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Rating: Introduction:
Let’s assume that in 1974, Genesis singer Peter Gabriel wasn’t exactly what he was, that is, an artist brimming with talent (as were many of his bandmates) but with ambitions, desires, and doubts that were much more complex and problematic than the others. In short, that about his future and the group’s, he still thought more or less in the same simple way as his partners, which was: go for the Music with a capital M, everything else follows.
In that case, it would never have occurred to him to temporarily leave them for a soon-aborted cinematic career, nor, once returned to the fold, to ask/impose to be the only lyricist of the next album, shaping and adapting it around a single, elaborated sci-fi story set in New York, filling it with lyrics at the expense of the instrumental portions (vital for that ensemble equipped with a couple of excellent soloists, supported by a sharp and agile rhythm section).
This artifice of subtracting Gabriel's artist unrest, his courage, his priorities of the time, his presumption from the panorama of his group's evolution/involution clearly shifts this discourse into the field of fiction, gratuitous fantasy, what could be called “progressive self-indulgence,” but what else is there to say about this famous album, epochal for many, that hasn't already been said and emphasized? Since the real facts and the relative, actual architecture of the album have already been described in detail in so many reviews, biographies, and interviews, let’s try to play by altering the context of that 1974 genesis, deforming the... genesis of the work to view it from an unprecedented perspective.
Context:
So, in the (un)reality that is fun to sketch here, we aim to return to that phase of the group's existence, removing much of its cruciality, forcing the framing of Genesis in the 1974 period as an even more cohesive and loaded progressive quintet, each musician well-aligned and covered towards the goal of continuing to improve their musical production, and by reflection, their own careers, insisting and refining further what had been achieved by that point, or at least hinted at. In this fiction, there are no reasons or resentments to hinder the happy continuation of the path outlined by previous works, increasingly elaborate and fascinating, filled with satisfying ideas, poignant melodies, compelling rhythms, and surprising dynamics.
As one single entity, the five dive into compositions, sounds, arrangements, and lyrics; then, diligently setting aside the less successful efforts to prioritize quality and effectiveness, they release about forty-five minutes packed with fresh and excellent music, divided into ten varied and fascinating compositions, articulated as follows to sketch the hypothetical tracklist of the sixth career album (and single!):
Side A:
- “The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway” – 4’52”
- “Fly on a Windshield” – 2’47”
- “Broadway Melody of 1974” – 2’11”
- “In the Cage” – 8’15”
- “Back in N.Y.C.” – 5’49”
Side B:
- “Carpet Crawlers” – 5’16”
- “Lilywhite Lilith” – 2’40”
- “Anyway” – 3’18”
- “The Lamia” – 6’57”
- “The Light Dies Down on Broadway” – 3’32”
Strengths and Shortcomings:
The ten tracks listed are the best of the album, purged of all fillers, lesser intuitions, those not well developed not due to haste but rather due to the frustration of some of the instrumentalists; and then there are hints of concrete music, hyper-Beatlesque sketches... all this may be good but not memorable.
Personal opinion, of course... everyone may find omissions, oversights, or overestimates. The actual work is divided into twenty-three titles over ninety-four minutes: in this context, some might find the vaudeville skits “Chukoo Cocoon” and “Counting Out Time” irresistible, while others might consider the reprise of “The Light Dies Down on Broadway” superfluous in this context and perhaps opt for something extracted from “The Colony of Slippermen” (“The Raven?”) instead. Etc., etc.: but for my tastes, the sweetest and most savory essence of ‘The Lamb’ is contained in these ten pages.
Certainly, in this way, the work loses the guiding thread and the appeal of the Concept, the grandeur of the Sum Opera, but it recomposes for the good of Music through the definitive highlighting of its many thematic pearls, its authentically inspired moments that in this compacted form follow in quick succession, qualifying the record as the best of their career (indeed, many people think it is regardless, including its verbosity and fillers).
