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Rating: The phrase TIME WAITS FOR NO ONE takes on a sadly ruthless meaning when associated with the career of a musician or a rock band, known for fiery live performances, and even the classic playbacks on Top of The Pops can still be exciting and fully justified by youthful vigor. For several years now, I've found it very tiring to watch yet another group of survivors who continue to tread the boards, characters now at the doorstep of 70, sometimes frankly embarrassing in their agedness and almost always with irreparably strained vocal cords.
Yet, to contradict all this, quite some time ago I couldn't resist the temptation to drag my longtime friend to the Teatro Smeraldo for the PROCOL HARUM, if only to see the two historic ivory key players, GARY BROOKER AND MATTHEW FISHER, in action. That it was a gathering of white-haired folks, I had no doubt, with the likes of Mussida and Di Cioccio in the front row ahead of me, including Ruggeri's shiny head, but from the first notes, they vanished from my view making way for that characteristic and noble sound, and that wonderful voice, with its masculine and subtly British tone...never a note out of place, masterful even in recalling the brass riffs of GRAND HOTEL, in the absence of real horns, earning an ovation.
The vinyl of "GRAND HOTEL" entered my home in 1973, upon its release, and every time I open the gatefold it's like opening grandma's silver jewelry box, the various pieces carefully positioned to form a unique identity with the casing, and slipping out the elegantly illustrated booklet immerses one in the reading of the lyrics, with the graphic details helping to identify with the stories that lyricist KEITH REID lays out like situational paintings: meticulous descriptions, desperate appeals, and fragments of clichés make up the backbone of a work that knows no failures, and that flows with the claim of having all the right cards to win the listener over... and it succeeds without a doubt!
Subtle piano notes roll out the carpet of the GRAND HOTEL: the lineup is on the cover, cigars lit, awaiting the start of the dance after a sumptuous dinner, the description of the various courses, the furtive glances, the reservations for the first dance, the debutantes vying for the most charming males... finally an incessant dance marked by the metronome, Big Ben and the Russian steppes, polyphonic choirs, Wagner and Borodin operate a mechanism free from creaks thanks to a suitable lubrication. But outside the lavish hall, quite different stories are told: in the nearly hard TOUJOURS L'AMOUR the events can be compared to today's news dense with failures, corruption, and wild lives, where only the purchase of a revolver aimed at the temple can end the havoc. More romantic is the alcoholic drift of A RUM TALE, in the evocation of the soft cloud where one might ultimately lie, with divine consent. A SOUVENIR OF LONDON is a small theatrical piece that does not make one miss the best times of RAY DAVIES, perfect for a tap dance show at Covent Garden. Elsewhere the band moves well in the sonic tightrope walk between classical scores and rock surges: the beautiful and melancholic FOR LIQUORICE JOHN may have helped NEIL HANNON in creating his style, with the DIVINE COMEDY and by himself. With repeated listening, the great value of the band and the songwriting of the indomitable Brooker-Reid duo surfaces, capable of competing with Pink Floyd in composing a piece like FIRES (WHICH BURNT BRIGHTLY), featuring the guest appearance of the French soprano CHRISTIANNE LEGRAND, in a warble that is indelibly imprinted in the head... and it's almost 40 years!
The production of the great CHRIS THOMAS, at the time simultaneously engaged with ROXY MUSIC, the use of a great classical apparatus and a meticulous attention to detail make this album the second and last masterpiece of the group, after "SHINE ON BRIGHTLY" from 5 years prior, and consecrates the band definitively, if there was ever any need. It is an unjustly overlooked work, which I consider worthy of a well-visible place among the usual titles reviewed here at the pace of a mushroom cultivation.
IT'S SERENADE AND SARABANDE.... THE NIGHTS WE STAY AT HOTEL GRANDE!
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
01 Grand Hotel (06:13)
Tonight we sleep on silken sheets
We drink fine wine and eat rare meats
On Carousel and gambling stake
Our fortunes speed, and dissipate.
It's candlelight and chandelier,
It's silver plate and crystal clear.
The nights we stay at Hotel Grand
Tonight we dine at Hotel Ritz.
(A golden dish with every wish ).
It's mirrored walls, and velvet drapes,
Dry champagne, and bursting grapes.
Dover sole, and Oeufs Mornay,
Profiteroles and Peach Flambe,
The waiters dance on fingertips
The nights we dine at Hotel Ritz
One more toast to greet the morn
The wine and dine have danced till dawn
Where's my Continental Bride?
We'll Continental slip and slide
Early morning pinch and bite -
(These French girls always like to fight)
It's serenade and Sarabande,
The nights we stay at Hotel Grand
Les nuits qu'on passe à l'Hotel Grande.
02 Toujours l'amour (03:36)
She took all the pleasure and none of the pain
All of the credit and none of the blame
I came home to an empty flat
She'd left me a note and taken the cat
The cord that they knotted to keep us apart
Could never be broken: it was tied to my heart
She grew thin and I grew fat
She left me and that was that
I'm thinking of renting a villa in france
A french girl has offered to give me a chance
Or maybe I'll take an excursion to spain
And buy a revolver and blow out my brains
03 A Rum Tale (03:22)
She's fuddled my fancy, she's muddled me good
I've taken to drinking, and given up food
I'm buying an island, somewhere in the sun
I'll hide from the natives, live only on rum
I'm selling my memoirs, I'm writing it down
If no one will pay me I'll burn down the town
I'll rent out an aircraft and print on the sky
If God likes my story then maybe he'll buy
I'm buying a ticket for places unknown
It's only a one-way: I'm not coming home
She's swallowed my secret, and taken my name
To follow my footsteps and knobble me lame
05 A Souvenir of London (03:23)
Bought a souvenir in London
Got to hide it from my mom
Can't declare it at the Customs
But I'll have to take it home
Tried to keep it confidential
But the news is leaking out
Got a souvenir in London
There's a lot of it about
Yes, I found a bit of London
I'd like to lose it quick
Got to show it to my doctor
'Cause it isn't going to shrink
Want to keep it confidential
But the truth is leaking out
Got a souvenir in London
There's a lot of it about
06 Bringing Home the Bacon (04:23)
Bringing home the bacon,
tender juicy steaks
Breast-fed baby dumpling
gobbling up the cakes
Milk-fed baby dumpling,
slobbering, goo-faced, mean
Wet-nursed sour purse spot face,
blubbering in the cream
Emperor baby dumpling,
loaded, bloated curse
Mighty baby dumpling,
stuffing 'til he bursts
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