Molte delle opere nei 70' furono realizzate con l'intento di descrivere le paure e le angosce della gente di quel tempo di fronte a morte, follia, e cosucce del genere. I Pink Floyd, con tutta la solarità che avevano in animo, non si fecero scappare l'occasione di fare un lavoro analitico in questo ambito. Puntarono su alcune tra le principali paure/ossessioni umane e ad ognuna dedicarono un pezzo del loro album ‘Dark Side ...'. Lo steso Gabriel, più tardi e a modo suo, fece in III un lavoro altrettanto analitico con le varie forme di follia e la paura ad esse collegata. C'è chi sostiene, e mi trova dalla sua parte, che anche i Genesis vollero rappresentare l'inquietudine della loro generazione di fronte a queste paure. Lo fecero con questo album, ma non attraverso un lavoro analitico, bensì alla maniera, mattiamola così, in cui gli impressionisti esprimevano il loro messaggio attraverso i colori (rubo il paragone da ondarock perché esprime bene quello che voglio dire). Questa ipotesi è il punto di partenza del mio personalissimo discorso sul disco.
Accordatisi sul progetto, i cinque annunciatori di false apocalissi dovettero ritenere che occorreva ad ogni costo togliere la terra sotto i piedi all'ascoltatore. Per la causa il tastierista factotum mise a disposizione le sue agili dita e il suo arsenale da combattimento e il risultato fu un tappeto di "pura ansia" (e qui rubo ancora accidenti a me, questa volta da una vecchissima recensione, non mi è venuta una definizione migliore) base su cui vennero costruite tutte le canzoni.
Il cantante capì che la prima cosa che doveva fare era mettere gli altri quattro davanti alla realtà: solo lui aveva la mente adeguatamente malata per partorire un racconto e dei testi all'altezza dell'intento che si erano preposti, e quindi doveva far da solo. Li convinse e si mise volentieri all'opera con ancora vivo il ricordo di un film intitolato ‘El Topo', prodotto di una mente disturbata quanto la sua. Partorì così il racconto di un viaggio (quello del noto writer portoricano) con un'evoluzione in bilico tra lo sviluppo di una trama come si conviene ed il sogno. Non si tratta però di sogno fiabesco o romantico, ma di quello che si fa la notte, cioè un'accozzaglia di situazioni assurda e con poco senso.
Lo strumento della fiaba gli è tornato ancora una volta utile, ma in modo diverso che in passato. Niente più quadri visionari a se stanti, niente più battaglie tra bene e male, niente metafore e giochi di parole con l'intento di criticare la povera Inghilterra, aveva già minacciato una volta di volerla vendere e gli parve fosse sufficiente.
Sbaglia secondo me chi cerca quel che han da dire i Genesis con questo album nella morale del racconto o nel significato dei testi. Ho proposto inizialmente di pensare a the Lamb come a un quadro in cui la rappresentazione del soggetto avviene attraverso il gioco dei colori. Qui i colori utilizzati sono le suggestioni e il racconto serve quindi a crearne in aggiunta a quelle create dalla musica, non a comunicare un messaggio. L'altra ipotesi da cui parto è che il soggetto che vollero rappresentare è lo stato d'animo della loro generazione, e allora la sconclusionatezza del viaggio raccontato ha probabilmente lo scopo di trasmettere all'ascoltatore l'inquietudine di fronte all'ignoto e la caduta delle certezze, parte di quello stato d'animo.
Al coro di voci che in seguito definirono nebuloso il lavoro di Gabriel si è aggiunta col tempo anche quella di Banks. La musica dimostra invece che durante la lavorazione del disco aveva le idee chiare e ben il linea con il suo cantante. Ma gli sono grato per troppe cose, su tutte l'assolo di ‘In the Cage', per dare importanza a questi suoi comportamenti da suocera acidella.
Sotto l'aspetto strettamente musicale non ho praticamente niente da aggiungere alle analisi svolte nelle altre recensioni. Faccio solo un osservazione sull'uso del basso. Per una volta si rivela un elemento fortemente caratterizzante del suono. Ci sono finalmente delle gran belle linee in questo album (quella della title track la mia preferita). Devo aver letto da qualche parte che Rutherford ci mise dentro anche un bel po' di accordi. Il suono è molto aggressivo, e l'utilizzo del Rickenbacher e del plettro spiegherebbero questo fatto. Quel che so per certo è che Pluto utilizzò effettivamente questo basso nel tour, assieme ad una altro double neck, un Micro-Frets, non ho idea di che suono abbia.
