Saga
The Security of Illusion

An interval of four long years separates this ninth Saga album from the previous one: this had never happened before and will never happen again in their more than thirty-year career. The release in 1993 of this absolute gem in their discography therefore serves to dispel first of all the fears that the group, after the poor reception of the uncertain "The Beginner’s Guide to Throwing Shapes", had definitively thrown in the towel.

Then there's the pleasure of the return of the band to its "historical" quintet formation, with the return of prodigal sons Jim Gilmour on keyboards and Steve Negus on drums, convinced by the other three to pick up where they left off eight years earlier (dealing with the sixth album "Behaviour", very fascinating but a bit too linear and slick for the tastes of the two brilliant and demanding instrumentalists). But the true surprise is the incredible quality of the music, sounds and performances delivered by the Canadians in this work: evidently, the enthusiasm for the rediscovered point of cohesion, at the expense of excessive commercial compromises and coupled with their now remarkable experience in recording studios that leads them to self-produce brilliantly this time, contribute to making "The Security of Illusion" one of the brightest pages in the broad and detailed discography of the Canadians.  

The reference work is their fourth album "Worlds Apart", their most satisfying work both artistically and commercially but that conception of music, arrangements, and especially sounds is now updated in light of the greater technology of the nineties and an unrepeatable moment of enthusiastic form: "The Security of Illusion" undoubtedly enjoys, beyond personal tastes in songwriting, the most powerful and successful sound of their entire discography. Especially the rhythm section finds itself traveling with frightening dynamics: Jim Chricton's bass has never been so full-bodied and compelling, Steve Negus’s snare drum is filled with magnificent reverb, in short, this album "pulls" like a transatlantic engine and it is truly a joy to hear its infinite dynamics in headphones, or in front of two suitable hi-fi speakers.

The internal production team then makes a generous and radical choice on the guitar sound: Ian Chricton’s instrument is mixed at an abnormal, enormous volume… in this work the electric guitar is a real beast roaming freely in the soundscape, slicing through anything that stands in its way. The blond and chubby musician essentially manages to respond greatly to all the freedom and exposure given to him, showcasing the best of his special talent: fearsome power chords, turgid and cyclopean, making the amp valves groan, darting legato meows, "oriental" contortions of the vibrato bar. His unpredictability in leads and exits, the fierce attack of his picking, the round and defined sound, the absolute control of distortion and harmonics make this disc (also) a university lesson in phrasing effectiveness and expressive freedom on that instrument so versatile and exciting, the electric guitar.

The highlights of the collection are represented, to begin with, by the third track "Once Is Never Enough", the perfect stereotype of Saga's rock conception, here at the best of its sound rendering and compactness of arrangement: on a fluidifying forgiveness of synthesizers, Negus marks, with mastodontic snare hits, the piece’s accent, soon joined by the two Chrictons; Ian's guitar announces itself with a real roar, while Jim's bass begins to pump energy like a power plant. The staccatos of these three musicians are brilliantly tied together by the admirable, low-volume and therefore even more effective and insinuating arpeggio of Jim Gilmour on one of his Korg machines. Michael Sadler’s singing, tense and inspired, completes an extremely dynamic and powerful picture. Then there are fierce call-and-response exchanges between guitar and keyboards in the choruses, up to the triumph of notes in the guitar solo, "loaded" with a collective instrumental phase from which it disentangles with epic barrages of twenty-fourths, to then soar into super-highs and end with a fiendish vibrato: when technique fully serves expressiveness and grit. 

The title track of the album, placed halfway through the lineup, is a heartfelt and charming semi-acoustic ballad, with the silvery tones of acoustic guitars softening the melancholy bend of the lyrics. It pairs with another display of intimacy, "Alone Again Tonight", which, wisely romantic and hyper-melodic, would have broken through with no effort at all if it had appeared, as is, on one of the albums by the golden gods of the era (Clapton, Collins...) in the “adult” love song sector. But we rockers especially like the Saga running great on their keyboards and behind the drums, so it's better to converge towards the excellent "I’ll Leave It in Your Hands" and "Day’s Like These", to end in style with the lush, almost tribal, percussions of "Without You."  

"Security..." is an album overflowing with energy applied to the usual commendable playing skills that have always distinguished this band. Positive and brilliant energy, very far from that largely muddy, depressed, and funereal hard rock that was prevalent in those years, selling excessively and overshadowing works like this, with commercially just adequate returns. Personally, at the time, I listened to it to exhaustion, fully convinced I was witnessing the Canadian group’s masterpiece. Today, in perspective, I still am… but without the reinforcing intensity. Let's say instead that I undoubtedly consider it among the (my) top three favorites.