Colosseum
Daughter Of Time

COLOSSEUM - DAUGHTER OF THE TIME

I am reading a well-known rock dictionary that I will not name here to avoid any damn complaints about rights and other nuisances, when I come across the review of a band that I consider fundamental both for their songwriting and performance. I am talking about Colosseum. Maybe not everyone knows them, but that's not the point. I glance over the ratings of their various albums and notice that the average doesn't stray far from two and a half stars. But why? Let's overlook the fact that this dictionary always considers the first published albums as the best, but to consider (or rather "not" consider) "Daughter Of The Time" a two-star album is slightly embarrassing. And so I keep asking myself: why? Maybe because the singer on this album changed? Or maybe because it wasn't listened to with due attention? Or maybe because it wasn't listened to at all?

Yes, it's true, I'm back. And I'm even more of a pain in the ass than before. But let's start by describing this fascinating album.

The first time I lent an ear to this band, I was 8 years old, and the aforementioned album was pleasantly playing from my father's stereo.

The band, born in 1968 in London, has often undergone revolutions among its members. We are talking, nonetheless, about damned fine musicians, partly coming from the John Mayall's Bluesbreakers, not peanuts. John Hiseman (drummer and founder of the group) is an "eight-hands," in the plural and with a hyphen in between, exactly.

The album in question unfolds according to an eccentric use of brass, Hammond and guitars combined with the rock soul (and not progressive, please) more similar to Emerson, Lake & Palmer or King Crimson with a jazzier twist. The initial track already outlines the color of the various tracks that will follow: we are talking about "Three Score And Ten, Amen." The flavor is that of western films scored by maestro Ennio Morricone. The voice of Chris Farlowe is powerful, soulful, just right, and explodes in all the tracks except "Take Me Back To Doomsday," where he is replaced by guitarist Clem Clempson.

Speaking of "Take Me Back To Doomsday": the song in question is an exceptional forerunner of new and atypical sounds for the era in which it was conceived, especially regarding harmonic conception. It reminds me of what would become deep house in the '90s. And I'm not kidding, pay attention to it.

"Bring Out Your Dead," the sixth track, is a pastiche instrumental reminiscent of Emerson, Lake & Palmer, where the keyboard virtuosity dominates. It's a track I appreciate very much and would listen to continuously. Why? Because that's how I feel. Lend an ear to it, and you will listen to it again and again.

"Downhill And Shadows" is quite a good blues tune, where guitar, sax, drums, and voice emerge from the speakers and clutch at your throat until the track ends.

But the standout piece is "The Time Machine," an 8-minute and 10-second solo by our John Hiseman recorded live. John Hiseman is to drums what Michael Hedges is to acoustic guitar. Listening to it without thinking there are 4, and I mean 4, drums in unison is unbelievable. The tight rhythm, moreover, makes eight imaginary arms whirl in my mind, beating on those damn drums. And yet, it's always and only John Hiseman. Please don't come to me again, talking about other drumming virtuosos.

Two stars for this damn album is an insult to music, dear dictionary of my boots.