When it comes to the fortunately limited genre of rock concept albums about the history, myths and legends of Merry Olde England, no one holds a sword in the stone to Yes keyboardist Rick Wakeman. If you’re like me, the Man in the Golden Cape’s 1975 LP The Myths and Legends of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table makes for excruciating listening, but look on the bright side–it will earn you three credits towards a degree in Medieval Studies.
Wakeman is one of the most prolific artists of our time–I gave up trying to count the number of albums the keyboard virtuoso has recorded since his 1971 debut when it hit the century mark–but he’s best known for his work in the 1970s, and in particular his commercially successful concept albums (which in addition to this one include 1973’s The Six Wives of Henry VIII and 1974’s Journey to the Center of the Earth). Why on earth he didn’t keep ‘em coming is beyond me–Stonehenge, Robin Hood, the Magna Carta, the War of the Roses, and the execution of Mary Queen of Scots would all have made for essential graduate school listening, and I for one wonder how he managed to miss the Black Plague.
But you take what you can get, and what you get on The Myths and Legends of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table is pageantry and fanfare by way of the New World Orchestra, overwrought vocal flourishes gratis the English Chamber Choir, the overheated to the point of combustion vocals of Gary Pickford-Hopkins, and a narrator of the Vincent Price school, all in the service of Wakeman’s synthesizers, keyboards and grand piano. Depending on your personal tastes, the results inspire either awe or a dash for the nearest wastebasket.
Even a cursory reading of Joseph Campbell and Carl Jung makes clear that Wakeman’s fascination with myth is universal–we all live in the realm of myth, whether we know it or not. Rock and roll, with its gods and goddesses, and villains and heroes, is in and of itself a mythical rhythm–if Elvis, Chuck Berry, and Jerry Lee Lewis aren’t the stuff of myth, who are? The problem lies–and it’s an obvious one–in adapting Arthurian myth to a genre created to address the concerns of adolescents. Wakeman’s progressive rock treatment is the only approach possible, but one has to have a high tolerance for bombast to endure it. It helps if you enjoy Renaissance Faires.
Terry Taplin’s portentous opening (“Whoso pulleth out this sword/From this stone and anvil/Is the true born King of all Britain”) sets the album’s tone, and is guaranteed to bring joy to the hearts of Monty Python fans. But the real Ye Olde Fun begins“Arthur,” on which you get trumpet fanfare, strings, a choir of fair maidens, sweeping synthesizer and harpsichord flourishes, and one terribly earnest vocal performance by Pickford-Hopkins. It’s followed by “Lady of the Lake” a mercifully short recitative by a choir of broad and burly fellows. Follow-up “Guinevere” is proof positive that medieval fusion is an actual thing, but it’s also strangely forward looking; I’ll lay odds the guys in Grandaddy were familiar with Wakeman’s snaky synthesizer work, because it’s all over The Sophtware Slump.
“Sir Lancelot and the Black Knight” is a pre-Renaissance rave-up; who says the knights of the Round Table couldn’t rock? You get your big orchestral bluster at the beginning, then Pickford-Hopkins shows up, ready for mortal combat. And he has a merry crew of vocalists behind him goading him on with the chant “Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!” This ain’t prog rock, folks–it’s West Side Story in chain mail. “Merlin the Magician” opens with more manly men singing their manly tonsils out, followed by a grand piano/harpsichord duet, some synthesizer jazz, and a pair “zany” ragtime keyboard passages that would have caused Merlin to wing his magical orb at Wakeman’s head with murderous intent.
The all-over-the-place “Sir Galahad” opens with more hairy-knuckle man psalm and classical grand piano, before Wakeman goes into jousting gallop (sounds very ELP to my ears) on synthesizer. And after that you get, well, a bit of everything–manic-depressive tempo changes, Pickford-Hopkins’ over-emoting, a stray singing maenad, lots of cymbal crash, lofty choirs, and even some “Oi!” chants. As for LP closer “The Last Battle,” it opens with church bells and the vocal stylings of Pickford-Hopkins before–lo and behold–you find yourself on a bloody medieval battlefield lopping off heads left and right with your trusty broadsword, to the accompaniment of Wakeman’s trusty synthesizer. How good it is to shout “Huzzah!” after you’ve forced thine foes to flee the field, presumably to the apartment of a friend with better tastes in music. But perforce the LP cometh to an end, Terry Taplin stepping in to deliver a few closing words.
Say what you will about Rick Wakeman, he’s not afraid to think big. He makes Emerson, Lake & Palmer sound like a punk band, Pink Floyd like a couple of guys who just learned how to play “Louie Louie.” Pretentious? Sure. Bombastic? Check. Pompous? You bet. But it goes without saying that plenty of people go in for this sort of thing, and to them I say go, prayeth thee, in peace. As for me, I take comfort in the fact that The Myths and Legends of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table came out the same year the Sex Pistols played their first gig. Wakeman didn’t know it, but King Arthur was dead. And Johnny Rotten was holding the bloody dagger.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
D-