Album Peaks:
Structured and compressed like this, the album is almost entirely at its peak... each episode contains remarkable and engaging pages of peculiar Genesis talent beginning with the scholarly, brilliant overlapping and alternating pianistic cadence, engaged in playing very tight double chords, which inaugurates the incipit “The Lamb…”. Legions of budding pianists have practiced replicating it, discovering that, as is usually the case for Tony Banks' musical inventions, the technical difficulties are present but not insurmountable... nothing insurmountable, even at an amateur level, and even non-existent in cases of academic preparation, or any consistent background.
The genius of this grumpy, yet invaluable rock keyboardist is different from that of Emerson and Wakeman: what elevates him to the highest merits is his compositional talent and his ability to create strong romantic suggestions, especially through inspired pianistic pages like this one, replicated later with equal if not greater charm on “Anyway,” “The Lamia,” “Carpet Crawlers,” themselves intuitions of heartbreaking effectiveness on the grand piano.
Regarding Banks as an organist and synthesist, as known, “In the Cage” is a real festival of his, filled with overflowing solos of his priceless monophonic synthesizer ARP Pro Soloist, alternating with the tight gallop of an old and unrivalled Hammond organ, in the accompaniment portions to the harrowing invocations of a wildly engaging Gabriel.
The latter sings beautifully, nothing to say: great performer, beautiful timbre, tremendous variety, and admirable conviction. He was already singing well at twenty in the band’s first album, here he is exceptional.
The Rest:
In the authentic “The Lamb…,” the absolute quality of many of its passages is partially compromised, primarily by the excessive burden brought by the verbose, abstruse adventure of Rael, but also by the evident step back in quality (compared to the previous “Selling England by the Pound”) in terms of tracking, sound, and production, and finally by the decent absence of a guitarist who seems not entirely in tune with the project.
Genesis records are certainly not known for their sound qualities: both “Nursery Crime” and “Foxtrot,” though with all their merits, had shown limited clarity and intelligibility between the various instruments. Hackett’s guitar in particular, was sacrificed and suffocated due to its boxed and not very resonant sound. On “Selling…,” magically everything had fallen into place, and Steve emerged as divine with his array of distortion units, volume pedals, flangers, echoes, and reverbs to render his instrument’s solo flashes in the most sublime manner.
Here it’s different: his ideas, although generally used as a complement to those of the others, lose almost entirely the icing on the cake effect they had in the previous occasion: the sound is no longer so clear and round, but above all, there are recording deficiencies... the one in “In the Cage” may be the best guitar solo of the album, but at a certain point, it gets marred and due to a gross production error, it’s left as is, unprofessionally. On the other hand, the much-acclaimed final solo on “The Lamia” has never really impressed me: the guitar is mixed poorly (too high), its cadence is too mechanical, without style, and the melodies it creates are evocative more for the admirable harmonic base on which they rest rather than their own merits.
Final Judgment:
I have my thoughts on Genesis: the actual double album “The Lamb…” I regard as slightly, but certainly inferior to the other classics of the Gabriel period, except for “Trespass.” I also find it inferior to “A Trick of the Tail,” for me one of the absolute best, endowed with great consistency and thematic variety.
In this hypothetical “Best of” single version, The Lamb, as already hinted, would shoot to the top of my list... and to hell with Rael’s story, as it’s not very enjoyable and if you trim it a bit here and there, the entertainment is enhanced with few damages to the lyrics.
I also have my opinions on Gabriel: enormous frontman and singer, perfect (or almost… a bit too verbose and intrusive) with Genesis, but his solo career doesn’t intrigue me. I find it a bit depressing from 1977 (the start of his solo discography) onwards, but mainly with insufficient melodic abilities to make me love him. He’s truly a missed drummer... much of his solo repertoire consists of grooves that stretch cyclically for several minutes, without much happening, without a decisive shift in musical key, a genius resolution, an exciting chorus. Great man, no doubt, but I go by taste, as it should be, and therefore I have always cordially ignored him (also comforted by my son, who one evening when he came to visit me and after dinner I put on a DVD of Gabriel in concert, open-air in a French square, after a while exclaimed laconically: “Dad, what a drag!”).
