On seeing Peter Gabriel and Sting: Rock Paper Scissors 2016






I don’t even know where to begin, but I guess I’ll start. I’ve mentioned on this blog before about my love for pre-1975 Genesis and about my obsession with Peter Gabriel back when I first heard Games Without Frontiers. I will never stop being a huge Gabriel fan.

The Eighties were huge in music for many of us born in the Seventies. While punk still lingered in the back of our brains, new wave, and a lot of fusion had taken over the pop scene. There were genres, of course, but it was such a great time for music that you’d hear Lionel Richie played next to The Cure and not bat an eyelash. One of the bands that really stuck with me were The Police. Their catchy reggae and punk inspired tunes hit feelings of nostalgia no matter when they were played and even if their songs were new. When Sting aka Gordon Sumner, branched out on his own, his music was an extension of that. Although you can separate The Police and Sting, you can’t separate the musical styles as a whole because Sting wrote a lot of the music and lyrics. Andy Summers eccentric guitar style is still iconic and Stewart Copeland is still a god of drums in my book. The Police catalogue lives in vinyl records and VHS tapes in my home.

I remember hearing Fortress Around Your Heart for the first time while waking up one morning. I’m sure many teenage girls were seduced by that song and ran out to get The Dream Of Blue Turtles. Or maybe that was just me. UNF, THAT video. *swoon* 

I caught  Sting every time was on television including his appearances on Saturday Night Live (elevator!) and one of the greatest music shows ever, Night MusicI’ve seen him perform solo live a couple of times and with The Police during their reunion. His shows are incredible and besides being great pleasing his fans, he’s such an underrated musician and poet.

In the Nineties I took my mom to go see Peter Gabriel with me because I’d never seen a concert with her that wasn’t salsa music. My little Colombian mom stood there cheering and putting her hands up in the air like she was a long time fan. Well, it turns out she listened to every mixed tape I made her and tried her best to understand me because she’s an awesome mom. That night we hugged and we had the best time ever as mother and daughter singing along to “Sledgehammer,” which was the only song she hadn’t made up words to, since although she’s fluent in English, it’s hard for her to gauge words when sung sometimes. It’s adorable.

When Sting and Peter Gabriel’s Rock Paper Scissors tour was announced, I called my sister. I took her to her first all-ages show (Weezer) and had also bombarded her with mixed tapes of Genesis, Peter Gabriel, and Sting. I needed to see this concert with her. The first time we saw Sting together was the night I had announced to her that I was pregnant with my first child. As I jumped along to the music that night, she kept trying to hold me down to keep me from hurting myself, worried because I was pregnant.

This year, we’ve both hit some hard times. Thus, when I called her about the Sting/Gabriel concert, she immediately said, “LET’S DO THIS.”

Last night was one of the most amazing concerts I have ever had the pleasure of being present at (and that’s saying a lot since I’ve seen some incredible shows). Peter Gabriel started the night off with a rock hard version of Rhythm Of The Heat (you know that BRRRRRONG from the film Inception and the looming drums in most film trailers? Inspired by this song).

People light up their phone flashlights in lieu of lighters to “Love Can Heal.”

Sting followed after with If I Ever Lose My Faith In You. It’s definitely one of his more pop driven tracks, however, it started what was a great back and forth feeling for the night. Peter Gabriel would drive in, then Sting would answer, and the night felt more like a nice rollercoaster ride of greatest hits and some new tracks as well. As they came up to explain their formula for evening, up on stage the two looked like to best friends about to duel at karaoke. Gabriel would josh on Sting’s looks, while Sting would play up Gabriel’s versatility as a showman. I laughed. I cried. I turned to look at my sister and dance with her. Both of us overjoyed at reliving our teenage hood (we’re eight years apart) together for once.

Gabriel and Sting comedy night.
Sister best friends forever.

