Supertramp
Even in the Quietest Moments...

THE REVIEW

For the category Records for Sleeping, Even in the Quietest Moments by Supertramp effortlessly claims my personal Palme d'Or, Silver, and Bronze.

You might have also gone through a period in your adolescence where you couldn't sleep at night, and in return, you wake up in the morning with an overwhelming desire for suicide. It happened to me around the early eighties, and during that time, that glorious national radio channel, RAISTEREONOTTE, was a great help to me during many sleepless nights, with a music programming left to the hosts' flair and freedom.

When the radio wasn't on, obviously, I would take refuge in some vinyl, specifically chosen for its soporific effect. And I must say this Supertramp record did its job magnificently. I don't even recall the reason why it came into my possession, maybe a friend gave it to me in exchange for composing a serenade under the balcony for a romantic young lady.

Even in the Quietest Moments was released years earlier, in '77, but among the riffraff I hung out with, it was only talked about because of the famous and later Breakfast in America. The kind of thing like uh, look at the strange music these guys made years ago. Prog rock, those who knew what they were talking about tried to label it. I didn't know about it and I still don't, but the sleeps I got thanks to these tracks...

Besides, just consider the album cover, with that piano buried in snow and the mountainous backdrop, snow-covered peaks, pines, pure and rarefied air, only Heidi is missing popping out from behind a tree to yodel with her little cousins. Everything conspires for relaxation and keeping calm.

Roger Hodgson performed his promorphos work perfectly, particularly with tracks like Babaji and Fool's Overture. A voice like a fallen angel, subdued atmospheres, and well-mannered melodic compositions. And the composition Even in the Quietest Moments seems like a sorrowful prayer to his god.

I read that Hodgson, before composing these pieces, went to India, struck by the path of the Hindu deities. A strange type of Englishman, Hodgson, certainly different from the vast majority of his countrymen who, as polite and kind as they are, miss the Empire, voted for Brexit believing it would automatically return to His Bloody Majesty’s Colonies, and consider the rest of the world population as pariahs, let alone their former Indian dominions.

Anyway, it turned out well for Hodgson to dedicate himself to the deity Babaji, repeating his name in the chorus. According to a holy man, every time a devotee reverently pronounces the name Babaji, they instantly attract a spiritual blessing upon themselves. It's fair to say that the blessing that came to Hodgson's head was pretty strong, considering that two years later he would come out with the worldwide success of Breakfast in America. Are you already repeating it?