Lush and pacific in a moody sort of way, this solo effort from a former Camel keyboard whiz Jαи Schεlhααs is a fine record that listlessly sails to new neuron pathways via waves of synth and a camaraderie of other instruments. Vocals aren't too bad either: layered yet whimsical in neo-Canterburian tradition. Rawkin'.
Psychedelic dalliances, jazzy chops and a left-turn pop sensibility come together brilliantly on this late-to-the-party slice of progressive rock, and in its brightest moments it matches this band's earlier classics in the genre peak-for-peak and pound for pound.
Although very much a love letter to all those prog. bands from the 70's who got shafted by the mainstream media throughout that decade, The Tangent's debut is also extremely sharp taken on it's own musical merits. Clocking at a nicely digestible 48 minutes through four compositions (which I've painstakingly pieced together through Audacity and other programs for the convenience of you all), The Music That Died Alone does something distinct and interesting with each song to give the listener a taste of different prog. flavors of the era it laments. Opening suite 'In Darkest Dreams' is good stomper: the keyboards are very ELP, but the sax and vocals give a certain smokiness to the proceedings reminiscent of Van Der Graaf Generator in places. 'The Canterbury Sequence', on the other hand, rife with flute and drum tinkering, is whimsical a'la Caravan and early Camel, providing a nice contrast to the opener.
The title track is the real cream of this crop though, aching nostalgia and all. Harmonious and downtempo, it's the final nail in the coffin of why this album clicks: it's beautiful, but not sickeningly so. Furthermore, the songs are memorable, yet not irritating in their smugness. An honest record by people who miss a certain time in music so badly that they'd probably kill to bring it back....and, for one glorious hour at least, manage to recreate it here.