One of highlights of the night for me was Sting starting off with the first verse of pre-1975 Genesis’ Dancing With The Moonlit Knight (“selling England by the pound”), and then plow right into Message In A BottleIt was as a response to his and Gabriel’s reaction to Brexit this week. Oh and they played so many hits, so many wonderful renditions together of each other’s music. Peter Gabriel did Sting’s If You Love Somebody Set Them Free in his lounge inspired glam style. And that’s the thing, while both of them are prolific songwriters and accomplished musicians, while Sting is Sting by his presence, Peter Gabriel’s been glaming it up with the likes of David Bowie and Robert Fripp for ages. For me, Gabriel is one of the most influential artists out there, not just because of his music, but also by what he always brings to the stage. Whether it’s in costume changes or weird ass dance moves, but Gabriel’s voice transcends the persona he projects up there and brings shivers especially when performing this song:


Here’s a setlist for the night: http://www.setlist.fm/setlist/sting-and-peter-gabriel/2016/air-canada-centre-toronto-on-canada-43ffa7ef.html

Needless to say I am on cloud nine for a while. By chance because it was Gabriel, I got to see Tony Levin play with two tight lineups in one year (with Peter Gabriel last night, and King Crimson earlier)! I am in prog-rock heaven.

I died. I came back to life. I am refreshed. The dark will back as always, but for now, I have music.

I adore my sister. We’ve both seen each other through thick and thin and best and worst. Last night was the best, not just because of the music, but because it’s a reminder that no matter what, reach out. Don’t give up.

“At the end of ‘Don’t Give Up,’ when the pounding bass takes over, I found myself skanking, dancing reggae style; I was in Jamaica in the spirit of Bob Marley; I saw the break of my marriage, my move from Los Angeles to Rome, my change of name, change of face, my own struggles and determination to make it again ’cause I have friends’ who would help me not to give up.” Armando Gallo, Peter Gabriel, (Omnibus Press, 1986).


“‘And Englishman in New York,’ was more of an open tribute to Quentin Crisp. The pair had met when Sting suggested him for a role in The Bride, and their friendship grew when Sting came to New York. ‘He’s one of my heroes and one of the most courageous men I’ve ever met. He was homosexual in England at a time when being so was physically dangerous, and he was himself, with no apologies, in such a flamboyant and brave way that should be an example to us all.'” – Sting, from Sting: the biography by Robert Sellers, (Omnibus Press, 1989)





Although they delved into some old stuff, I still wish they’d played these two songs (I was just in the mood for them…although my Gabriel and Sting choices change day by day):








The Jesus And Mary Chain 30th Anniversary Tour – Phoenix Concert Theatre May 1, 2015


My ruminations on shows or albums here aren’t reviews. They’re often me waxing about nostalgia and the idolatry in it. It seems to be a theme with most shows these days. I’m trying to make up for lost time too of not going out to live performances as a kid. As a teenager I was content to sit with my albums, body flush with the floor, and headphones at a frequency blasting volume. Psychocandy was one of those albums that I had to add to your essentials collection because it was in heavy rotation on Citylimits (the midnight alternative Much Music video show in Canada).

It’s apparently been thirty years since Psychocandy came out, but my heart wouldn’t know it.

Once darlings of the British press and still idols to many, the band formed in the outskirts of Glasgow, Scotland in 1983. Brothers William and Jim Reid aren’t just alternative rocker icons, they’re originals. William Reid’s thrashing guitar, a noise that the guitarist himself has been known to get lost in, attacks the body and screams out the listener’s ears. It’s a throbbing sort of fuzz that seeps into the bottom of the gut and settles somewhere between the stomach and the heart. Jim Reid’s vocals are soft, they kind of sneak up on you, as if he was calming the heart down from their guitars’ screeching crescendos.

“Moving up and so alive
In her honey dripping beehive
It’s good, so good, it’s so good
So good”

Was it all branding? Was this their hook? Back then, and mostly as a teen I guess, I didn’t care. Their honeyed words and devil may care attitude made me care only about that voice and the pulsing noise candy in my ears.

I had the luck and the great pleasure of seeing The Jesus and Mary Chain last night for their sold out show at The Phoenix Concert Theatre in Toronto. It was incredible.

Instead of headphones, I donned earplugs to prepare for the sonic onslaught. The crowd felt electric around me talking about shows past. William and Jim are notorious for their brotherly fallouts and combined tempers, onstage and offstage. Whether its money or the music that fuels their reunion, it didn’t matter to most of us though. There weren’t any big corporate logos last night except for the one on the beverage in my hand.

photo by moi.

The show openers were L.A. based alt rock band Gateway Drugs. There are a few bands with that name and it was hard to find info on them beforehand so I didn’t know what to expect. I was pleasantly surprised. They are neither a hip-hop band nor a retro analogue synth band. They’re a melancholic shoegaze outfit that not only delivered the rock, but the attitude as well. Comprised of Blues Williams and Gab, Noa, and Live Niles (children of The Knack’s Prescott Niles) the band played a tight set of garage rock with a bit of punk aesthetic to cleanse the audience’s palette. The bass was turned up way too high in the theatre, but there was enough in their musicianship and emo stances for me to decide that I needed to explore them further. The band sort of levitated around their drummer, Gabe, who was a hot chaotic mess. It was a wonderful sight. This is what a live show is: to present, engender, and elicit audiences. Gateway Drugs did just that.

