Camel
I Can See Your House From Here

After the departure of the great Peter Bardens, things become tough for Camel; they go through two line-ups within a year, also abandoned by Richard Sinclair and his cousin David, trying different keyboardists until 1979, when the lineup stabilizes with the two indomitable Latimer and Ward on guitar and drums, Colin Bass on bass and vocals, and two keyboardists, Jan Schelhaas and Kit Watkins. The album resulting from this new "caravan" undoubtedly reflects the internal upheavals and the dark period that almost all the former heroes of the seventies are experiencing, but results are not lacking. Latimer and his companions move toward more direct music, following the path set by the previous Breathless and focusing on refined pop songs. But "I Can See Your House From Here" is not just that because we can find pieces that undoubtedly maintain a strong progressive depth; moreover, certain sumptuous arrangements, use of strings, and classical atmospheres give a slight symphonic flavor to several tracks, while Mel Collins, a regular guest in Camel's oasis, contributes with the usual class and discretion. Admirable from this point of view is Camel's dedication to the historically lost cause of progressive rock on the eve of the great electro-pop explosion. The sound is still largely that classic, smooth, flowing like water, without major breaks but endowed with that particular magic that is theirs; the compositions are less elaborate compared to the past, and naturally, Bardens' departure causes a reduction in the keyboard orientation of the repertoire. Despite this, the band fares more than well, as Latimer manages to take the reins and skillfully direct his companions.

The beginning is explosive and engaging: Wait is indeed a good song, well-paced and played. It is very different from other lively Camel pieces, like Freefall, but Latimer's guitar is felt, first with strumming and rhythmic chording, then with a beautiful concluding solo. There is also a very fast solo by keyboardist Watkins, not as thrilling as Bardens' ones but pleasant and compelling; if it's pop, it is nevertheless well-crafted and of quality. The same can't be said for the following track, Your Love Is Stranger Than Mine, a sort of funk/rhythm'n'blues: here everything is much simpler, starting with the lyrics, and the drums are quite anonymous, the keyboards clear and straightforward. There's a final sax solo that isn't enough to ennoble the track but at least gives it a dignified closure. Don't tremble, but I seem to detect premature (phil)collins-like echoes in this song: I will explain better later.

A small gem, the instrumental Eye Of The Storm is based on a beautiful, stellar guitar arpeggio, a calm bass, and flute parts. The drums start distant and light, then become more prominent, and toward the end, it marks a military rhythm, while a fife embroiders with high notes; very evocative, the track seems to conjure a regimental band marking the marching step. The next piece, Who We Are, begins in a carefree manner with guitar arpeggios, solos, and sprightly drumming; it's a seven-minute track enriched with various instrumental sections but has the heart of a sweet romantic ballad, perhaps sometimes too sugary. Latimer embellishes the whole song with a sparkling guitar, well-sung and enriched by an excellent orchestral arrangement with strings and wind counterpoints that make it special and quite impactful. The instrumental segment towards the end, fitted with a crescendo of strings adorned by winds that elegantly accompany the entire finale, is very lovely.

It is followed by a short and beautiful string-only interlude, Survival, of clear classical extraction, paving the way to the wonderful Hymn To Her, a hidden little masterpiece. It begins with Latimer's intense guitar supported by excellent bass and a dramatic string score; the soulful and touching voice enters accompanied by the piano, the drums are expressive and precise, supporting an emotionally stirring escalation. Colin Bass excels in both roles, Latimer is exceptional, weaving splendid textures with disarming simplicity, as in the best Camel tradition, beautiful inserts for voice and keyboard alone, and magnificent tempo change mid-song guided by a joint guitar and synth solo. The progressive vein is prominently displayed in this track, a real jewel, perhaps among the best of Camel's, concluding epically thanks to an inspired solo by Latimer.

After so much beauty, it's natural for Neon Magic to leave us a bit like that. The song isn't quite Camel, rather, it's easily consumed. If nothing else, it's fun, with a simple drum, strained and somewhat caricatured vocals (I think it's Latimer), guitar marking the rhythm and performing dazzling riffs. There's a strange epic-sounding break with organ and synth, drum rolls, and a good bass, then the melody returns to more jolly tracks. In the end, it may seem nice, with a sunny guitar solo in the finale. Unfortunately, even in the pop domain, you can't always do well, and in fact, Remote Romance is nothing short of horrendous, one of Camel's worst songs, opened by dreadful electronic sounds and a dumbed-down drum. Distorted and robotic voices plunge us into the worst electro-pop tradition, and it seems impossible that someone like Latimer, along with keyboardist Watkins, could have written such a track. It's truly ugly, confused, and almost randomly sung; it's not even filler, it's a true discard that should never have made it to the record.

Fortunately, the last track alone is enough to redeem all that is not good on the album. Ice is another masterpiece labeled Camel, a ten-minute emotional instrumental digression dominated by the great Latimer; it is one of the most exciting pieces of their career and begins in a relaxed manner with a tender acoustic arpeggio accompanied by the piano, creating an already unforgettable atmosphere. The powerful drums announce the entry of the electric guitar, which inserts itself with long, poignant notes, while the clear keyboards produce counterpoints in the background, and the bass weaves a sober melodic line. After a beautiful synth solo, Latimer takes center stage and produces notes that music will never forget. Absolutely engaging and impactful, the track unfolds with majestic simplicity, with all instruments perfectly balanced and aimed towards great heights of lyricism, ending with a delightful guitar phrasing.

I find the results satisfactory, and I think Camel managed to pull out of the hat an effective and fairly coherent work, victim of a single, very stark drop in tone (Remote Romance). You couldn't ask them to return to the absolute respect of the progressive principle, also because the numerous and tumultuous remodeling within the band brought in new air and ideas, perhaps not all as brilliant as in the past, but fresh and dignified. While on one hand, we lament the loss of Bardens and also of Sinclair, on the other, you must praise Latimer's catalyzing personality, as well as his instrumental skill, considering also his resistance to the harmful directions music was taking in those creatively poor years. So, hats off to Camel, who in this difficult moment of their career move forward with seriousness, almost ignored by everyone.

Finally, I'd like to explain the reference to Phil Collins: the drummer, in fact, collaborated on the album, playing on a couple of tracks. After "And Then There Were Three," his marriage fell apart, and he, in full crisis, started wandering around on other people's records. I believe his ideas, which would fully mature in his solo debut, somewhat influenced songs like Your Love Is Stranger Than Mine, which personally reminds me a bit of Sussudio. Maybe it's a stretch, but the suspicion is strong.