Strano bassista Rutherford: gran pestatore di pedaliere moog taurus fino a the Lamb, e le dita quasi sempre incollate a delle dodici corde, e per il resto della carriera un trionfo di double neck. Il basso più convenzionale che gli ho visto in mano è proprio il Rick, per il resto modelli poco distanti dall'artigianale: il succitato Micro-Frets, l'esteticamente pregevole Shergold (a livello sonoro non ho idea), il plasticoso Steinberger, per arrivare a quello strumento mutante del tour 2007 fusione di chitarra Gibson e basso Yamaha. Mai un Jazz o un Precision che io sappia.
Proprio nel periodo in cui crearono quello che secondo me è la loro opera più bella, i Genesis si macchiarono di una grave colpa di fronte al mondo della musica. Diedero poco spazio al loro particolarissimo chitarrista. Pochini i gioiellini di sua fattura all'interno dell'album: Cuckoo Cocoon, il cuore rasato, l'arrivo dell'Anestetista Supernaturale, e la nippon introduzione, un po' cacacazz a dir la verità, di Colony of Slippermen. Un magro bottino insomma, anche se l'Anestetista è tra i pezzi più belli dei Genesis per me.
L'album venne fuori in un periodo caratterizzato da un bel po' di contrasti all'interno della band. I fatti sono arcinoti a chi conosce i Genesis, che ne sa forse di più di quanto gli stessi membri del gruppo ricordino. Per chi invece non ne sapesse nulla e fosse interessato ad avere lumi a riguardo, potrà trovare valanghe di informazioni un po' ovunque, su questo sito e altrove, tranne qua.
Bellissima la copertina dello studio Hipgnosis.
E dopo questo pippone senza senso faccio un caro saluto a chi è arrivato fino a qui senza mandarmici neanche una volta.
Elenco tracce testi samples e video
01 The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway (04:45)
The lamb lies down on Broadway
And the lamb lies down on Broadway.
Early morning Manhattan,
Ocean winds blow on the land.
The Movie-Palace is now undone,
The all-night watchmen have had their fun.
Sleeping cheaply on the midnight show,
It's the same old ending-time to go.
Get out!
It seems they cannot leave their dream.
There's something moving in the sidewalk steam,
And the lamb lies down on Broadway.
Nightime's flyers feel their pains.
Drugstore takes down the chains.
Metal motion comes in bursts,
But the gas station can quench that thirst.
Suspension cracked on unmade road
The trucker's eyes read 'Overload'
And out on the subway,
Rael Imperial Aerosol Kid
Exits into daylight, spraygun hid,
And the lamb lies down on Broadway.
The lamb seems right out of place,
Yet the Broadway street scene finds a focus in its face.
Somehow it's lying there,
Brings a stillness to the air.
Though man-made light, at night is very bright,
There's no whitewash victim,
As the neons dim, to the coat of white.
Rael Imperial Aerosol Kid,
Wipes his gun-he's forgotten what he did,
And the lamb lies down on Broadway.
Suzanne tired her work all done,
Thinks money-honey-be on-neon.
Cabman's velvet glove sounds the horn
And the sawdust king spits out his scorn.
Wonder women draw your blind!
Don't look at me! I'm not your kind.
I'm Rael!
Something inside me has just begun,
Lord knows what I have done,
And the lamb lies down on Broadway.
On Broadway-
They say the lights are always bright on Broadway.
They say there's always magic in the air.
02 Fly on a Windshield (02:45)
There's something solid forming in the air,
and the wall of death is lowered in Times Square.
No one seems to care,
they carry on as if nothing's there.
The wind is blowing harder now,
blowing dust into my eyes.
The dust settles on my skin,
making a crust I cannot move in.
And I'm hovering like a fly,
waiting for the windshield on the freeway.
04 Cuckoo Cocoon (02:11)
Rael regains consciousness in some musky half-light. He is warmly wrapped in some sort of cocoon. The only sound he can hear is dripping water which appears to be the source of a pale flickering light. He guesses he must be in some sort of cave - or kooky tomb, or catacomb, or eggshell waiting to drop from the bone of the womb.
Wrapped up in some powdered wool - I guess I'm losing touch.
Don't tell me this is dying, 'cos I ain't changed that much.
The only sound is water drops, I wonder where the hell I am,
Some kind of jam?
Cuckoo Cocoon have I come to, too soon for you?
There's nothing I can recognise; this is nowhere that I've known.
With no sign of life at all, I guess that I'm alone,
And I feel so secure that I know this can't be real
but I feel good.