Sugar, rock and roll doesn’t die. It waits.

photo by moi.

The Jesus and Mary Chain are an efficient machine. First order of business was Jim Reid giving the audience the first order of business. They were to play a small set then return to play an even longer set. I think he wanted to assure us they’d be back after the break, lest we rush the stage (or riot – as in past live history) in disappointment. They didn’t disappoint at all. They sped through a lilting April Skies and crushed the audience with the title track, Psycho Candy. William Reid would veer his body towards the amps and lose himself for a bit, having his brother give him the occasional nod to come back to what they were doing. The second set (for lack of better words) drove me ‘crazy banana pants.’ Starting off with Just Like Honey (accompanied by Gateway Drugs’ vocalist, Liv Niles), Jim showed a bit more emotion, that is, if you count a desultory smirk as an emotion. You know what? You can, because overall Jim was very appreciative of the Toronto crowd. His vocals are still as sweet and as inviting and as he’d hit the upsurge in his notes, the crowd would meet him with an intensified frenzy. Jim would flash a slight smile behind the microphone and quickly revert back to seriousness. It was freaking adorable.

I died right at Taste The Floor. That song is in my top ten songs of all time. That list changes all the time, predictably expanding in size, but Taste The Floor remains and never leaves an empty spot.

“And the sun don’t shine
And all the stars don’t shine
And all the walls fall down
And all the fish get drowned

She’s singing to herself
As she’s singing in herself
And she walk right up to you
As she walk all over you”

Yes, she will Jim. Yes, she will. At my side, my best friend Jen jumped around like crazy, despite her back pain, as soon as they went into My Little Underground. By that time I think most of the audience had forgotten where they were and bounced around like teenagers. The band tripped its audience up and matched up their set with gorgeous visuals to create a subdued yet delighting spectacle. There was no pretension or allusions that they were better than their audience. Unique to The Jesus And Mary Chain is that after all this time, with this many fans who still anticipate new work from them, they still present an angry with the world demeanor. Sure, their pasty white pallor might have the hint of healthy times, but we’re all still down and managing it by staring at our shoes for respite. Nowadays their punkish attitude has mellowed out, but it doesn’t feel like age hammered the desolation out of them. Jim and William rocked out with their melodic wall of noise because in many ways, they’d invented it. But the Reid brothers have always exuded doom and gloom angst purely in their music. They just had a great audience last night to match their sweet revved up distortion and it was fantastic.

I’m still beaming.

This photo of me going a bit nuts courtesy of my pal, Aaron.

Thoughts on the band Slowdive and Souvlaki Space Station


In the early to mid nineties I worked at Radio Erindale, the University of Mississauga campus radio station. Those were interesting years because, not only was the campus a two hour transit ride from home, but it also was my first step to an independent life. Radio Erindale had its tiny cast of characters that feel larger than life looking back now. We had our resident goth, Leonard, who’d sleep on the dingy crew sofa before his show. He’d wake up in a flurry or black and angst to do it too. Our avant-garde, experimental chic guy was Tom Sekowski. His name might be familiar to many as a music writer for Exclaim and many other fledgling mags of the time. Then the philosopher Christopher Hendry who was really into Jack Kerouac and laid back indie and shoegaze fare. Steve McMaster was head of our station at the time and would regale us with tales of his adventures hobnobbing with musical guests. Also, Mike “Metal Mike” Filonienko and Sam Pisani who were a conservative metal duo who introduced me to Husker Du and Sugar. I was the girl in the crew at the radio station. I had my own show of mishmash stuff, but my main duty was to crash in the music library to work or do my readings for class (as if that ever got done there).

I was all starry eyed about everything at the time, but my head was always in the music library, sorting and organizing records and cds. It was my job which paid close to nothing, but eventually I became promotions manager and acting station manager when Steve left. Most of the time, I’d get first dibs at listening to the new releases that came into the station. I was exposed to a lot and one of the albums I first listened to there was Slowdive’s Souvlaki Space Station.

