Emerson, Lake & Palmer 1970-2007 Complete [FLAC]

Popular English progressive rock group formed by members of Nice, The (Keith Emerson), King Crimson (Greg Lake) and Atomic Rooster (Carl Palmer). The band are notable for their classical and jazz influenced compositions, virtuoso musicianship and over-the-top live performances.

Formed: 1970. Disbanded: 1979.
Reformed: 1991. Disbanded 1998.
Reformed 2010.


Emerson Lake & Palmer - Self-Titled

The outfit in which Carl's name would come to be carved into rock history. In the spring of 1970, Carl Palmer received a phone call that changed his life forever. Keyboard virtuoso Keith Emerson was forming a new band with Greg Lake. After trying out several drummers, including Mitch Mitchell, the two wanted Palmer to audition for a spot in the new trio but Palmer was uncertain if he wanted to leave the growing success of Atomic Rooster behind. Reluctantly, he agreed to meet and rehearse with the band and thank God he did. The following month the group finished its self-titled debut album, instantly successful, it climbed to the Top 5 in England and the Top 20 in America. And included the classic single "Lucky Man".


Pictures at an Exhibition

Recorded live at Newcastle City Hall on March 26, 1971, this performance of Pictures At An Exhibition actually pre-dates Tarkus. It’s typically indulgent fare, replete with synthesizer solos and splattered sounds, a perversion of Modest Mussorgsky’s original as seen through ELP’s idiomatic eyes and excessive appetite. It does however speak to the heart of progressive rock, which has never been afraid to challenge the accepted masters in its pursuit of meaningful musical art. Of course it’s sillier than it has to be, poking fun at their own ambitions with a caricature of classical rock on the closing “Nutrocker,” which had some short-lived success as a single backed by the far-superior “The Great Gates of Kiev.” The lyrics are few, but swollen with their own significance save for the pastoral interlude provided by “The Sage.” Keith Emerson’s keyboards are clearly in control, and the audience wouldn’t have it any other way, feeding the keyboardist’s egomaniacal fingers even after the ultimately insubstantial solos that constitute “The Old Castle” and “Blues Variations.” Pictures At An Exhibition is not the first ELP album you need to own, or the second, or the third. Their best work (Tarkus, Trilogy, Brain Salad Surgery) strikes a better balance between the contributions of all three members. By comparison, Pictures is focused mainly on Emerson, who always seemed a stone’s throw from stealing the show anyway. If you enjoy over-the-top classical rock, then maybe you’ll agree with some that this is a work of art. Honestly, I’ve never enjoyed Emerson’s classical adaptations on the same level as I have their strictly original work. Using Mussorgsky’s masterpiece as a launching point for instrumental jamming is more license than I care to accord ELP, or any rock group for that matter. Had they improved, enhanced or simply shown a soulful understanding of the original work, this might have been an important album. Instead, it’s an impish trick played out by some remarkably talented young men whose youthful ambition gets the better of them and their audience.


Tarkus

ELP heads into uncharted territory on Tarkus, pushing the limits of music that a trio might aspire to (as opposed to achieve, where Cream still reigned supreme). What it all means is anyone’s guess, and it may be nothing more than a mosaic of highfalutin’ instrumental workouts and pretentious pronouncements. Remarkably, none of that’s really important. What is important is the faith that the music inspires in its musicians and, by extension, its audience. You get the sense that ELP approached Tarkus as their magnum opus (until the next magnum opus, anyway), and it’s this spirit of elevated creativity that fuels Tarkus. The side-long “Tarkus” starts with a clear beginning, in the spirit of creation with a single sound that soon explodes into life, and from there the band fuses Emerson’s instrumental passages (often held together by improvisation) with Lake’s songs (not far removed from his work with King Crimson). The arrangements themselves are at best bone and sinew, Emerson’s piano providing the color against Palmer’s superlative, dry drumming and Lake’s incidental bass lines. When the band does reach sublime heights, it’s often on the strength of Lake’s stalwart voice, resolute in a maelstrom of sound. Note that the inner gatefold features what purports to be a visual interpretation of the Tarkus story; if you can make heads or tails out of it, let me know. The second side seeks to defuse the pomposity of the previous saga with the irreverent “Jeremy Bender,” to be savored as a cherished oddity. “Bitches Crystal” returns to the haunting grounds of side one, and remains a favorite among fans. What follows next is a miniature epic: “The Only Way” (which questions God) and the instrumental “Infinite Space,” which follows a more structured and restrained path than the explosive moments around it (they would revisit this style on songs like “Jerusalem,” perhaps the remnant of some fiery country parson still in their blood). The wonderful “A Time And A Place” (file under epic) and “Are You Ready Eddy?” (which immortalizes engineer Eddy Offord) close the album, every ounce of energy drained. By turns funny, profound and profane, Tarkus marks the arrival of greatness in the annals of ELP. That it’s a self-proclaimed greatness seized by the sheer will of youth, and not the hoary crown passed down by the unclean fingers of doddering critics, no doubt hastened the band’s downfall to its current, unenviable state of disrepute. But Tarkus is a reminder that ELP walked tall at a time when censorious hands had yet to stick a knife in their back.