Cuckoo cocoon have I come to, too soon for you?
I wonder if I'm a prisoner locked in some Brooklyn jail
- or some sort of Jonah shut up inside the whale.
No - I'm still Rael and I'm stuck in some kind of cave.
what could've saved me?
Cuckoo cocoon have I come to, too soon for you?
Resigning himself to the unknown he drifts off into sleep.
05 In the Cage (08:14)
I got sunshine in my stomach
Like I just rocked my baby to sleep.
I got sunshine in my stomach
But I can't keep me from creeping sleep,
Sleep, deep in the deep.
Rockface moves to press my skin
White liquids turn sour within
Turn fast - turn sour
Turn sweat - turn sour.
Must tell myself that I'm not here.
I'm drowning in a liquid fear.
Bottled in a strong compression,
My distortion shows obsession
In the cave.
Get me out of this cave !
If I keep self-control,
I'll be safe in my soul.
And the childhood belief
Brings a moment's relief,
But my cynic soon returns
And the lifeboat burns.
My spirit just never learns.
Stalactites, stalagmites
Shut me in, lock me tight.
Lips are dry, throat is dry.
Feel like burning, stomach churning,
I'm dressed up in a white costume
Padding out left-over room.
Body stretching, feel the wretching
In the cage
Get me out of the cage!
In the glare of a light
I see a strange kind of sight;
O cages joined to from a star
Each person can't go very far;
All tied to their things
They are netted by their strings,
Free to flutter in memories of their wasted wings.
Outside the cage I see my brother John,
He turn his head so slowly round.
I cry out "Help!" before he can be gone,
And he looks at me without a sound.
And I shout out "John please help me !"
But he does not even want to try to speak.
I'm helpless in my violent rage
And a silent tear of blood dribbles down his cheek.
My little runaway.
In a trap, feel a starp
Holding still, Pinned for kill.
Chances narrow that I'll make it,
In the cushioned straitjacket.
Just like 22nd St,
And they got me by my neck and feet.
Pressure's building, can't take more.
My headache's charged. Earaches roar.
In this pain
Get me out of this pain.
If I could change to liquid,
I could fill the cracks up in the rock,
But I know that I am solid
And I am my own bad luck.
Outside John disappears and my cage dissolves,
And without any reason my body revolvess.
Keep on turning
Keep on turning
Keep on turning
Keep on turning
Keep on turning
Turning around
Just spinning around.
Down, down, down..........
06 The Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging (02:45)
When all this revolution is over, he sits down on a highly polished floor while his dizziness fades away. It is an empty modern hallway and the dreamdoll saleslady sits at the reception desk. Without prompting she goes into her rap: "This is the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging, those you are about to see are all in for servicing, except for a small quantity of our new product, in the second gallery. It is all the stock required to cover the existing arrangements of the enterprise. Different batches are distributed to area operators, and there are plenty of opportunities for the large investor. They stretch from the costly care-conditioned to the most reasonable mal-nutritioned. We find here that everyone's looks become them. Except for the low market mal-nutritioned, each is provided with a guarantee for a successful birth and trouble free infancy. There is however only a small amount of variable choice potential - not too far from the mean differential. You see, the roof has predetermined the limits of ac
tion of any group of packages, but individuals may move off the path if their diversions are counter-balanced by others."
"It's the last great adventure left to mankind"
- Screams a drooping lady
offering her dreamdolls at less than extortionate prices,
and as the notes and coins are taken out
I'm taken in, to the factory floor.
for the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging
- All ready to use
the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging
- I just need a fuse.
Got people stocked in every shade,
Must be doing well with trade.
Stamped, addressed, in odd fatality.
That evens out their personality.
With profit potential marked by a sign,
I can recognise some of the production line,
No bite at all in labour bondage,
Just wrinkled wrappers or human bandage.
Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging
- All ready to use
it's the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging
- I just need a fuse.
As he wanders along the line of packages, Rael notices a familiarity in some of their faces. He finally comes upon some of the members of his old gang and worries about his own safety. Running out through the factory floor, he catches sight of his brother John with a number 9 stamped on his forehead.
The hall runs like clockwork
Their hands mark out the time;
Empty in their fullness
Like a frozen pantomime.
Everyone's a sales representative
Wearing slogans in their shrine.
Dishing out failsafe superlative,
Brother John is No. 9.
it's the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging
- All ready to use
it's the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging
- I just need a fuse.
