Carl Palmer's ELP Legacy
With Carl Palmer now in his late sixties it should be no surprise that the average demographic of his audience is not far behind, and it was telling that the expectant crowd could have been waiting for Steven Isserlis or Yo-Yo Ma, such was their hushed reverence. As we were directed to our seats I heard someone comment how good it was to see so many young people at the gig - which is, of course, something that’s only ever gets said when there are so few. It shouldn’t have mattered either way. This was a room full of people who had clearly come to worship at the altar of one of the greats, perhaps a little surprised that it was in the cavernous Epic Studios they were about to do so.
Having wandered on stage with little pomp or fanfare, the two youngest people in the building were probably those standing either side of Palmer’s mammoth drum kit. Both preposterously talented musicians, guitarist Paul Bielatowicz and bassist Simon Fitzpatrick seemed remarkably at ease playing alongside one of the most respected drummers in rock, as they kicked off the evening with the theme to Peter Gunn. It was a timely reminder that ELP weren’t all bombast and embellishment, in a night that proved to be a touching memorial to Palmer’s departed colleagues. He spoke movingly of Keith Emerson and Greg Lake, both of whom died last year, with a grace and humility that belied ELP’s status as one of the biggest bands of the seventies.
Palmer was keen to celebrate his partner’s earlier work, playing both Leonard Bernstein’s America in homage to Emerson’s involvement with The Nice, and King Crimson’s Schizoid Man as a nod to Greg Lake. It was a generosity of spirit that he extended to his current band, standing aside to showcase Simon Fitzpatrick’s extraordinary skills on the Chapman stick playing Take a Pebble, and Paul Bielatowicz’s brilliant guitar work on Clair de Lune. All of which is not to suggest we were deprived of the classic ELP wall of sound. Quite apart from Knife Edge, Trilogy and Lucky Man, the bands glorious reinvention of Bartok and Orff were brilliantly reimagined. Best of all, and probably what many in the room were waiting for all evening, was Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition, a fabulously overblown, exuberant rendition of a piece of music ELP almost made their own.
The evening closed on Fanfare for The Common Man, with a colossal drum solo wedged into the middle. Drum solos are usually a good excuse to nip to the bar, but Palmer is so brilliantly inventive that it’s hard to take your eyes, let alone your ears, off what he’s doing. His percussive abilities appear to stretch way beyond what a human being should be capable of with only two hands and feet, something that was really the key to the whole evening. For while some might say that Copland would turn in their grave at what was done to his music, there can surely be no sensible argument about the skill with which it was executed by Palmer and his fellows. This was fundamentally an evening of outstanding musical excellence born of talent and sheer hard slog in an age of sampling and auto tune.
There has been a lot of nonsense written about music in the 70s, largely by people too young to have experienced it. Punk didn’t sweep Progressive Rock away, any more than it did Jazz, Minimalism or Mozart. On the contrary, audiences of the day were perfectly able to sit crossed legged, stroking their collective chins to Camel or The Enid, and then the following week jump around to the Damned or Dr Feelgood. Enjoyment of the one didn’t preclude the other. It’s just that some nights you want fine dining, while on others you just want a pizza. Carl Palmer’s band was a welcome reminder that, once in a while, it’s great to be served a Michelin star performance.