Trilogy

Trilogy is a challenge to the status quo of popular music, a confident coronation of majestic tendencies seen on Tarkus and Pictures. Though Peter Sinfield had yet to join, ELP’s lyrical vision is hardly clumsy here, suggesting a literate bravado. This combined with what handily represent the band’s most artful arrangements (“The Sheriff,” “Hoedown”) take the band to a new level. No longer are they flinging arrows at the battlements of mediocrity and fear (as Tarkus did), but on Trilogy the trio has scaled the wall and assumed the mantle of the new musical vanguard that Crimson wore but briefly. On Trilogy, we meet new feats that were later equalled but never bettered: the almost offhand genius of “The Endless Enigma” and “Trilogy,” the compelling tale of “The Sheriff,” a sublime ballad in “From The Beginning,” and the energized interpretation of Aaron Copland’s “Hoedown.” If Trilogy and the subsequent Surgery rank among the trio’s great achievements, it’s no accident. Tarkus took them in a new direction, and their musical styles flourished in this conjoined creative environment. It’s not simply that they complemented one another, but that they drove one another to excellence. Listen to Keith Emerson’s spacey solo on “From The Beginning,” Carl Palmer’s tireless rhythms on “Trilogy,” or Lake’s brave handling of “The Sheriff,” and you’ll hear how each member could push the dialogue past old boundaries. Though it proved to be an unsustainable level of activity, Trilogy remains one of ELP’s finest achievements, and thus one of the great records in the annals of progressive rock. It’s amazing to think that listeners would soon dismiss this music in favor of punk, when the same revolutionary sentiments are at work in each. Of course, prog (at its best) required superlative musicianship, while punk crashed down the gates to let anyone in. Both will become blips in the big musical screen with time, but with the distinction that punk coldcocked convention while prog (in the person of works like Trilogy) outdueled it in a swordfight of youthful grace matched with an admirable cunning.

Brain Salad Surgery

Somewhere in a corner of cyberspace a debate rages on concerning ELP’s best album: Trilogy, Tarkus, Brain Salad Surgery? I tend to side with Trilogy, though at the same time concede that “Karn Evil 9” is the band’s greatest achievement. It may be that Brain lacks the control of a Trilogy, the innocence of a Tarkus, instead surrendering to decadent arrangements that embrace chaos as a friend in the ultimate end. There’s the sense throughout Brain that ELP was trying their best to be confrontational, from the sloppy presentation of “Benny The Bouncer” to the subversive synthesizers used on “Toccata.” Even the electric guitars on “Still… You Turn Me On” are more jarring than they should be. As good as those songs are (and “Jerusalem” is even better), they fall by the wayside when “Karn Evil 9” winds its way into view. Emboldened with the power of Peter Sinfield’s lyrics, ELP seeks to usurp the crown from a distracted King Crimson with this intense, epic spectacle. The circus sideshow imagery played perfectly to the band’s instrumental freak quotient: Lake’s guitars arched high in heroic calls, Palmer’s drums spilling improbably from both speakers, Emerson sounding like an inspired church organist one moment and coaxing a bold new world from his synthesizers the next. Strange happenings and busy goings-on from every corner. While it failed to coalesce like Trilogy, Brain’s ability to layer levels of flash is itself a grand accomplishment; by the end of “Karn Evil 9” we’re teetering at the tip of a huge mountain of excess, dangerously high above the earth and due to topple at any moment. When the inevitable fall comes, it’s no less than the fall of mankind. It’s easy to understand why some champion this Brain, as it’s easily ELP’s most superlative album. The band thrived by excess, and died by it years later, so it’s tempting to make this exhibit A in the show. But Tarkus bespoke the band’s promise better, Trilogy fused the different parts into a sublime whole, while Brain marked the beautiful (and equally tragic) point of no return. It’s an absolutely fascinating train wreck to watch, however, and a true gemini of what’s right and wrong with prog rock.