The decor on the ceiling
has planned out their future day
I see no sign of free will,
so I guess I have to pay,
pay my way,
for the Grand Parade...
it's the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging
- All ready to use
it's the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging
- I just need a fuse.
07 Back in N.Y.C. (05:34)
No-one seems to take up the chase, and with the familiar faces fresh in his mind he moves into a reconstruction of his old life, above ground - Too much time was one thing he didn't need, so he used to cut through it with a little speed. He was better off dead, than slow in the head. His momma and poppa had taken a ride on his back, so he left very quickly to join The Pack.
I see faces and traces of home back in New York City -
So you think I'm a tough kid? Is that what you heard?
Well I like to see some action and it gets into my blood.
The call me the trail blazer - Rael - electric razor
I'm the pitcher in the chain gang, we don't believe in pain
'cos we're only as strong, yes we're only as strong,
as the weakest link in the chain.
Only after a spell in Pontiac reformatory was he given any respect in the gang.
Let me out of Pontiac when I was just seventeen,
I had to get it out of me, if you know what I mean, what I mean.
You say I must be crazy, 'cos I don't care who I hit, who I hit.
But I know it's me that's hitting out and I'm, I'm not full of shit.
I don't care who I hurt, I don't care who I do wrong.
This is your mess I'm stuck in, I really don't belong.
When I take out my bottle, filled up high with gasoline,
You can tell by the night fires where Rael has been, has been.
Now, walking back home after a raid, he was cuddling a sleeping porcupine.
That night he pictured the removal of his hairy heart and to the accompaniment of very romantic music he watched it being shaved smooth by an anonymous stainless steel razor.
As I cuddled the porcupine
He said I had none to blame, but me.
Held my heart, deep in hair,
Time to shave, shave it off, it off.
No time for romantic escape,
When your fluffy heart is ready for rape. No!
Off we go...
Your sitting in your comfort you don't believe I'm real,
You cannot buy protection from the way that I feel.
Your progressive hypocrites hand out their trash,
But it was mine in the first place, so I'll burn it to ash.
And I've tasted all the strongest meats,
And laid them down in coloured sheets (laid them down in coloured
sheets).
Who needs illusion of love and affection
When you're out walking the streets with your mainline connection?
connection.
As I cuddled the porcupine
He said I had none to blame, but me.
Held my heart, deep in hair.
Time to shave, shave it off, it off.
No time for romantic escape,
When your fluffy heart is ready for rape. No!
09 Counting Out Time (03:41)
The palpitating cherry-red organ was returned to its rightful place and began to beat faster as it led our hero, counting out time, through his first romantic encounter.
I'm counting out time,
Got the whole thing down by numbers.
All those numbers!
Give me guidance!
O Lord I need that now.
The day of judgement's come,
And you can bet that I've been resting,
for this testing,
Digesting every word the experts say.
Erogenous zones I love you.
Without you, what would a poor boy do?
Found a girl I wanted to date,
Thought I'd better get it straight.
Went to buy a book before it's too late.
Don't leave nothing to fate.
I studied every line, every page in the book,
Now, I've got the real thing here, I'm gonna take a look, take a look.
This is Rael!
I'm counting out time, hoping it goes like I planned it,
'cos I understand it. Look! I've found the hotspots, Figs 1-9.
- still counting out time, got my finger on the button,
"Don't say nuttin - just lie there still
And I'll get you turned on just fine."
Erogenous zones I love you.
Without you, what would a poor boy do?
Touch and go with 1-6.
Bit of trouble in zone No. 7.
Gotta remember all of my tricks.
There's heaven ahead in No. 11!
Getting crucial responses, dilation of the pupils.
"Honey get hip! It's time to unzip, to unzip, zip, zip-a-zip-a-zip.
Whipee!"
(Take it away Mr. Guitar)
- Move over Casanova -
I'm counting out time, reaction none to happy,
Please don't slap me,
I'm a red blooded male and the book said I could not fail.
I'm counting out time, I got unexpected distress from my mistress,
I'll get my money back from the bookstore right away.
Erongenous zones I question you -
Without you, what would a poor boy do?
Without you, what would a poor boy do?
Without you, mankind handkinds thru' the blues.
10 Carpet Crawlers (05:14)
There is lambswool under my naked feet.
The wool is soft and warm,
-gives off some kind of heat.
A salamander scurries into flame to be destroyed.
Imaginary creatures are trapped in birth on celluloid.
The fleas cling to the golden fleece,
Hoping they'll find peace.
Each thought and gesture are caught in celluloid.
There's no hiding in my memory.