Nothing personal anyway: I’m not much interested in the solo careers of Banks (my only deep love towards him is for “A Curious Feeling,” very charming), Hackett (well, I viscerally love only “Spectral Mornings,” the song), Rutherford, and Collins (for heaven's sake the latter… even disastrous for how he guided 1980s international taste towards... bad taste).
I apologize for these last digressions... they were meant to say something not obvious about these five gentlemen and this famous work of theirs. Thank you for your attention.
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
01 The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway (04:45)
The lamb lies down on Broadway
And the lamb lies down on Broadway.
Early morning Manhattan,
Ocean winds blow on the land.
The Movie-Palace is now undone,
The all-night watchmen have had their fun.
Sleeping cheaply on the midnight show,
It's the same old ending-time to go.
Get out!
It seems they cannot leave their dream.
There's something moving in the sidewalk steam,
And the lamb lies down on Broadway.
Nightime's flyers feel their pains.
Drugstore takes down the chains.
Metal motion comes in bursts,
But the gas station can quench that thirst.
Suspension cracked on unmade road
The trucker's eyes read 'Overload'
And out on the subway,
Rael Imperial Aerosol Kid
Exits into daylight, spraygun hid,
And the lamb lies down on Broadway.
The lamb seems right out of place,
Yet the Broadway street scene finds a focus in its face.
Somehow it's lying there,
Brings a stillness to the air.
Though man-made light, at night is very bright,
There's no whitewash victim,
As the neons dim, to the coat of white.
Rael Imperial Aerosol Kid,
Wipes his gun-he's forgotten what he did,
And the lamb lies down on Broadway.
Suzanne tired her work all done,
Thinks money-honey-be on-neon.
Cabman's velvet glove sounds the horn
And the sawdust king spits out his scorn.
Wonder women draw your blind!
Don't look at me! I'm not your kind.
I'm Rael!
Something inside me has just begun,
Lord knows what I have done,
And the lamb lies down on Broadway.
On Broadway-
They say the lights are always bright on Broadway.
They say there's always magic in the air.
02 Fly on a Windshield (02:45)
There's something solid forming in the air,
and the wall of death is lowered in Times Square.
No one seems to care,
they carry on as if nothing's there.
The wind is blowing harder now,
blowing dust into my eyes.
The dust settles on my skin,
making a crust I cannot move in.
And I'm hovering like a fly,
waiting for the windshield on the freeway.
04 Cuckoo Cocoon (02:11)
Rael regains consciousness in some musky half-light. He is warmly wrapped in some sort of cocoon. The only sound he can hear is dripping water which appears to be the source of a pale flickering light. He guesses he must be in some sort of cave - or kooky tomb, or catacomb, or eggshell waiting to drop from the bone of the womb.
Wrapped up in some powdered wool - I guess I'm losing touch.
Don't tell me this is dying, 'cos I ain't changed that much.
The only sound is water drops, I wonder where the hell I am,
Some kind of jam?
Cuckoo Cocoon have I come to, too soon for you?
There's nothing I can recognise; this is nowhere that I've known.
With no sign of life at all, I guess that I'm alone,
And I feel so secure that I know this can't be real
but I feel good.
Cuckoo cocoon have I come to, too soon for you?
I wonder if I'm a prisoner locked in some Brooklyn jail
- or some sort of Jonah shut up inside the whale.
No - I'm still Rael and I'm stuck in some kind of cave.
what could've saved me?
Cuckoo cocoon have I come to, too soon for you?
Resigning himself to the unknown he drifts off into sleep.
05 In the Cage (08:14)
I got sunshine in my stomach
Like I just rocked my baby to sleep.
I got sunshine in my stomach
But I can't keep me from creeping sleep,
Sleep, deep in the deep.
Rockface moves to press my skin
White liquids turn sour within
Turn fast - turn sour
Turn sweat - turn sour.
Must tell myself that I'm not here.
I'm drowning in a liquid fear.
Bottled in a strong compression,
My distortion shows obsession
In the cave.
Get me out of this cave !
If I keep self-control,
I'll be safe in my soul.
And the childhood belief
Brings a moment's relief,
But my cynic soon returns
And the lifeboat burns.
My spirit just never learns.