Welcome Back My Friends, To The Show That Never Ends -

The cherry atop ELP’s self-indulgent sundae, this three-record set might be the quintessential prog rock release: ambitious, overblown, and full of wonder. Yes, you could make a case that Yessongs is the best of the behemoths, but Welcome is closer to the heart of prog, an Icarus of an album package that seeks to soar by reproducing the band’s longest, most difficult works. And for the most part, ELP succeeds at replicating these gargantuan structures on stage, Keith Emerson’s keyboards dazzling like a diamond in the sun, Carl Palmer’s drums up for any challenge (the solo on “Karn Evil 9” is a feast for his fans), and Greg Lake’s voice in top form (though his bass is woefully undermiked most of the time). Because ELP’s music is superlative by design, the studio recordings are the best way to hear this music the first time; that said, the trio does an amazing job of resurrecting the magic in a live setting. At some point midway through, Emerson’s fingers should have fallen off; instead, he captivates from beginning to end, and neither Palmer nor Lake lag far behind. Concert highlights include “Karn Evil 9” and “Tarkus,” plus new “Piano Improvisations” from Emerson. The combination of “Jeremy Bender” and “The Sheriff” is a cute idea, but they both get the bum’s rush here (better to stick with the originals). I may not listen to Welcome as much as Tarkus or Trilogy, but only because of the substantial investment in time it requires. When I do make the effort, I’m always rewarded for my troubles (which for elpee owners will include frequent trips to the turntable). Pound for pound their studio albums contained more magic, but no ELP release has left a deeper impression than this

Works - Volume 1

ELP returned from an extended hiatus in 1977, sweetly oblivious to the fact that progressive rock was on the decline. Many bought the double-elpee set just the same (temporarily forgetting the substantial investment that Welcome Back was) to find that Works Volume 1 was in fact three sides of solo music fused together with a token “band” side at the end. No doubt it’s this sort of tinkering with the affection of fans that resulted in the backlash against the band in later years. For their trouble, the faithful were treated to predictably ambitious classical rock: Keith Emerson’s Piano Concerto No. 1, jazz and classical rock hybrids from Carl Palmer, a handful of winning ballads from Greg Lake, and two extended works credited to ELP at the end. Sure, it all requires a little patience, but the rewards are manifold: the second and third movements in Emerson’s concerto, the familiar “C’est La Vie” and the undiscovered “Nobody Loves You Like I Do,” Palmer’s playful “Two Part Invention in D Minor,” the band’s arrangement of Aaron Copland’s “Fanfare for the Common Man,” and the last great epic in their oeuvre, “Pirates.” Because this album plays up the band’s classical aspirations, it may alienate some listeners (e.g., those that felt Pictures At An Exhibition was an unnecessary exercise). The side from Greg Lake deflates the album’s pretensions somewhat, but even his ballads go over the top sometimes (“Closer to Believing” is a little precious, for example). And Emerson’s piano concerto sounds to these ears like a pastiche of ideas rather than a traditionally structured piano concerto where you might expect the piano to introduce and expound on a dominant theme. Likewise, the band’s extended take on “Fanfare” will test the limits of most listeners (the edited single version at least recognizes the ephemeral novelty factor of the idea). Ultimately Works Volume 1 succeeds at sounding like an ELP album rather than a collection of solo material. It’s not the tour-de-force of a Tarkus, Trilogy or Brain Salad Surgery, but a longing gaze at a band many loved (and many loved to hate). It’s ambitious, brilliant in fits, tiresome in patches, and unrepentantly emerson, lake and palmer.

Works - Volume 2

Kronomyth 8.0, Prog Inkarnate. After nearly being drawn in by the gravity of the first Works, Captain Mebyl narrowly averts slamming into the second: an uneven, floating mass of space junk stuck together. Masquerading as a planet, Works Volume 2 is really an asteroid. Bits of the Karn system congealed into a single, substantial sphere: brain salad and apple blossom (km 5.0), ghosts of christmas (last seen in the vicinity of km 6.0), satellites from the neighboring constellations of Emerson and undiscovered chunks of rock from the original system. Yet far from being a garbage planet, Works Volume 2 turned out to be a land of interesting, little discoveries. As before, the source can sometimes be distilled to a single element (“Watching Over You,” “Bullfrog,” “Maple Leaf Rag”) and sometimes to a trilogy of them (“So Far To Fall,” “Tiger In A Spotlight”). Collectors in the Karn system saved themselves a good deal of spelunkering when these artifacts were unearthed. Of course it isn’t the first place to visit, but considering that the air gets a little thin after this point, you might find Works Volume 2 more lush and habitable than later, legitimate planets.

Love Beach

Okay, so the wannabeegees cover and title fuels the suspicion that Love Beach is no more than a musical morass, but conceptually ELP wasn't stuck for an encore. The trouble with this album isn’t the ideas or the inspiration, but the execution. Simply put, the production value is thin, erasing the pomp factor so critical to ELP’s success. (In fact, my elpee doesn’t list any production credits, which might explain why the album feels so underproduced.) Keith Emerson’s keyboards especially lack the thunder of old, a problem that likewise plagued Rick Wakeman on the similarly disappointing Tormato (in their defense, the late '70s did produce a weak generation of electronic keyboards like the Birotron). Love Beach is essentially split into two sides, with Greg Lake and Emerson engaging the full-time services of Peter Sinfield. The first side of music (or the Lake-side part) features the usual assortment of ballads and stories, pale shadows of earlier successes; “