Henry Cow
Unrest

1974 - "Starless and Bible Black"

Today we discuss the debated central episode of a historic trilogy, which began in 1973 and concluded with an ode to the color red; a transitional work that has always sparked strong contrasts among fans, divided over the objective value of what on one hand seems like a warm and welcoming refuge, while on the other appears like a demon ready to devour our eardrums at the first timid and reverent listening attempt.

What leaves me most perplexed about the issue is the disarming ease with which many people dismiss this album, labeling it as unlistenable, improvised, and, at least half, useless and incomprehensible, when instead, with a minimum of attention, it becomes evident how the Henry Cow, while not recapturing the heights of their debut, have crafted another excellent example of pioneering avant-progressive pushed to the limit of experimentalism, which, just like its (although of a different genre) Crimson cousin, makes improvisation and the relative lack of melody a decisive strength and creative charge.

But let's go in order... After the release of LegEnd, saxophonist Geoff Leigh, aware of the group's inexorable departure from the jazz sounds to which he was so closely tied, decided to leave, thus leaving the field open to the very young bassoonist Lindsay Cooper, who, fresh from her experience with the Comus, had already added the use of the oboe and flute to her musical resume. Thanks to her presence, the ensemble was indeed able to leave behind the Canterbury tones of the beginnings and to move, without any hesitation, towards shores at the time almost unexplored and misunderstood, given their extreme nature and lack of compromises or definitions.

"Unrest", the result of this sound investigation, is, as already mentioned, a dual-personality artistic creation. On one side it reincarnates the chamber rock born the previous year, with long and intricate compositions constructed in detail, where the interplays between Fred Frith’s guitar and Lindsay's bassoon shine ("Bittern Storm Over Ulm"), the superb instrumental skill of bassist John Greaves framed by romantic and seductive piano effusions ("Half Asleep, Half Awake"), and the ingenious as well as personal style of drummer Chris Cutler, intent on chasing the elusive appearances of Tim Hodgkinson's winds, occasionally accompanied by Fred, dealing with violin or xylophone ("Ruins").

The other side of the coin consists instead of entirely improvised brief episodes (with the exception of the concise "Solemn Music", the only recorded piece of John Chadwick's musical adaptation of "The Tempest") and massively altered in the studio through tape and audio channel modifications, insane overdubs, and recordings at different speeds (does "Neu!2" ring a bell?). If the A-side of the disc could be described as a dark but harmless starless sky, the B-side, due to the reasons just described, could be nothing other than the perverse black bible of the Cow, who, through the use of nonsense lyrics and unsettling vocalizations ("Linguaphonie"), chilling guitar outbursts barely kept in check by a rather disciplined rhythm section ("Upon Entering the Hotel Adlon") and sinister theme of bassoon and saxophone ("Arcades"), created a gloomy and disturbing artifact, only minimally illuminated at the end by John's voice and the profound and dramatic sound of the piano ("Deluge").

At the end of the recordings, our avant-garde favorites went on tour with Captain Beefheart, leaving Lindsay near Canterbury to lend a hand to the Egg, during the studio sessions of "The Civil Surface", at least until the Henrys reappeared with the idea of joining Slapp Happy, resulting in a collaboration short but rich in surprises that, besides generating two splendid works, would lay the groundwork for numerous and very interesting future projects.