Stalactites, stalagmites
Shut me in, lock me tight.
Lips are dry, throat is dry.
Feel like burning, stomach churning,
I'm dressed up in a white costume
Padding out left-over room.
Body stretching, feel the wretching
In the cage
Get me out of the cage!
In the glare of a light
I see a strange kind of sight;
O cages joined to from a star
Each person can't go very far;
All tied to their things
They are netted by their strings,
Free to flutter in memories of their wasted wings.
Outside the cage I see my brother John,
He turn his head so slowly round.
I cry out "Help!" before he can be gone,
And he looks at me without a sound.
And I shout out "John please help me !"
But he does not even want to try to speak.
I'm helpless in my violent rage
And a silent tear of blood dribbles down his cheek.
My little runaway.
In a trap, feel a starp
Holding still, Pinned for kill.
Chances narrow that I'll make it,
In the cushioned straitjacket.
Just like 22nd St,
And they got me by my neck and feet.
Pressure's building, can't take more.
My headache's charged. Earaches roar.
In this pain
Get me out of this pain.
If I could change to liquid,
I could fill the cracks up in the rock,
But I know that I am solid
And I am my own bad luck.
Outside John disappears and my cage dissolves,
And without any reason my body revolvess.
Keep on turning
Keep on turning
Keep on turning
Keep on turning
Keep on turning
Turning around
Just spinning around.
Down, down, down..........
06 The Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging (02:45)
When all this revolution is over, he sits down on a highly polished floor while his dizziness fades away. It is an empty modern hallway and the dreamdoll saleslady sits at the reception desk. Without prompting she goes into her rap: "This is the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging, those you are about to see are all in for servicing, except for a small quantity of our new product, in the second gallery. It is all the stock required to cover the existing arrangements of the enterprise. Different batches are distributed to area operators, and there are plenty of opportunities for the large investor. They stretch from the costly care-conditioned to the most reasonable mal-nutritioned. We find here that everyone's looks become them. Except for the low market mal-nutritioned, each is provided with a guarantee for a successful birth and trouble free infancy. There is however only a small amount of variable choice potential - not too far from the mean differential. You see, the roof has predetermined the limits of ac
tion of any group of packages, but individuals may move off the path if their diversions are counter-balanced by others."
"It's the last great adventure left to mankind"
- Screams a drooping lady
offering her dreamdolls at less than extortionate prices,
and as the notes and coins are taken out
I'm taken in, to the factory floor.
for the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging
- All ready to use
the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging
- I just need a fuse.
Got people stocked in every shade,
Must be doing well with trade.
Stamped, addressed, in odd fatality.
That evens out their personality.
With profit potential marked by a sign,
I can recognise some of the production line,
No bite at all in labour bondage,
Just wrinkled wrappers or human bandage.
Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging
- All ready to use
it's the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging
- I just need a fuse.
As he wanders along the line of packages, Rael notices a familiarity in some of their faces. He finally comes upon some of the members of his old gang and worries about his own safety. Running out through the factory floor, he catches sight of his brother John with a number 9 stamped on his forehead.
The hall runs like clockwork
Their hands mark out the time;
Empty in their fullness
Like a frozen pantomime.
Everyone's a sales representative
Wearing slogans in their shrine.
Dishing out failsafe superlative,
Brother John is No. 9.
it's the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging
- All ready to use
it's the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging
- I just need a fuse.
The decor on the ceiling
has planned out their future day
I see no sign of free will,
so I guess I have to pay,
pay my way,
for the Grand Parade...
it's the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging
- All ready to use
it's the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging
- I just need a fuse.
07 Back in N.Y.C. (05:34)
No-one seems to take up the chase, and with the familiar faces fresh in his mind he moves into a reconstruction of his old life, above ground - Too much time was one thing he didn't need, so he used to cut through it with a little speed. He was better off dead, than slow in the head. His momma and poppa had taken a ride on his back, so he left very quickly to join The Pack.
I see faces and traces of home back in New York City -
So you think I'm a tough kid? Is that what you heard?
Well I like to see some action and it gets into my blood.
