Cyan was formed in 1984 by Robert Reed, in those heady days when progressive rock returned to the national musical consciousness. I must, though, confess that the band passed this writer by at the time. It was not until the successor band, Magenta (one of those “prog lovers’ prog band” outfits) released Revolutions in 2001 that I came across Reed’s work on the recommendation of a friend.
Reed resurrected this particular project in 2021 with a revisited For King and Country. In 2023, the sophomore album Pictures from the Other Side gets this treatment. The work again features Reed, the very talented, and very nice, Luke Machin on guitars, Dan Nelson on bass, and, of course, Peter Jones on lead vocals, sax, and whistles. Also, we have the wonderful vocals of Angharad Brinn taking a more prominent role on this album than the last, and I rather hope that she is becoming a permanent feature of this project because she does complement Jones very nicely.
I have taken my time to review this album which was released on 10th November and which I pre-ordered (you can purchase it at https://magenta.bandcamp.com/album/pictures-from-the-other-side). This is because the album did not resonate with me consistently after the first few listens, partly because every time I put it on, some form of interruption followed (yes, dear reader, the trials of being a civil servant working from home in the modern era). As is my usual practice in such cases, I took a break from it and returned afresh. I have immersed myself in the album over the past week, in private, and with headphones on.
So, what to make of it now? Reed is well known as not only a class musician, but also a top producer, and this album merely cements that reputation. It sounds wonderful. The musicianship throughout is superb. This is a very talented collective, and that confused me during the first round of listening, because I knew I should be enjoying it, and I couldn’t hear the music breathe at all.
Well, writing this review, I have come over that sonic hill and the other side of that personal musical labour. And therein lies the lesson of Pictures from the Other Side – it is not a “that’s damned good” album on the initial couple of listens. It is a very good album once you have been able to immerse yourself in its pleasures and sounds and taken time to appreciate the nuances and delicate moments contained within. It would be difficult to relate all of these in a written review because it would be far too long, but let’s have a go at a summary.
It was the opener, Broken Man, released by Rob Reed on his YouTube channel and the first of two epic tracks, which persuaded me to pre-order the album. It is embedded below. Stephen Reed collaborated with Rob on the lyrics to this in a tale of knowing loss, regret, and the need for redemption through another chance. It starts with the unmistakeable sound of Troy Donockley on his Uilleann Pipes, a pleasure to listen to as ever. Then we get the first of the sublime bursts from Machin who has become such an important guitarist – witness his extended solo as we progress to the final passage which is played with such feeling. Peter Jones has a good range vocally, with a rasping voice at times which is clearly reminiscent of Gabriel in his pomp, but there is so much more to him than that, and I really do enjoy the harmonies created with Brinn. They are good together, especially in the “hold on” passage. Just over three minutes in, there is a very good example of what I meant by this album requiring a bit of concentration. There is a beautiful keys sequence from Reed and a gorgeous bass melody, but both are understated beneath the vocals before Reed provides a more traditional synth after Jones’s “let it go”. The “broken man” closing passage tells the lyrical story perfectly together with the delicate piano and crying guitar with a wonderful rhythm section at its core. This is such a strong opening piece.
The title track follows this and is a gorgeous pastoral soundscape with Jones’s sax and light keys introducing us to it. Vocally, Jones shows he can hold a catchy chorus with the best of them, but noticeable again is just how well he and Brinn harmonise together. It is over eight minutes long, but I think there is an edited single in here with the chance of some decent airplay. Playful, simply flowing with a jazz sensibility, I think this is a genuine highlight of the year, as I close my eyes dreaming of another existence full of wonder as opposed to some of the ills of this world, and Jones & Brinn bring this to me.
Solitary Angel is a song which strikes one as a cry for help from a desperately lonely and mentally injured person. Reed’s opening keys set the scene, haunting alongside the mournful flute. Jones sings with a passion that fair breaks the heart and the music itself has such dark undertones. Machin provides some achingly sad notes. Best listened to with the lights turned down and the sound loud. And don’t let anyone or anything disturb you!
Follow the Flow is next up and is the shortest track on the album at a sub-four minutes. It is, in fact, my favourite piece here. From the opening piano bars to Angharad’s expressive “come on home”, this song of exploration (I think as much personal as physical) is a delight with the vocal protagonists taking the listener to another level.
Tomorrow’s Here Today is just short of ten minutes long and is an extended ballad with the blues at its core. The opening passage features Machin playing some aching chords, Reed providing some gentle soundscapes, the bass melody is strong, but the prime position is taken by the vocal duet, and it is perhaps a wee bit of an injustice to describe Brinn as a backing vocalist. I am not as taken by the more “traditional” prog extended instrumental midpoint. It is well played but sits uneasily to these ears with what preceded it, and the return of the delicate guitar and Jones/Brinn voices blues ballad six minutes in is welcome, as is the bass & drum interplay as we move to the close.
The epic centrepiece of the album is the final track, Nosferatu, the vampire term popularised initially by Stoker and then the classic film of 1922. From the off, this sounds lush, a symphonic and operatic prog rock delight, and I love it washing over me in the silence of my workroom/study, especially some of the more pastoral segments. Not, in my opinion, to be taken overly seriously, but enjoyed as a homage to both the subject and generally gothic popular music of days gone by.
This is a fine album and one I have grown to be very fond of. What next for this collective? A reimagining of The Creeping Vine, or an album of wholly original compositions? Whatever is decided upon, I look forward to the outcome.