In what could be their grand finale as far as new music is concerned, Pallas bring their long story to a timely close. One of the brave new world of the new Prog Rock bands of the early Eighties, they’ve had a rollercoaster of a career; one where the more recent work from Beat The Drum to The Messenger, has seen them do justice to their legacy.

There’s a sense of squaring off the circle as the core of Graeme Murray, Niall Mathewson, Alan Reed and Ronnie Brown join forces and all contribute to the vocal duties in what’s almost a untypical Pallas set. The roots of course are there with grand gestures of their heavier take on Prog Rock as they explore themes of people and human interaction, relationships, moods and emotions. Perhaps a sign of their times and sense of self-reflection as much as the spiky instrumental work in Rage an early indication of what to expect. The title track too is a gentle singsong lullaby with a twist.

What contemporary Pallas bring to the table is less of the sprawling prog epics of yore with grandiose overtures and blinding solos (although Niall lets rip beautifully mid-DIRT) and more of a controlled dignity. Staely without the overblown gestures. There’s a part near the final of The Private Collector that could even pass as a last post. Heavy Prog Rock we know they do and have done splendidly for several decades,. Mood and atmosphere are the order of the day and come to the party with reflections and musings aplenty as we tread the Avenue Of Broken Dreams armed with what might be tainted Aspirations. A Song For Tomorrow yes, but a fitting addition to the Pallas legacy.

Subtitled by The Tangent as ‘A nostalgia’. A subtitle that really says it all about Was. And The Tangent too. This was The Tangent.

There’s always been a bit of ‘was’ or nostalgia (using the terms interchangeably) about The Tangent. Proper Prog Rock in the grandest sense. Supper’s Off, a charging track tagged onto the Proxy album is a personal favourite with Andy Tillison delivering one of his fabulous rants; we love him spitting out the lines about Yes at QPR and running off to Genesis. Ah, bliss – Lovely stuff.

 So, Was promises and delivers as distillation of all that The Tangent has been known for. Yes, it’s nostalgic in sound and tone but not just through rose tinted spectacles or photographs in black and white or even artefacts from a Robert Opie collection. It sees some of the band’s most ambitious work to date, which is quite some claim for The Tangent. The sights, sounds and words of discovery are liberally dispatched across three tracks on the main album (plus even more to devour on a couple of extra discs).

Was (the track) finds The Tangent in fine fusion form, where the orchestral, the classical and the grand goes toe-to-toe with organ driven Floyd funk and ahead of its more sedate Was Not partner, packed with the sort of musical twists and turns that match the butterfly thought processes that feed the lyrics.

Separating Was with Was Not, is the intermission of Follow The River (that in parts might even soundtrack some of those half time ads) where in keeping, we can swig on a KiaOra and dip into a rock solid ice cream tub with a woefully inadequate wooden spoon before being wowed by another lengthy offering. One whose moods lie more dormant and whiff of wistful remeniscences,

Our favourite bit of Was might not even be musical one – John Jowitt as Thunderbird evil nemesis, The Hood is hard to top. having said that, the instrumental work in Was Not (iv) The Prog Rock Bit In 7 is terrific with Luke Machin’s best guitar bit of the album. A record that encourages us to don the rose tinted bi-focals and indulge in what might have been, for whatever reason, simpler times.

I think going a little deeper into Was in the not too distant future is a no brainer. Maybe even get somewhat nostalgic over it – but Was is indeed a record that deserves the time and care with which it was created.

Neal Morse and his band of enthusiastic young bucks return two years on from their inspirational (but what else from Morse?) No Hill For A Climber. At the core sits Morse with his irrepressible passion for spiritual outpouring,  which on this occasion finds a concept centered on a spiritual journey, one that comes from the often-overlooked biblical figure Terah, the father of Abraham. For the unbeliever, another test (or learning journey) while musically, the challenge of being at a stage where you wonder if you’ve heard some of these riffs, musical twists and turns or melodies somewhere else in the guise of the Neal Morse Band, Spock’s, Transatlantic..etc.

There are guarantees and fulfilled expectations despite the opening dilemma “I don’t know where I’m going but I feel that I must go.” Myriads of dizzying time signatures? Check. Head to the final track and yes, ten minutes where the second half will be readying the kitchen sink moment for the grand finale? Check. A balance of emotive anguish and ultimate deliverance? Check. Tommy-esque strings and brass? Check

Not forgetting the influence of the Resonance who bring a rich variety in terms of not only vocal contributions but in stirring Morse into what could be some of the heftiest guitar riffing he’s ever delivered to counteract some of his sweet spot Beatles influences. Certainly some outrageous passages with the band managing to channel everything in the same direction while some heavy lifting going on in regular spurts; check out Cascading Skies and The Ashes. The there’s the pastoral The Time (To Be Timeless) that throws the spotlight squarely on Neal and his acoustic guitar and a sumptuousness to die for.

The inspiration may come from a higher source, but here on Earth we find Neal Morse once again walking on water, or simply turning it into wine.

The exotic sounding duo of Omar Rodríguez-López and Cedric Bixler-Zavala – two outlandish knights of ever there were such – remain the core of a band who put the prog into pregressive and exist at the boundaries of arty progressive experimentalism. Proof? Always take the live album as a starting point – and, lo and behold, Lucro Sucio lands right in time to tempt in some (as yet) non-believers.

Lulled in by the dreamy intro of Fin, the wild and wonderful journey soon offers up the challenge of a myriad of styles, tempos and instrumental excess. The best of what prog was offering back in the day when The Crims, The Softs and The Gentle Giants were being deliberately eccentric. Marcel Rodríguez-López, Eva Gardner, Philo Tsoungui, Teri Gender Bender and Leo Genovese add their contributions that result in a remarkable range, where lashings of Hammond sounds duel with electronic and organic implosions and psychedelic expressions. Boundaries? Where The Mars Volta are going, they don’t need roads.

The Iron Rose and Vocifero offer up a relative oasis of calm and a dose of haunting, intimate beauty in a turbulent ocean. The beast caged temporarily, (ab)normal service is soon resumed with feedback drenched interludes and dizzying mind-benders of passages that threaten an imminent derailing. It’s flying by the seat of the pants stuff and as exciting as anything that passes the progometer test these days. Hints of an attitude that embraces improv and a suck it and see approach, especially in the live arena, constantly nudge.

And for those who find the musical bedlam of The Mars Volta a place of turmoil, Lucro Sucio has more than a fair share of composed and tranquil moments dotted throughout. Like many live albums, a good point to test the water.