The listening room at the station was cramped and tiny, so I chose to listen to most stuff over the indoor speakers as I put away stuff. I remember almost falling over myself listening to that Slowdive album. The haunting sounds of the cover of Lee Hazelwood/Nancy Sinatra’s “Some Velvet Morning,” floored me completely. “40 Days,” was the musical equivalent of meeting a long lost friend, while “When The Sun Sits,”   It’s an album which is like a tempered wall of noise, you know it’s going to explode into a sonic boom of guitars, lilting vocals, and ethereal feedbacks, all birthed in a droning beatnik bass lines and rumbling percussion. The combination of Neil Halstead (vocals, guitar), Rachel Goswell (vocals, guitar – an angel, if you ask me), Christian Savill (guitar), Nick Chaplin (bass), Simon Scott (drums – a whirlwind of awesome), and Brian Eno on production work on “Sing” and “Here She Comes” was and is the perfect chimera of noise candy.

Souvlaki is/was a must have, as I listened to it constantly, and still do. It would be my lullaby, my day dream music, my soother, and most of all, my greatest companion when I’d lie on the floor of the studio or my bedroom and I thought the world was too much. I’d escape to it, like a great book, and fly over my little ordinary world into something beyond myself. My world was then shoegaze and my ears have been forever grateful for that.

I was too young and sheltered to see them back in 1994, but last night I got to see them at The Danforth Music Hall. They didn’t disappoint. They performed a surprisingly danceable version of “Allison” (usually I’d twirl to it in my room. I was pretty much pogo-ing most of the night). “When The Sun Sets” was overwhelming to experience in person, while “Crazy For You” had the guy next to me in hysterics.

I only took two pictures. This one: http://instagram.com/p/uuN9_4IV5a/?modal=true

and this one: http://instagram.com/p/uuOK-iIV5j/?modal=true

You can see some pretty great ones if you scroll down on the hashtag on twitter: https://twitter.com/search?f=realtime&q=%23slowdive&src=typd

Honestly, I felt like I was meeting that friend that sang me to sleep, sang me through the hard times, and the great times when the rain would fall slowly like a film noir, or the sun came blazing out of the trees in walks through the city. I’m incredibly ecstatic today and wearing my Slowdive shirt like a lingering comfort hug. Thank you so much to Slowdive for last night, all the nights beforehand, and the ones to come. Even in the reincarnations and side projects you’ve gifted us (Mojave 3 <3), your other albums (Pygmalion deserves an essay of its own), demos and b-sides, you continue to amaze and give me pause for thought. Slowdive, I adore you.

P.S. I still meet up with those Radio Erindale guys. They became lifelong buddies.

Kraftwerk @ Sony Centre March 29, 2014 – thoughts




Mounting an overwhelming mixed media assault on the Sony Centre, Kraftwerk benefited from their eerily prophetic influence over the modern fascination with retro futurism. With spectators bedecked in 3D glasses, made to look like droids themselves, the quartet activated their entertainment machine with the seminal “Robots.” It was a dramatic intro for the night and it stood out as a true statement of intent for the rest of the show. The band, dressed in reflective hieratic costumes stood in perfect alignment on stage delivering just what one would expect of a concert put on by humanoid robots equipped with vocoders and 3D technology. Now that might not seem like an endorsement, in fact it’s quite the opposite, since Kraftwerk’s strength lies in their stark presentation of the minimalist audio-visual art form: they’re a fruitful merging of music and technology.

Consecutively playing song after song from their last eight albums, Kraftwerk travelled through their back catalogue highlighting popular themes. With “Numbers,” the screen spat out endless figures over the audience’s heads reminiscent of 1980s desktop images. In “Computer World,” an old school PC floated by as the crowd roared their nostalgic approval. There was a futuristic melancholy in their choice of images that made the band seem more prescient now in retrospect. “Spacelab” was definitely the highlight of the show. The accompanying projections transformed the venue into a giant spacecraft zooming through the stratosphere, soaring with the UFOs, and finally gently landing by the CN tower, much to the enthusiasm of the crowd. “Das Model” was beautifully executed with kitschy 1950s vintage footage, while “Radioactivity” provided a disturbing spin with a quick reference to the Fukushima disaster. They played an extended version of “Tour de France” from their Vitamin album at the median, which felt more like an ode to Ralf Hütter, who is an avid cyclist. Surprisingly, while “Autobahn” was the crowd favorite it may have been the only weakness in the set. Its long version in performance didn’t provide anything different to its music video version. Nonetheless the synthpop love was clearly felt as Kraftwerk looped through familiar beats and fully took advantage of the crystal clear sound system of the venue.

