It is now 43 years since Pallas formed (longer if you count the predecessor band, Rainbow) in Scotland. Their debut album, The Sentinel, released in 1984, is still regarded as a classic of the British revival of progressive rock. They released sophomore album The Wedge, two years later, but then split for a hiatus lasting twelve long years.
As the recent edition of Prog magazine makes clear, they were always very highly regarded amongst their peers, a talented band who just didn’t make it commercially, and there has been an unfair perception of them in recent years that they were somehow in the “second division” of prog rock bands of that time.
Come 2023, and we have The Messenger, their eighth studio release. I enjoyed the sixth, 2011’s XXV, a heavy sequel to The Sentinel. Vocalist Alan Reed had contributed much of the writing to this before he departed/was sacked (delete according to whomever you read at the time), but 2014’s wearewhoweare passed me by. Reed, though, has now returned to the fold, excited by the new material. The album has generated a fair bit of excitement in our little world, and a wee bit of controversy by having punters buying the album on Bandcamp before having any access to digital tracks. Indeed, even though I own it, I am unable to embed any pieces of music as I normally would.
Before we discuss the album, how about a look at the official trailer?
So, six new tracks. If you haven’t heard any of the album yet, then let me warn you that it is likely that on first listen, you will not like it very much. In fact, it wasn’t until the fourth serious listen that I started to appreciate it, and after about a month since the release (at the time of writing this review), I can state that it is extremely good.
Reed joins his muckers Niall Mathewson on guitars, Graeme Murray on bass and 12-string, and Ronnie Brown on keys & percussion programming. The CD case is sumptuous, and special mention should be made for Art Director, Mike Bentley.
Lyrically, this is an album of our time, with warnings about the scourges of climate change, war, and poverty, deep commentary on the politics and politicians who shape the modern world. As the liner notes state, “one more chance to make amends, or is this the place where history ends?”. This is not, as you might imagine, a tiptoe through the lovely tulip fields.
For such hefty subjects, it is a bit of a surprise that the album is only fifty minutes, with one epic-length piece, the album closer title track.
We open with Sign of the Times. From the off, the album sounds magnificent, crystal clear, with a gentle introduction before the guitars explode the work into life. When Reed enters vocally, underpinned by a throbbing bassline, the delivery is as catchy and intelligent as you would expect. There are some very complex lines and chords in this, interspersed with more pastoral moments, but it is a track which after several listens does grab you by the lapels and drag you in to a world in which our glorious leaders stain the earth with their grand designs, lies, power, and greed. There is a superb guitar solo by Mathewson, a mid-section anthemic charge leading into the most delightful passage with Reed on “fly with me” sounding as fresh as ever in a segment very much influenced by latter day Yes. The final minute and a half are a natural progression from this, synths, bass, programming, and guitars providing for a classic progressive rock symphony. A very impressive start.
The Great Attractor follows. The artwork is superb, and I regret I can’t find an image to put in here, but basically it is a Trumpian figure staring down at the little people on the ground, and the lyrics amply reflect this, accusing the “man of sedition, man of perdition, a selfish megalomaniac”. The music itself is very modern, industrial in its implementation, and rather catchy, remembering that this is a veteran band of a scene where commercial sensibilities were hand in glove with the progressive roots. It is a track which deserves a lot of attention and airplay.
Fever Pitch is next, and is fascinating lyrically, dealing with us plebians living underground, hiding from the sun that burns, and the rich, privileged elites sheltering in their luxury craft above the clouds (I seem to recall a classic Star Trek episode dealing with the same topic). The words here are worth far more than any trite political slogans you hear daily on the news and should inspire a new generation to take up the fight against corporate elitism and the damage it does to our world and its population. There is a sense of deep urgency in the music here, crashing drums, clever percussion, Brown creating some swirling soundscapes, whilst Reed provides a thoughtful vocal, warning us that fools used to laugh at the “doom monger’s tales”. This is a slow burner of a song which repeated listens reward with a deep appreciation of all that is good and intelligent about this album. The guitar solo a minute out from the close is a killer, and the world on fire denouement is suitably operatic.
Heavy Air has an understated Reed vocal to begin with, setting the scene for a very good track with a gorgeous jazzy bassline leading the way, synths and guitars overlaying providing for a sumptuous soundscape, one of the best you will hear all year. Reed displays the full range of his voice, with some of it reminding me of the quite lovely Honey On The Razor’s Edge, which remains one of my favourite modern albums (if you haven’t heard Used To Be Someone, your life is not complete), and when Mathewson enters with a sparkling guitar solo, you are now beyond the point of no return. What a shame I can’t share this beautiful piece of music on this review.
The Nine is the penultimate track and is as dystopian a lyric as you are likely to hear this year, with us poor remnants of humanity heads bowed, huddling close in terror and despair (it is not something likely to be played on Strictly, that’s for sure). The start is mournful musically and vocally, a delicious guitar particularly noticeable. Just short of two minutes in, the track expands, with a sampled voice adding to the unpleasant scenario the song depicts of humanity suffering its final fall from grace, with pixelated images amply demonstrated by the voice and programming. This is a piece of music which serves as a warning, and is brilliantly and suitably modern in its execution, something my son’s generation would recognise in an instant. Pallas have never sounded better than on this, especially the hymnal denouement.
Thus, we close with the title track. It references Mozart’s Requiem (confutatis maledictus dona eis requiem – doomed, cursed, grant them eternal rest) in a track warning of fire, but bringing a message of hope as well, a vision, revelation, jubilation at the end of the beginning. The opening passage is laid back, deliberately low in the mix. The acoustic guitar, piano, keys, and vocal harmonies as this develops are quite lovely before the main piece comes out of its closet and the Scottish rock band reassert themselves, the years rolling back. You are in the company of a group who were very important in my younger days, but sound as if they have come of age in the third decade of the 21st century - Reed especially probably never sounding better. As the track approaches its conclusion, with The Messenger setting out the revelation, you simply close your eyes at the symphonic delight, which is presented to you, vocally with harmonies jumping between your ears, a glorious guitar, thumping bass, clever programming, and synths providing for that essential soaring progressive element.
The Bandcamp page is at https://pallasofficial.bandcamp.com/album/the-messenger This is about as essential purchase as you are likely to get in this new year. Now, if only I had had time to include it in my 2023 awards. Perhaps a new award in 2024 entitled “best epic track of 2023 listened to in 2024” might be appropriate?