Pavlov's Dog
At The Sound Of The Bell

Some time ago, a shimmering star appeared in the progressive skies, a comet that illuminated a land as darkly bluesy as the United States. In its psychological nomenclature, it took on a physical form and gifted the world with a pure jewel, an invaluable gem.

That gem was “Pampered Menial,” a spectacular debut LP from the large American band—seven members, an atypical lineup for the scene at the time, also seen in variant form with the phenomenal Kansas. Pavlov’s Dog found the pulsating soul in the pudding-like voice of David Surkamp and in complex and enveloping arrangements the treasure chest that conveyed such splendor to the people. I fell in love with that album; that warm yet screechy voice that I hear so many detest elicits true emotions in me, like only the most wonderful works can. The album came out with ABC—this was nineteen seventy-five—proud with its doggish cover.

A year passes: the comet, though less bright, is still visible. Having lost an important piece (violinist Siefried Carter—I was told by Rizzi, oh no!), the band dives into their second opus, completing the lineup with two significant guest appearances, those of the great Bill Bruford and the saxophone of Andy MacKay. The songs on "At The Sound Of The Bell" are still nine, the formula seems like a winning one: as the quirky young lads in English class would hysterically say with their tape recorder voices, “Oh, let’s have a look.” Sure, I could write a few concise lines, easy to read... But really, why? As we know, I am an incurable and convoluted lover of the prolix flow of words, thus the usual caustic review will arise. As Long John Silver would say, metaphors galore, yo ho ho!

“She Came Shining” opens amid sweet sonic clouds with Surkamp's splendid voice, which immediately launches into a bouncing descent among the keyboard fields of David Hamilton and Doug Rayburn. She came shining and shining she joyfully set off, while the jubilant choruses and Steve Scorfina's guitar welcomed her in this my bucolic license. “Standing Here With You” is a searing ballad for piano and percussion, indeed very sweet and delicate; the violin inserts are chilling (who plays it, we don't know, but that's that). A beautiful track, perhaps a tad manneristic: a feeling also instilled by the following “Mersey,” a conventional ballad complete with a saxophone solo. Surkamp's voice remains enveloping, but shows no sign of soaring as it did the year before. Not yet, at least: to contradict me, “Valkerie” brings back the atmospheres that were, with a hauntingly driven vocal over an icy guitar. A hard and undoubtedly beautiful track, thanks in part to Mike Safron's rarefied drumming.

Brief and charming like an April shower, follows “Try To Hang You,” a song that does not shock but neither does it leave mud behind. But fair weather is near: instantly unbearable with organ, “Gold Nuggets” is tearful; Surkamp's tremulous voice clears the clouds while the six-string vibrates iridescently. I begin to think that the LP might finally take off for a grand finale, and then the shadow of the saxophone appears once more; ready to fear the worst, I actually bump into a fast “She Breaks Like A Morning Sky,” passionate and crackling like chestnuts on the fireplace of a November evening. MacKay's brass indeed proves to be measured and effective. We truly return to high levels with the beautiful “Early Morning On”: the section in which Surkamp sails amidst childlike choirs and celestial keyboard notes is nearly moving and the ivory backbone splendidly supports the track, which also relies on the obscure bass work of Rick Stockton. Happy in its soaring flight of keyboards, the quivering “Do You See Him Cry” closes: astride his voice, Surkamp rides through synthesized green prairies and violin sunsets, reaching the Gothic castle of the progressive realm, where every one of my reviews finds lodging.

Well then, Surkamp's writing and expressive abilities are unchanged, the cleanliness and class of his musicians is evident. Yet a bit of the magic fades: beautiful songs, sometimes stunning, but the ribbon of pathos often frays. Those who consider "At The Sound Of The Bell" inferior to its predecessor are not wrong; an excellent album nonetheless, which becomes even more appreciated after several listens. Following this presumed last beat, a “Third” actually followed in '77, only released in 1994 by TRC. End? No.

A few lines ago, before losing myself in the maze of my discourse, I spoke of a comet: despite the albums of this enchanting band being countable on Mickey Mouse's hand, it is not a meteor, but rather a comet: as the diligent reader knows, comets return. Surkamp dissolved the group when he realized that the record label (Columbia at the time) was asking them to produce “crap music” (literally) for commercial purposes; however, contacts remained and the instruments stayed warm. From a reunion, a fourth album was born in 1990, “Lost In America” (for an undesirable label like Telectro), until a voice finally reached me of a fresh new tour; perhaps, who knows... maybe Surkamp's stork-like voice will still bring a ray of light to this world.