and Didier Malherbe of Gong, can't overturn the abiding feeling that, although satisfying in places, 1974's To Keep From Crying (Virgin V2018) is a sporadically fascinating flop. That it was released by Virgin, then arguably the most 'progressive' of the British labels serving the progressive rock market, makes the commercial and conventional nature of the recording initially appear somewhat baffling. But, on closer inspection, the mid-70s also saw Virgin release unexpectedly conventional/commercial recordings by Captain Beefheart (Unconditionally Guaranteed and Bluejeans And Moonbeams) and Can (Landed) - none of which were greeted with much enthusiasm by discerning fans of these groups, who regarded them (and still do) as questionable attempts to achieve wider recognition and higher record sales. Comus, then, were probably willing participants in a similar marketing strategy which also failed to achieve the desired commercial goal.

It's perhaps not surprising that To Keep From Crying still hasn't been reissued on CD, and unless Comus suddenly become fashionable (Steven Stapleton and David Tibet praising them in The Wire will certainly help matters) there seems no compelling reason for Virgin to deliver. Moreover, unlike the First Utterance LP (Dawn DNLS 3019), which has long been a much sought-after and expensive item for prog collectors, To Keep From Crying is not regarded as an especially rare acquisition, though this doesn't prevent it from being a reasonably pricey second-hand purchase.

Nevertheless, 'Down (Like A Movie Star)', the opener, augurs well - a punchy folk-pop song with hints of Wootton's vocal wildness at its edges, and some colourful touches from Cooper's bassoon and Keith Hale's marimba. It's the strongest song on the album. Third track, the brief 'Waves And Caves', reveals Andy Hellaby's interesting "effects and tape music"; what sounds like looped backwards bass guitar and discreet synth is sufficiently moodily pre-ambient for it to be at home on an album like Eno's Another Green World, released the following year. Two other miniatures by Hellaby, 'Panophany' (its percussive bass guitar effects rather like Kev Hopper's ingenious 90s "spoombung" preparations) and the concluding 'After The Dream' (multitracked auto harp), again give hints as to how the group might have explored more promising experimental pathways; but the overall impression is of studio engineers and, presumably, group opinion, conspiring to create a more polished sound with all the exciting, untamed qualities of the first album smoothed out, or pushed to the periphery. Catchy, inoffensive folk-pop is, for the most part, the end product, though 'Perpetual Motion' flirts with Beach Boys style vocal harmonies, and the title-track contains some driving bass by Hellaby; haunting melodies, like 'Touch Down' and 'Children Of The Universe', are sullied by twee Hippie versifying, or develop into inflated anthemic singalong.

Notwithstanding this absorption in the conventional, Bobbie Watson's impossibly high vocals retain a lingering sensuality, yet the delicacy of her tessitura is no longer counterbalanced by Wootton's seething hysteria; here, he and his lyrics are distressingly benign, and quite unlike Roger Chapman. A key element in First Utterance's invigorating drama was this striking dichotomy of vocal expressivity and the sexual charge it generated. Sadly, To Keep From Crying is a much safer soundworld to inhabit, and consequently a disappointing finale to Comus' career. R

ADDITIONAL NOTE

According to Vernon Joynson's aforementioned encyclopedia, a 45rpm single was made comprising 'Diana' plus two pieces not included on First Utterance, 'In The Lost Queen's Eyes' and 'Winter Is A Coloured Bird' (Dawn DNX 2506). An even rarer EP (Dawn 1006) containing outtakes from the debut album also exists.

Beat Goes On Records, P.O. Box 22, Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk IP28 6XQ, England

This piece is based on a short review published in Rubberneck 23 (December 1996) but is published here for the first time in this extended form (January 1999).

POSTSCRIPT (June 2001)

In 2000, a vinyl LP of First Utterance was issued by the Italian Get Back/Abraxas label along with a bonus 45rpm 12" comprising the three songs on Comus' debut single: 'Diana', 'In The Lost Queen's Eyes' and 'Winter Is A Coloured Bird'. Also, unbeknown to me at the time of writing the above article, Virgin had reissued Comus' second album To Keep From Crying on their difficult-to-find Virgin Japan Ltd label in 1990. Thanks to Dirk Evans for supplying this information.

Text © Rubberneck; image © Beat Goes On Records

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Comus - First Utterance (1971)

I bought this album when I was first getting into progressive rock because the band is apparently a huge influence on Opeth, one of my favorite modern metal bands. First Utterance has turned out to be an all time personal favorite for me, an excellent album filled with grim atmospheres, instrumental and vocal eccentricity, and general weirdness. Comus were a totally ignored early 70s folk/psychedelic band. They were basically doomed from the outset in that what they were trying to do was apparently too off-the-wall even for the supposedly experimental late 60s, early 70s music community. According to the liner notes, one critic called it "a cross between a frenzied version of the witches chorus from Macbeth and Marc Bolan being squeezed to death."

