Styx
Circling From Above

How Styx forcefully entered my life among a myriad of bands is still difficult for me to pin down, but I have a more or less clear idea. Most likely, the instrument with which they breached my defenses was their hard-to-classify style: a clear foundation with many embellishments around it. Styx, first and foremost, are an AOR band—a brilliant and solid presence in American rock, with that typical overseas flair, a band capable of crafting energetic, effective, and all-in-all catchy songs. However, to confine them to such a definition would be absolutely reductive—Styx are much more than that, and their songs are far from the simplicity and essentiality of bands typically grouped under this label; they are certainly not Survivor or Europe. In fact, they have a tangible and recognizable progressive influence, while never truly being a progressive band. Their compositions aren’t the free-flowing, hyper-structured works typical of progressive groups—if someone asks me for a progressive rock band recommendation, I certainly wouldn’t suggest Styx. But their songs do feature a whole slew of elements borrowed straight from prog: elaborate intros or outros, instrumental sections that stand apart, guitar and keyboard runs, slowed-down or accelerated sections, characteristic synth openings or complex acoustic phrases, or it might happen that even their most straightforward tracks feature marked virtuosity or atypical solutions; and yes, they do slip in the occasional prog interlude or explicitly intricate prog track. Let’s say that what grabbed my attention (like that of many prog devotees) was precisely this role as a bridge between two genres, this being and not being (prog), this balancing act, this being too much for one genre but not enough for the other.

However, it must be said that the prog influence didn’t characterize the band’s entire career; from 1979 onwards, the band moved away from it and composed mostly linear songs, much more immersed in a pop, rock, and AOR context—always top quality, of course. Yet, surprisingly, on their latest albums—after almost forty years—the band has begun reintroducing prog elements. First with “The Mission” in 2017, then with “Crash of the Crown” in 2021… and now with this latest, “Circling from Above,” released this past July.

To be honest, on this album the prog influence is quite subtle, tenuous, smoothed out—as it already was in the previous album. Most of the songs flow with simplicity, as if to confirm that at the end of the day, Styx are NOT a prog band. Prog had a much more obvious and striking influence on the band in the '70s, but somehow the impression remains; you can pick it up if you listen with an analytical ear—the above-mentioned elements are scattered here and there.

The eponymous intro is emblematic in this regard—it’s the classic warm and visionary concept album intro. But also the outro, “Only You Can Decide,” with its relaxing and cathartic mood and its mellotron opening, fits the bill perfectly. Yet, these are far from the only tracks displaying prog flair. For example, “Build and Destroy” has full-fledged tactical synth breaks and a slowed-down acoustic ending that breaks the song’s rhythm nicely. Or “The Things That You Said,” which moves between piano stabs, string inserts, and more synth, without following a conventional structure; then, in the final part, it changes, grows in intensity, boosts its rhythms and guitars, even adding solid organ layers. We also see significant dynamism in “It’s Clear,” with massive and lighter passages, not-too-marked rhythmic variations, electronic bases, and baroque breaks.

The rest is decidedly more free from prog temptations, yet still offers a good level of compositional richness—each song is different and unique, with absolute gems that can truly capture the listener’s attention. For example, it’s impossible to remain indifferent to the unusual blues/country of “King of Love,” where the driving rhythm and touches of harmonica are underpinned by a surprising electronic backing—a mix of elements as unlikely as it is fascinating. And what about “Blue Eyed Raven,” which veers into lively flamenco, with a snappy mandolin solo and a quick finale marked by a forceful violin that lands somewhere between Celtic and Kansas. Also highly interesting is the acoustic yet seductive blues of “We Lost the Wheel Again,” while the very American ballad “Forgive” is worthy of any self-respecting AOR group. There are a few less-than-stellar moments—above all “Everybody Raise a Glass.” Then, when Lawrence Gowan’s voice comes in, I’m not particularly thrilled—I miss Dennis DeYoung’s, and would have liked to hear more of the raspy James Young (who usually handled the more rock’n’roll and hard rock tracks).

In any case, we’re faced with an incredibly fresh, varied, and inspired album, and it’s truly difficult to believe it was made by a band with over 50 years of career behind them. Sure, it obviously can’t stand up against the masterpieces of the ‘70s—but really, who cares in the end?!