As “Music Non Stop” closed the concert, individual members took turns to show off their synthesizer prowess, leaving Hütter, sole survivor of the original outfit, alone on stage. By this point the audience could barely stay in their seats and a few got up to dance. A girl managed to jump the stage to hug the band before security whisked her away. Kraftwerk had “worked” the crowd without budging from their android-like exteriors

Having changed the history of pop four decades ago as pioneers of electronic music, Kraftwerk still puts on an electrifying show. It’s interesting to note that while the band barely interacted with the crowd, the images that encompassed the Centre that night made for intimate and indelible impressions. If Kraftwerk were a thesis of impending concert entertainment, the possibilities of what come might next are as exciting as they are palpable. The future is definitely now.

The Cosmic Lawnmower: On my love for pre-1975 Genesis


In the afterglow of seeing the Genesis cover band, The Musical Box, I find myself full of heart. Therefore, in lieu of lambasting my social media channels with all things Genesis, I think I’ll write down my thoughts here. I’m on two hours of sleep (had to send off my son on an overnight school trip to Quebec and had been up for a friend’s party after the concert), so pardon if this all comes out as gibberish. I will do my best.

When I was about seven years old, my parents bought me a little blue and white transistor radio. It kind of looked like this:


I used to carry that thing everywhere and my last memories of it were when I was 9/10 and lived in Windsor (this was at a particularly hard time in my life. I wouldn’t say I had a bad childhood, but a trauma(s) back then tainted all things dark for me in that time period). I was in the school playground at St. Alphonsus, and the song, “The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway,” came up. It was memorable enough that, although I didn’t know who sang it at the time, I kept remembering it.  Later on, while in the library I remember looking up “On Broadway,” and thinking that it wasn’t the same song I had heard on the radio.

Fast forward to about grade eight and I had become a fan of Peter Gabriel‘s music. I had bought his first two albums on tape with my allowance after hearing, “Games Without Frontiers.”  I didn’t have access to a computer then and the internet wasn’t what it is today. If you needed information on bands, you either needed to talk to people who knew things about music or research in the library or magazines. My parents got me these two books for my birthday the year Gabriel’s album, “So,” came out.

20140126_082230 (1)

That’s when I learned that Gabriel was in Genesis. I gobbled up all that information and was enthralled by the theatrics, the musicianship, and the spectacle of pre-1975 Genesis. It also left me with a bit of sadness since I was too young to have seen them live back in the day. It was when I was watching the New Music around then that I learned that Genesis had come to Toronto and performed The Lamb Lies Down Broadway. Wait. What? Broadway?



That’s when it clicked. I sought out all things Genesis on tape and found The Lamb. The biggest wave of nostalgia, the missing transistor radio of my past, hit me like a brick and I remembered good things out of the bad in my past. Before I knew it, I had memorized all the words (all twenty minutes) to Supper’s Ready and had become a Genesis mega-fan. By then I had already started a tiny correspondence habit (no it wasn’t tiny) with Peter Gabriel’s secretary at Real World Studios. Gabriel didn’t have a fan group or anything set up, so his very awesome secretary, Penny (and afterwards, Tina), used to send me copies of the Gabriel newsletter the Gabbler Ratchet and song lyrics. They became my only pen pals in a time before the internet. I lost touch with them as I got older and distracted with new things in my life. I also went through a whole The Police phase during that too.

Music had always been more of an escape for me than movies were back then. My social life consisted of school, my walkman, books (during my two hour commutes to the UofT campus in Mississauga or home), and movies (while skipping classes at the downtown St. George campus). I’d make up stories from pre-1975 Genesis songs before ever seeing concert footage. Then youtube came along and changed all that. I watched footage after footage and even the band’s television performances which were full of the same drama as their legendary concerts.

I can pinpoint a few things that made me a fan. The sets spoke to an internal seventies nostalgia that is reminiscent of a lost love in my past: my childhood (memories between the ages of 4 and 8 years old). The seventies for me were of puffy brown and yellow snow jackets, big Cougar boots, and long hair. They were a time when my dad sported a huge afro, my mom had colourful flower blouses, red elevator shoes, and our home was decorated with orange leather furniture. We had a black and white television in my parent’s room where we would pile on the bed on Sundays while my dad watched sports and sneaked the channel to cartoons when he’d fall asleep. He’d scold me and say, “My eyes are closed, but I’m still watching!” I’d laugh and try to pry his eyelids open.