Listening to it today, it's easy to see that this was just a band way ahead of its time. The gruff, ecstatic vocals weren't so much grating as they were chillingly pleasant. The music is characterized by spooky acoustic passages, often very rhythmic, with violin, flute and light percussion making prominent entrances. The lyrics are twistedly grotesque ("your soft white flesh turns past me slaked with blood") and sung in a variety of vocal styles. Female vocals and guttural screeches mix with the high, airy and offsetting tone of the lead singer, often resulting in spectacular, unconventional and chilling harmonies that strike a purely magical chord. Whereas a modern band might use overt heavy electric guitars and keys to get all this dark "atmosphere" across, Comus keep it all acoustic, a testament to their talent. Rather, the "heavy" parts of the songs build up with the pounding of the acoustic guitars, percussion and cacophony of violin and flute, with rolling and growling vocals laid across the top.

Frankly, this has become one of my very favorite albums. Comus is completely unique, and their esoteric, yet addictive style only gets better with intensive listening. Moody, powerful, and tragically overlooked. - Greg Northrup [2000]


1. Diana
2. The Herald
3. Drip Drip
4. Song to Comus
5. The Bite
6. Bitten
7. The Prisoner

Colin Pearson - Violin
Roger Wootton - Guitar, Vocals
Rob Young - Percussion
Bobby Watson - Percussion, Vocals

BGO Records - BGOCD275 - 1995







Comus: First Utterance


Progressive rock: there's a term that often causes people to turn and run like hell. Many would argue it's a contradiction in terms -- that the best thing about rock was that it rejected progress and did a caveman's 180 to tribal rhythms and blunt chords. Unkind words for prog-rock are easier to find than kind ones; I've had at least one friend dismiss it as "that pretentious hippie shit" (although said friend listened to Pink Floyd, and when cornered on this discrepancy, claimed that they were "psychedelic rock, not progressive." Oh.)

The biggest problem with prog-rock, as far as I can tell, is the few really lousy records that gain a bad reputation and stink up the whole rest of the genre. Some of the most remarkable music recorded anywhere came out of the prog-rock space: Magma, Spock's Beard, and the whole of the Japanese PSF label owes itself to the groundwork laid down by many of the bands operating under that rubric.

Comus could have been one of the most outstanding of those bands, but bad luck shafted them bigtime, and now they are essentially one hell of a curiosity. Thankfully, their first and best record, First Utterance, is now on CD thanks to the Korean label Si-Wan Records. Circa 1970, Comus took their cues from the sounds of the then-burgeoning Fairport Convention -- British folk sounds, with flutes and guitars and various stringed instruments. The similarities ended there, though, and the deliberately ugly cover art (by lead singer Roger Wootton) helped hammer home the point. The Wicker Man was still four years off, but First Utterance could have been the soundtrack to that bizarre vision.

Rather than play and sing about nature's way and lovers across the ocean, or any of the other stock-in-trade subjects of folkies everywhere, they lived up to the bacchanalian roots suggested by the name (Comus was the god of revelry, the son of Circe and Bacchus), and created a sound that was salacious, ornate and brutal, all at the same time. This was no cutesy-pie "hippie" atavism, but an artfully rendered pagan bloodletting. Imagine Jethro Tull in the meanest possible mood and you're halfway there: Comus made Tull look positively reticient.

What's suggested by the music is followed through by the lyrics. Rape, murder, witchcraft, insanity, hysteria, violence -- it's a veritable catalog of bacchanal debasements and unquenchable thirsts:

You stand before me defenceless
your stare unchanging silent, cold, intense sears my brain
drip drip from your sagging lip
liquid red down your body spreads.
-- "Drip Drip"

None of this would add up to much if it weren't for the musicianship. Rather than simply try to blow the doors off (something the Doors, for instance, mistook for gravity), they used striking song constructions and beguiling melody to make their music stick all the more in the mind. The album gets under your skin and stays there, and forces you to come back for repeat listenings. Like strong, smelly cheese, the repulsiveness is also part of the fascination.

Comus had no luck getting anyone to pay attention the first time around. Their first album was released during the middle of a massive postal strike in the U.K. that made it impossible for information to circulate about the band, or even to get the records. When the record finally got into the hands of reviewers, they were as inclined to melt it on their stovetop as play it: "Sounds like Marc Bolan being squeezed to death," wrote critic Penny Valentine, and others were inclined to agree. An attempt to launch a tour with David Bowie (!), a big fan, failed miserably. No one was listening.

Three years later, the band signed with Virgin, then already known for attempting to break many prog-rock bands to more mainstream audiences, and produced a second record, To Keep From Crying. Despite contributions from Hawkwind and Henry Cow, the album was too much a studio product. The band's original fans hated the new record, and new listeners didn't know what to make of it. Predictably, Crying bombed and was quickly deleted from the Virgin catalogue, and Comus themselves vanished.

These days, it's almost impossible to find anyone who remembers them, but there are scattered fans who still try to pass the magic of the first LP on to others. Current 93, one of the more famous fans of the group (and that's saying something), rather bizarrely covered Comus's song "Diana" on the album Horse. In one form or another, the one-shot legend lives on.