There's no room to void.
The crawlers cover the floor in the red ochre corridor.
For my second sight of people, they've more lifeblood than before.
They're moving. They're moving in time to a heavy wooden door,
Where the needle's eye is winking, closing in on the poor.
The carpet crawlers heed their callers:
"You've got to get in to get out
You've got to get in to get out."
There's only one direction in the faces that I see;
It's upward to the ceiling, where the chambers said to be.
Like the forest fight for sunlight, that takes root in every tree.
They are pulled up by the magnet, believing that they're free.
The carpet crawlers heed their callers:
"You've got to get in to get out
You've got to get in to get out."
Mild mannered supermen are held in kryptonite,
And the wise and foolish virgins giggle with their bodies glowing bright.
Through a door a harvest feast is lit by candlight;
It's the bottom of a staircase that spirals out of sight.
The carpet crawlers heed their callers:
"You've got to get in to get out
You've got to get in to get out."
The porcelain mannikin with shattered skin fears attack.
The eager pack lift up their pitchers- the carry all they lack.
The liquid has congealed, which has seeped out through the crack,
And the tickler takes his stickleback.
The carpet crawlers heed their callers:
"You've got to get in to get out
You've got to get in to get out."
11 The Chamber of 32 Doors (05:40)
At the top of the stairs he finds a chamber. It is almost a hemisphere with a great many doors all the way round its circumference. There is a large crowd, huddled in various groups. From the shouting, Rael learns that there are 32 doors, but only one that leads out. Their voices get louder and louder until Rael screams "Shut up!" There is a momentary silence and then Rael finds himself the focus as they direct their advice and commands to their new found recruit. Bred on trash, fed on ash the jigsaw master has got to move faster. Rael sees a quiet corner and rushes to it.
At the top of the stairs, there's hundreds of people,
running around to all the doors.
They try to find, find themselves an audience;
their deductions need applause.
The rich man stands in front of me,
The poor man behind my back.
They believe they can control the game,
but the juggler holds another pack.
I need someone to believe in, someone to trust.
I need someone to believe in, someone to trust.
I'd rather trust a countryman than a townman,
You can judge by his eyes, take a look if you can,
He'll smile through his guard,
Survival trains hard.
I'd rather trust a man who works with his hands,
He looks at you once, you know he understands,
Don't need any shield,
When you're out in the field.
But down here,
I'm so alone with my fear,
With everything that I hear.
And every single door, that I've walked through
Brings me back here again,
I've got to find my own way.
The priest and the magician,
Singing all the chants that they have ever heard;
and they're all calling out my name,
Even academics, searching printed word.
My father to the left of me,
My mother to the right,
Like everyone else they're pointing
But nowhere feels quite right.
And I need someone to believe in, someone to trust.
I need someone to believe in, someone to trust.
I'd rather trust a man who doesn't shout what he's found,
There's no need to sell if you're homeward bound.
If I choose a side,
He won't take me for a ride.
Back inside
This chamber of so many doors;
I've nowhere, nowhere to hide.
I'd give you all of my dreams, if you'd help me,
Find a door
That doesn't lead me back again
- take me away.
Carico i commenti... con calma
Altre recensioni
Di Mr_Iko
Amo definirlo “Music-All”: uno spartiacque tra opera rock e il musical da rappresentazione su un palcoscenico di Broadway.
Nel caso non vi piacesse questo disco vi consiglio di rivolgervi ad un buon medico per una otoscopia.
Di Mariaelena
"Non copritemi gli occhi, mentre scrivo voglio poter dare un’occhiata alle farfalle di vetro che si sono posate sulle pareti".
È categoricamente impossibile tenere in gabbia un animale da palcoscenico con un’anima ribelle che grida libertà.
Di Old King Cole
"Oggi c'è chi parla di The Lamb come un classico del Prog: per me questa definizione è errata. The Lamb è qualcosa di più."
"Quel geniaccio di Peter Gabriel? Lo strumento principale di ‘The Lamb’ è la sua voce, che raggiunge finalmente il suo apice di tecnica e, soprattutto, di espressività."
Di STIPE
Gabriel era i Genesis e i Genesis erano Gabriel.
Il suono ottenuto in questo album rappresenta quanto di meglio la musica ha offerto fino a oggi.
Di paolofreddie
"Peter Gabriel sfoggia tutta la sua cultura e tutto il suo sapere per comporre le liriche."
"The Lamb è uno degli album più complessi e difficilmente analizzabili nella storia del prog ed è questo che accresce la sua natura interessante."