I used to own a tulip hat (much like Gabriel sports in The Lawnmower skit he does before singing, “I Know What I Like“), and wear that thing to pretend I was a flower in garden. I had skirts that would twirl up if I spun around. I had plastic pretend food that I’d pretend to make on my Easy Bake stove/oven combo.

Tony Banks‘s distinctive sound (Korgs, Wurli reverbs, Mellotron, etc.) spoke of the imagination of the times and the promise of something beyond the things that would spark the stories that I used to make up as a kid. Mike Rutherford‘s and Steve Hackett‘s complex guitar solos were like audio math magic. Phil Collins‘s drums were always easy to pick out, but back in pre-1975 Genesis he had brilliance born out of angst; you can’t find stuff like that in his solo and post-Gabriel Genesis work. And Peter Gabriel…the vocals and his lyrics came from rich school boy existential catharsis: it’s a romantic ethos that’s both intriguing and inspiring. Imagine putting Lindsay Anderson’s If… to music, and then you’ve got a young Gabriel voice. Some may call it angelic, but I call it cosmic. As the albums got bigger and the lyrics more obscured, the songs were refined and stand as a classic example of progressive rock run amok. Think of King Crimson on acid with a dose of political commentary and sex. Yes, even more than what Crimson already are; that’s pre-1975 Genesis. They were as subversive as their sets were elaborate. Gabriel’s costumes elicited feelings of dread and arousal for all.

Artwork from the inside of the Lamb Lies Down On Broadway album cover

So it was with great fascination and jealousy that I heard some friends comment one day that they had seen The Musical Box live at the Danforth Music Hall last year. We got into a nice discussion of favourite Genesis songs and what pieces they performed that night. Then out of the blue, one of them remembered that they had a second date in January at the Mississauga Living Arts Centre. As soon as I got home that night, I grabbed a ticket. Having not taken Mississauga transit since the nineties, I didn’t know how I was going to get there and get back home, I just knew that I was going.

Last night I did! I found my seat between two older couples. The whole venue was full of a different demographic for me. At forty, I was surrounded by hardcore older Genesis fans, people who had actually seen them in concert when I hadn’t heard of them yet. Before the concert started I gulped down my stranger anxiety and turned to my seat mates.

“I apologize now if I scream or cry tonight. It’s been an impossible lifetime dream for me to see Genesis live.”

A lady in her sixties beside me, hoisted up her beer, and said, “Well darling, this is the next best thing. You’re going to love it.”


As the venue darkened, the organ slowly marched into our ears, and a Gabrielesque silhoutte with batwings and glowing yellow eyes appeared. I was transported to 1973, the year I was born, when Gabriel stepped on stage and performed “Watcher of the Skies.”

(There’s more in the set above. Sit back and enjoy that.)

I thought I had travelled through time and there were goosebumps on my arms. This Montreal ensemble had made an impossible fantasy/dream come true. I wished throughout that they’d perform all of the pre-1975 Genesis (they were SO ACCURATE), especially Supper’s Ready (and guess what, they performed that too, all twenty minutes of it!). I sang along. I know every trill, every guitar pick, every chord of their songs in my head. It’s part of the bank of popular useless information, only its the kind that is useful to me. It grounds me when I need a friend. It tells me that things were good even when they felt so bad. It’s the part of my brain pre-1975 Genesis dwells in and it will never leave because I never want it too.

Denis Gagné as Peter Gabriel performing The Flower in Supper’s Ready.

I feel somewhat similarly about other bands, but it’s never been quite the same as pre-1975 Genesis. I used to make mixed tapes of their music for all my friends regardless of their tastes because I loved the band so much and I wanted to know more people that did too. Last night, as I was singing along, others were too, they even knew the Gabriel chatter in between guitar and set changes. It made my year and the  year just started. It would be interesting to see what album they bring back to life the next time they come back. I definitely want to catch The Musical Box again.


Steve Hackett, Peter Gabriel, Tony Banks, Phil Collins, and Mike Rutherford.

Now if only there were a Magma cover band….


Note: I have seen Gabriel live two times. Very memorable and awesome experiences. Highly recommended.

Gabbler Ratchet Prog Rock Archives: http://www.progarchives.com/Collaborators.asp?id=12103