The call me the trail blazer - Rael - electric razor
I'm the pitcher in the chain gang, we don't believe in pain
'cos we're only as strong, yes we're only as strong,
as the weakest link in the chain.
Only after a spell in Pontiac reformatory was he given any respect in the gang.
Let me out of Pontiac when I was just seventeen,
I had to get it out of me, if you know what I mean, what I mean.
You say I must be crazy, 'cos I don't care who I hit, who I hit.
But I know it's me that's hitting out and I'm, I'm not full of shit.
I don't care who I hurt, I don't care who I do wrong.
This is your mess I'm stuck in, I really don't belong.
When I take out my bottle, filled up high with gasoline,
You can tell by the night fires where Rael has been, has been.
Now, walking back home after a raid, he was cuddling a sleeping porcupine.
That night he pictured the removal of his hairy heart and to the accompaniment of very romantic music he watched it being shaved smooth by an anonymous stainless steel razor.
As I cuddled the porcupine
He said I had none to blame, but me.
Held my heart, deep in hair,
Time to shave, shave it off, it off.
No time for romantic escape,
When your fluffy heart is ready for rape. No!
Off we go...
Your sitting in your comfort you don't believe I'm real,
You cannot buy protection from the way that I feel.
Your progressive hypocrites hand out their trash,
But it was mine in the first place, so I'll burn it to ash.
And I've tasted all the strongest meats,
And laid them down in coloured sheets (laid them down in coloured
sheets).
Who needs illusion of love and affection
When you're out walking the streets with your mainline connection?
connection.
As I cuddled the porcupine
He said I had none to blame, but me.
Held my heart, deep in hair.
Time to shave, shave it off, it off.
No time for romantic escape,
When your fluffy heart is ready for rape. No!
09 Counting Out Time (03:41)
The palpitating cherry-red organ was returned to its rightful place and began to beat faster as it led our hero, counting out time, through his first romantic encounter.
I'm counting out time,
Got the whole thing down by numbers.
All those numbers!
Give me guidance!
O Lord I need that now.
The day of judgement's come,
And you can bet that I've been resting,
for this testing,
Digesting every word the experts say.
Erogenous zones I love you.
Without you, what would a poor boy do?
Found a girl I wanted to date,
Thought I'd better get it straight.
Went to buy a book before it's too late.
Don't leave nothing to fate.
I studied every line, every page in the book,
Now, I've got the real thing here, I'm gonna take a look, take a look.
This is Rael!
I'm counting out time, hoping it goes like I planned it,
'cos I understand it. Look! I've found the hotspots, Figs 1-9.
- still counting out time, got my finger on the button,
"Don't say nuttin - just lie there still
And I'll get you turned on just fine."
Erogenous zones I love you.
Without you, what would a poor boy do?
Touch and go with 1-6.
Bit of trouble in zone No. 7.
Gotta remember all of my tricks.
There's heaven ahead in No. 11!
Getting crucial responses, dilation of the pupils.
"Honey get hip! It's time to unzip, to unzip, zip, zip-a-zip-a-zip.
Whipee!"
(Take it away Mr. Guitar)
- Move over Casanova -
I'm counting out time, reaction none to happy,
Please don't slap me,
I'm a red blooded male and the book said I could not fail.
I'm counting out time, I got unexpected distress from my mistress,
I'll get my money back from the bookstore right away.
Erongenous zones I question you -
Without you, what would a poor boy do?
Without you, what would a poor boy do?
Without you, mankind handkinds thru' the blues.
10 Carpet Crawlers (05:14)
There is lambswool under my naked feet.
The wool is soft and warm,
-gives off some kind of heat.
A salamander scurries into flame to be destroyed.
Imaginary creatures are trapped in birth on celluloid.
The fleas cling to the golden fleece,
Hoping they'll find peace.
Each thought and gesture are caught in celluloid.
There's no hiding in my memory.
There's no room to void.
The crawlers cover the floor in the red ochre corridor.
For my second sight of people, they've more lifeblood than before.
They're moving. They're moving in time to a heavy wooden door,
Where the needle's eye is winking, closing in on the poor.
