Banks: Seven

The bridge between classical music and rock is littered with the wrecks of well-intentioned hybrid works that unfortunately end up somewhere in the middle ground between both genres. Often, orchestras will play “the music of . . .” rock acts such as the Rolling Stones, or rock artists themselves will try their hand at composing pieces for an orchestra. Too often the former ends up sounding like muzak and the latter ends up being largely arranged and orchestrated by others with dubious results. In the end, most fail to engage the listener musically.

Looking at this past history, it is a brave person who seeks to cross the path between these worlds. Seven: A Suite for Orchestra, though, stands out as a prime exception to the general rule. Composer Tony Banks is perhaps best known for his writing and keyboard playing with the progressive rock group Genesis over the last three decades. Seven is his first full orchestral album, and represents the best example of a rock artist crossing over into classical thus far. Generally, there are several reasons why this work succeeds. Banks’ compositions have always favored more complex musical structures that lend themselves to expansion with an orchestra, compared with normal pedestrian three-chord rock structures. Many of Banks’ previous compositions were laden with classical influences such as Rachmaninov and Ravel. Additionally, as Banks explains in the notes accompanying the album, he wrote and arranged the pieces himself and minimally used an orchestrator, Simon Hale. The pieces were written for an orchestra, and are not rock compositions later adapted by an independent arranger. Banks had previously done orchestral music for the film entitled The Wicked Lady in 1983, and instrumental music for several film scores thereafter. Banks also avoided making the album a display of instrumental virtuosity with mere orchestral coloration in the background. Rather, the emphasis here is on composition. Where Banks plays piano, he does so minimally and only to augment the orchestra. The music on Seven also does not pander to the trendy “pop” classical pastures of acts like Bond, and instead has depth and substance. Finally, Banks himself is a listener and aficionado of classical music, and thus Seven is not some whimsical foray into a new genre.

As for the music on Seven, there are seven separate songs that can stand on their own, yet which work as a whole. The musical influences range from Banks’ own instrumental and film work to the English Romanticism of Vaughan Williams. There is also a touch of other 20th Century composers, including Sibelius and Shostakovich. Banks plays piano on three of the tracks: Spring Tide, The Ram, and The Spirit of Gravity. Black Down, which is named after a hill located near Banks’ residence, ranks highly with this listener, as it evokes a dark romanticism throughout. Spring Tide features several interlocked melodies, and its introduction is also an appropriate opening for the album. Another favorite is The Spirit of Gravity, which like much of Banks’ previous instrumental work, progresses through several differing parts while remaining focused in purpose.

The London Philharmonic Orchestra was appropriately selected by Banks—they assist throughout with fervent playing of each piece. The sound is excellent and results from co-producer Nick Davis along with the location of the orchestral recording at Air Lyndhurst, which is an advanced studio with an old Victorian church as its “live room.” Even the painting “Le Pays Avec Arbres” by the late Stefan Knapp was selected by Banks personally and appropriately adorns the cover, thereby completing the whole package.

Therefore, Seven is highly recommended by this listener as a superb work by an excellent composer who should do more within the classical genre.

During the late 1970s and early 1980s, I was heavily into Genesis, and the songs I found most inventive and imaginative tended to be those written by Tony Banks. `Me and Sarah Jane' from the `Abacab' album had a certain orchestral grandeur to it. I was therefore intrigued when I heard that Tony Banks had written a suite for orchestra.

And yet the orchestration has been done by Simon Hale. Why? For, it is the orchestration that adds character to the notes; a piece written by Vaughan Williams and orchestrated by him is profoundly different from a piece he has written and orchestrated by someone else. Banks writes in the sleevenotes, "I wanted to make sure that the pieces ended up being a true representation of what I had originally written, even though I know I was going to need the help of an orchestrator." I am surprised that Banks does not consider he has the experience to orchestrate the pieces himself, especially with the software that has been available since the 1980s.

On first hearing, I was disappointed by how twee the suite sounds, at the conservatism and traditionalism on offer. I was reminded of Miss Marple! Is this the music of the twenty-first century? Hardly; it could have been written one hundred years ago. Is Banks making a stake for film soundtrack commissions? But on further hearings, I grew more appreciative of the Englishness of the soundscape, which often mirrors a Home Counties pastorale. By the way, I found it easier to appreciate the pieces by not thinking of their titles; indeed, it would have been better, in my view, to have called the suite `Seven Orchestral Etudes'. They are at best a pleasant set, but I was never moved.

After the opening `Spring Tide', the second piece, `Black Down', orchestrated almost exclusively for strings, opens with hints of Barber's famous adagio, betraying a quiet melancholy, but later transformed into a warmer take on something that hints at Vaughan Williams. Then follows `The Gateway', a lovers' theme for a soundtrack. There is a pleasant theme on the flute; indeed, everything is all oh so pleasant! The climax of the piece brought John Barry to mind.

The fourth piece, `The Ram', is the only allegro and is probably the best of the set. It's a shame that it is not as incisive or as angry or stormy as it could have been. Something grand could have been made of this with its mocking brass and incessant rhythm. It is let down again by too large a dose of pleasantness. The fifth, `Earthlight', is light and fluffy; the sixth, `Neap Tide' starts with rhythms that hint of things becoming interesting, but alas Class FM calls!

The seventh and final track, `The Spirit of Gravity' (yeah, right), at almost twelve minutes, is the longest piece. Despite an interesting opening, we enter the world of what sounds like children's games in a playground. The recapitulation of the opening theme could have been so easily developed into a Bruckner-style chorale, but it fades too soon into Sibelian woodwind trills. The resulting ride through themes heard earlier in the work is, though, quite impressive, and `Seven' ends poignantly unresolved.

The London Philharmonic is conducted by Mike Dixon. There is a fragility often evident in the playing of the pieces, which may or may not have been intended. Banks himself plays the piano. It does not appear on all the tracks and, when it does, it is not too obtrusive; it is merely another instrument in the `pleasant' mix.

I can only imagine that it is my expectations that are at fault. I have loved Tony Banks' work over the years - especially 'Curious Feeling' - and I based my expectations upon what he has done so far - hardly an unreasonable basis. However, all the gorgeous chords and chord-changes, all the scintillating arpeggios and all that wonderful Banks "feeling" - these are mostly conspicuous by their absence. I am very sorry to say that although 'Seven' is pleasant and pastoral, it is, to my ears at least, bland.