Emerson, Lake & Palmer
Tarkus

A whimsical keyboardist with uncommon talents, a singer/bassist/guitarist who contributed to the birth of a genre, a drummer with rhythmic skills to say the least uncommon. These are the members of one of the most sensational, famous, and pompous supergroups in history. After the hugely successful self-titled debut in 1970, propelled to excellence also thanks to a legendary performance at the Isle of Wight and the renowned ballad Lucky Man, Emerson, Lake & Palmer returned to success a year later, doing even better, as Tarkus would reach the top of the UK charts.

A rather controversial album; recorded in a short period, it doesn't present itself at all as a compact and unified work. If the first side hosts a twenty-minute suite that has become a monument of the highest and pyrotechnical progressive rock, side B consists of shorter pieces, less than four minutes, which betray the craftsmanship of lesser tracks, even if interesting elements can be found. The undisputed leader is surely the "Hendrix of the Hammond" Keith Emerson, former leader of the Nice and a narcissistic, disruptive, over-the-top personality. It's he who musically signs the epic suite that gives the album its title, a truly extraordinary piece that holds a place of honor in music history.

Tarkus is divided into seven distinct movements and recounts the story of the menacing machine-animal depicted on the cover; curiously, the story of the rebellious armadillo is not told in Greg Lake's rather obscure lyrics, but in the storyboards of William Neal printed inside the cover.

An apocalyptic noise from the Moog kicks off Eruption, the first movement; Tarkus is born from an egg at the foot of a primordial erupting volcano. The time signature is a nervous 5/4, marked by the bass over swirling cascades of the Hammond organ while the synthesizer shoots piercing notes and Carl Palmer immediately makes his presence felt. More melodic notes introduce the next section, Stones Of Years, where Lake's warm voice enters, while Emerson performs counterpoints and organ solos, whose sound is amplified to make the typical "click" of the keys extremely distinct.

The rhythm picks up violently, like a locomotive, in Iconoclast: Tarkus wanders through prehistoric Earth facing and defeating various creatures: a sort of gigantic tentacled and pointed monster, a pterodactyl-bomber, and an armored snake with cricket-like legs and missiles on its head. It's a brief prelude to Mass, introduced by a sharp synthesizer riff; Lake's voice is more agitated, and Emerson delivers an astounding organ solo, towards the end of which, with Palmer's impressive machine-gun-like rolls, an electric guitar with tightly stretched notes also enters. Manticore presents us with Tarkus's worst enemy, the Manticore, a mythological monster with the body of a lion covered in spikes, a scorpion's tail, and a human face: here the organ and piano in the background perform evolutions and swirling scales, always accompanied by an explosive rhythm section, pausing occasionally to emphasize the menacing advance of the two monsters ready to fight.

A distorted sound of Palmer's drum roll introduces the spoken part of the track, The Battlefield, which begins with epic notes played by the Hammond and the electric guitar. Lake's voice is at its best and is the absolute protagonist of this section, which reaches peaks of powerful lyricism thanks to beautiful guitar solos (a rarity in ELP albums) and Palmer's sumptuous drumming. It's the peak of the entire suite, and in my opinion, one of the most exciting moments in the entire progressive rock genre. The monumental track concludes with Aquatarkus: the armored beast born from the fire to fight, struck in the eye by the Manticore's sting, flees and vanishes into the sea. The last section is a sort of march supported by the drums and the Moog that finally explodes with apocalyptic sounds before the grand finale that reprises the Eruption theme.

The legend of Tarkus ends here, and the return to reality is not the best: Jeremy Bender is a faint filler, an example of that honky-tonk style much loved by Emerson that gives body to a sort of "country-prog." Probably placed there to temper the atmosphere after so much epic, it doesn't make a great impression. Bitches Crystal is a more interesting track, rather aggressive and with an irregular rhythm, held up by a frenzied piano structure with very fast drumming and a screaming Lake.

The beautiful opening, played on a church organ, of The Only Way (Hymn), which for good measure picks up the theme of a Bach Toccata. Greg Lake's voice is warm and expressive, the atmosphere sublime and noble. In the second part, the organ gives way to a beautiful and virtuosic piano phrasing, while the vocal part rises more and more. This excellent piece flows directly into Infinite Space (Conclusion), where the stage belongs entirely to Emerson and Palmer; it's a somewhat boring piece, typical academicism by the keyboardist, but with an interesting rhythmic choice by the drummer.

Organ and Moog voice open A Time And A Place, a good track where the drumming is absolutely stunning for speed and the Moog draws triumphal melodies, although the Hammond takes center stage with gritty riffs. A humorous and ironic conclusion with Are You Ready Eddy?, rock'n'roll dedicated to sound engineer Eddie Offord. An easy and fun song, in perfect 1950s style, with piano, choruses, and rather foolish lyrics; an atypical but drinkable conclusion for an album that, despite its ups and downs, is unmissable.

No need to emphasize the clear imbalance between side A and side B, but this album stands primarily on the stunning title track, a mandatory passage for every prog lover and genuine music in general, one of the most characteristic pieces of the genre and one of the greatest suites ever composed. Perfect arrangements, extremely high technique, suggestive texts though quite hermetic, and an expressive power that touches and captures forever. For many, many, perhaps a relic, an awkward and obtuse Titanic of an unrepeatable period of musical history, a brief but dazzling expression of rock that had left behind its own boundaries, and perhaps precisely because of this, would lose its course within a few years.

Don't be misled by assumptions and preconceptions. Tarkus is still there, austere and unbeatable, thirty-five years and more after the explosion.