The carpet crawlers heed their callers:
"You've got to get in to get out
You've got to get in to get out."
There's only one direction in the faces that I see;
It's upward to the ceiling, where the chambers said to be.
Like the forest fight for sunlight, that takes root in every tree.
They are pulled up by the magnet, believing that they're free.
The carpet crawlers heed their callers:
"You've got to get in to get out
You've got to get in to get out."
Mild mannered supermen are held in kryptonite,
And the wise and foolish virgins giggle with their bodies glowing bright.
Through a door a harvest feast is lit by candlight;
It's the bottom of a staircase that spirals out of sight.
The carpet crawlers heed their callers:
"You've got to get in to get out
You've got to get in to get out."
The porcelain mannikin with shattered skin fears attack.
The eager pack lift up their pitchers- the carry all they lack.
The liquid has congealed, which has seeped out through the crack,
And the tickler takes his stickleback.
The carpet crawlers heed their callers:
"You've got to get in to get out
You've got to get in to get out."
11 The Chamber of 32 Doors (05:40)
At the top of the stairs he finds a chamber. It is almost a hemisphere with a great many doors all the way round its circumference. There is a large crowd, huddled in various groups. From the shouting, Rael learns that there are 32 doors, but only one that leads out. Their voices get louder and louder until Rael screams "Shut up!" There is a momentary silence and then Rael finds himself the focus as they direct their advice and commands to their new found recruit. Bred on trash, fed on ash the jigsaw master has got to move faster. Rael sees a quiet corner and rushes to it.
At the top of the stairs, there's hundreds of people,
running around to all the doors.
They try to find, find themselves an audience;
their deductions need applause.
The rich man stands in front of me,
The poor man behind my back.
They believe they can control the game,
but the juggler holds another pack.
I need someone to believe in, someone to trust.
I need someone to believe in, someone to trust.
I'd rather trust a countryman than a townman,
You can judge by his eyes, take a look if you can,
He'll smile through his guard,
Survival trains hard.
I'd rather trust a man who works with his hands,
He looks at you once, you know he understands,
Don't need any shield,
When you're out in the field.
But down here,
I'm so alone with my fear,
With everything that I hear.
And every single door, that I've walked through
Brings me back here again,
I've got to find my own way.
The priest and the magician,
Singing all the chants that they have ever heard;
and they're all calling out my name,
Even academics, searching printed word.
My father to the left of me,
My mother to the right,
Like everyone else they're pointing
But nowhere feels quite right.
And I need someone to believe in, someone to trust.
I need someone to believe in, someone to trust.
I'd rather trust a man who doesn't shout what he's found,
There's no need to sell if you're homeward bound.
If I choose a side,
He won't take me for a ride.
Back inside
This chamber of so many doors;
I've nowhere, nowhere to hide.
I'd give you all of my dreams, if you'd help me,
Find a door
That doesn't lead me back again
- take me away.
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Other reviews
By Mr_Iko
I love to call it 'Music-All': a watershed between a rock opera and a musical to be performed on a Broadway stage.
Should you not like this album, I recommend consulting a good doctor for an otoscopy.
By Mariaelena
"This double album is astonishingly difficult, progressively dilatable and becomes unique because it is full of merits, flaws and double meanings both for the lyrics and the music."
"Rael and John dissolve because maturity will have been reached due to a fundamental choice transforming them into a single complete man... You are free to interpret, and this is what Peter Gabriel wanted to convey to us."
By Old King Cole
"The Lamb is something more... too varied, containing too many different elements to be classified in a genre that is undoubtedly open but still has boundaries that delimit it."
"The main instrument in 'The Lamb' is [Peter Gabriel's] voice, which finally reaches its peak of technique and, above all, of expressiveness."
By STIPE
"Gabriel was Genesis and Genesis was Gabriel."
"A courageous work, completely different from their discography and also the last one by Gabriel with his old companions."
By paolofreddie
The album ranks among the most interesting in progressive and rock music in general.
The Lamb is one of the most complex and difficult to analyze albums in the history of prog and that is what enhances its intriguing nature.
