ROBIN TROWER: DELUSIONS OF HENDRIX ?

ROBIN TROWER: DELUSIONS OF HENDRIX ?

Gregg Turner

Proof positive of Robin Trower’s credentials in the note-frenetic power-chord hall of fame is evidenced on any number of early Procol Harum sides up to and including Broken Barricades (his swan song w/the band). Cosmic mind-opening voyages of quirky, anticipatory lead and fills testify to a stylistic tour-de-force markedly different from established guitar egos of that era. Later delusions of Hendrix prompted departure from Procol, this move hailing a slew of irrelevant solo-career meanderings and misguided energy. The ensuing phase of masturbatory Jimi-necrophilia (live and on vinyl) pales in contrast to the magic of early explorations and the symbiosis of sound he and Procol songsmith Gary Brooker adeptly crafted.

Start with Procol Harum (Deram, 1967) and side 2’s closing “Repent Walpurgis,” an instrumental flashing Trower lead calisthenics against keyboard patterns and 4/4 melody. The backing track builds on familiar Procol turf: piano hammers home counterpoint melodic line, organ sifts in and out droning the requisite 20-odd bars of repeated “theme.” Real captivating stuff and aesthetically—what’s the word?— tasteful?! = polite) —save for the guitar which erupts into these blistering forays of sinister overkill. Overkill by way of sheer demonstrativeness—the attack of each note rings way louder than it should (redolent more of garage-punk fuzztone than art-rock fugue fusion!). There’s an aggressive bite, a percussive edge that anticipates the next measure and in so doing jumps the gun. If one particular characteristic epitomized distinction of style, it is this psychic ahead-of-the-beat ferocity that captures Trower’s uncanny metallic punch. The pretense here of structure and theme (back to “Repent”) self-destructs on the sly with berserk guitar canniptions exploding unchecked to a final crescendo and stop. Lots of other tunes on this disc exude similar earmarks, “Christmas Camel” and “Cerdes” are real bitchen.

Stridently reckless punctuation and accents herald histrionics not too unlike Lou or Neil. More frantic moments pack the wallop of Wayne Kramer and Fred Sonic Smith! “Skip Softly” (Shine On Brightly, A&M) or “Devil Came From Kansas” (Salty Dog, A&M) predicate lead breaks on a backbone of really bestial guitar thrust. Style and aggression for the sake of technique and presence underscore the uniqueness of the situation. Procol was not the cacophony of metallic white noise the MC5 and Velvets personified larger than life, and certainly not a HM band in the (later evolved) realm of Sabbath or Blue Oyster Cult. Trower emerges, in other words, from fucking Neptune as a guitar-persona beyond-andabove the musical format conducive to such a role. So that diminished causality (here) describes Trower’s presence more in terms of non-sequitur than six-string champion. The aloofness of the material obfuscates the stature of the musician and appropriate contest of the (pardon my french) historical significance.

Which brings us back to “heavy metal” and this artist’s place in the greater domain of metallic heaviness. “Crucifixion Lane” (Salty Dog) and “About To Die” (Home) evidence strong songwriting, “Whiskv Train’”s the ultimate groovy nod hyperactive boogie—a 4V2 minute vocal/ guitar jag replete with vibrato solo and reverb feedback (sounds like!). Home (in fact) charts new territory (in Procol cirles) with tunes considerably faster (“Still There’ll Be More”) and more ponderous (“Dead Man’s Dream”), Trower’s guitar now a visible secret weapon unleashed throughout both sides.

Then there’s Broken Barricades and an incongruous 180 degree turn from the brooding pop-melodic sensibility of previous Brooker/Reid writing. Suddenly Trower’s centerstage on top of growling, grizzly-bear guitar-music (Heavy-Music in the parlance of Bob Seger) as aggressive and wild as most of the other stuff is reserved and introspective. “Simple Sister,” “Power Failure” and “Memorial Drive” alter the focus of Trower’s out-ofthe-closet Hendrix sensibilities; “critics” pick up on new fodder for guitar-hero copy—which might or might not explain a hasty retreat from the confines of PH into the solo-player sweepstakes (more to do with non-adjacent aesthetic considerations he and Brooker did or did not share).

Poor Robin Trower. The limelight of performance subsequent to the Procol split only served to magnify inequities and unfocused vision rather than enhance claims to fame of guitarist extraordinaire. Shows were sorta dull—one song after another echoing staid blues progressions and fuzzy rock ’n’ roll concoctions painfully tame and familiar. The punch and dynamic rock ’n’ roll affectations tailored to meticulous perfection with Procol Harum became confused and semi-muddled; the personality watered down and commercialized to marketable format.