When the future Genesis began their musical career they had a rather clear idea: to become pop stars. Or more realistically – given the shyness of the members, just 16-17 years old – establish themselves as authors of successful songs to be entrusted to other performers. Towards the end of the 1960s, the meeting with the talent scout and producer Jonathan King seemed to give concrete form to these aspirations. The young musicians quickly adapted to his diktat: to write songs as close as possible to the world of the Bee Gees, who in that period dominated the charts with caressing hits like Massachusetts. The band's first single is emblematic in this sense The Silent Sunwhich clearly nods to the Gibb brothers.
As chance would have it, at that very moment the English landscape was shaken by the irruption of King Crimson, who with In the Court of the Crimson King demonstrate that another path is not only possible, but necessary. To attract attention, three-minute songs are no longer enough: we need to go further, dare, contaminate, expand the forms. Genesis made their debut on 33 rpm a few months earlier, seeking a balance between the impositions of the producer and the influence of those who, in some way, prepared the ground for Crimson – Moody Blues, Nice and Procol Harum above all. But they soon find themselves fascinated by the worlds imagined by Robert Fripp's group. Archived From Genesis to Revelationthe group decisively takes the path opened by Crimson. What would later be defined as progressive rock became their natural language and the masterpieces that were born continue to resonate today.
But Genesis don't forget their origins. Proggers were not born: adolescent passions were soul, rhythm & blues and spiritual music, and one of Peter Gabriel's idols was Otis Redding. Nothing that seems to have to do with what they would have created between 1970 and 1975. At least apparently. In fact, pop continues to crop up here and there. One could discuss, for example, the irresistible grip of a melody like that of Firth of Fifthcapable of enchanting listeners of all kinds and therefore, by nature, profoundly pop, while immersed in an entirely progressive context. But it is above all in the more compact pieces that this inclination manifests itself most clearly: I Know What I Likethe Lover's Leap Of Supper's Ready, The Carpet Crawlers or even more Counting Out Time. Short episodes, built on well-defined verses and choruses, more or less immediate, more or less memorable.
It is here that the original flame of pop in Genesis lights up again: in moments that, inevitably, end up remaining in the shadow compared to the great frescoes of the albums, but which constitute an essential counterpart. The pop soul of Genesis is thus harmonized with the rest, in a historical moment in which the single format is looked at with suspicion. “Album” bands must remain such, without selling out. It is true that Peter Gabriel, with his disguises, manages to embody a perfect progstar ideal, but the temptation of mass success remains something to be handled with extreme caution.
When, in 1975, the singer left the band, he found himself faced with a series of paths, all potentially fertile. He explains it himself in the famous letter to New Musical Expresswhere he imagines he could become Bowie or Ferry, or dedicate himself to theatre, or even be admitted to a mental institution. In reality, Peter Gabriel chooses the path that is most congenial to him: art pop. He lines up four albums full of inventions, drying up the Genesis plots and opening up to the solicitations of punk and new wave, electronics and extra-Western music. His creations – especially the extraordinary ones on the third and fourth albums – shake the foundations of popular music, anticipating scenarios and languages that already seem projected into the future.
In the midst of so much experimentation, however, as already in the band's time, pop also resurfaces: here it is grappling with the various Solsbury Hill, DIY, Games Without Frontiers And Shock the Monkey. Singles consistent with the character, capable of captivating without ever ceasing to make you think, who also manage to obtain a certain response. Yet, precisely by virtue of his rock intellectualism, they do not really contribute to displacing Peter Gabriel from his status as a cult artist. Known, esteemed, capable of filling theaters and even sports halls, but far from being a mass figure. It is a condition that also derives from having chosen, for much of his career, music without borders. A fascinating territory, certainly, but far from truly popular communication. Peter Gabriel almost seems to distrust what is too immediate: the sounds from which it comes cannot go as far as direct communication, they must remain in the balance, hitting the head even before the belly. This despite the profoundly “earthly” use made of the rhythms dear to African music.
And Otis Redding, what happened to him? Is it possible that that ancient love (and we know how important music discovered in adolescence is) has been set aside in favor of increasingly rigorous sound research? One suspects that Gabriel, deep down, fears success. That his own experiments have become a sort of mask, not too different from those worn on stage at the time of Genesis: a way to protect himself, to keep the most direct exposure at a distance. After all, there is also a status of “intelligent” artist to be preserved and the risk of undermining it is around the corner. His former companions know this well, and they decided to press their foot on the pop accelerator without too much hesitation, garnering growing success, but also fierce criticism.
Then something happens. His friend Phil Collins gets a sensational response: first with a ballad with a decidedly Gabrielesque flavor like In the Air Tonight – built around a drum sound developed during some sessions with Peter – and then with an explosive mix of pop and r&b. Collins, unlike Gabriel, doesn't have too many scruples: he returns to his youthful loves and shapes them in the light of the '80s, without hesitation. And with an almost liberating gesture, he shakes off the imposing baggage accumulated over the years of progressive rock. At some point Peter must have said to himself: if he can do it, why can't I try too?
Thus his fifth solo album was born in 1986 (leaving aside the soundtrack of Birdy), the first – after the series of albums of the same name – to finally have a title: I know. Here the English singer abandons the role of experimenter at all costs and decides to open his music to a wider audience. Break the chains, overcome the trauma of prog, even overcome the fear of being disgraced. It's a return to his origins: Peter goes back to being 15 years old, to let himself be guided by his love for black music. No longer just the African one, but that of soul, of direct communication, capable of reaching far.
There's no point in getting around it: the musical but also ideological pivot of I know And Sledgehammer. A sexual metaphor (and Peter Gabriel has always played with sexuality) and a perfect distillation of 80s r&b that projects him into another dimension, without however giving up the depth that has always characterized him. If Phil Collins messes with SussudioGabriel never completely abandons himself to the game: Sledgehammer it's a clear hit, but it doesn't slip into the cheap. Even when he seems to move into more accessible territories, he introduces – perhaps inevitably, perhaps unconsciously – his own sound researcher's gaze, making the piece both immediate and sophisticated. You can feel it in the choice of sounds (with Fairlight reigning supreme), in the harmonic-melodic construction and, last but not least, in a revolutionary video that will end up establishing itself as one of the most iconic of the decade. A question of nuances. Phil Collins has never been a musical intellectual: even in his most brilliant moments on the drums, a profoundly popular instinct has always prevailed in him, unlike the aristocratic Gabriel. At a certain point Collins simply let this instinct take over, immediately connecting with the general public. Gabriel, on the contrary, had to carry out much more complex excavation work – and it is noticeable. His more reflective nature has held him back for a long time, making the comparison with a lighter and more communicative dimension less immediate. But he gets there in the end. And from that moment he stops being a cult author to take on those of a true pop star: a thinking pop star, of course, but still a pop star.
The rest of I know However, it shows that there is no intention to fill the album with soulful winks. A song like Don't Give Up – which, as well as Mercy Streetis clearly influenced by Brian Eno's work on atmospheres and sounds – achieving similar success despite moving in the opposite direction compared to Sledgehammer. If the latter is pressing and physical, the duet with Kate Bush becomes impalpable, rarefied, suspended. Yet the melody is extraordinary, the vocal texture impeccable, and the lyrics abandon the ambiguities of the past to tell a story of resilience capable of speaking to anyone. In Your Eyes definitively clears a personal idea of pop contaminated with world music, while Red Rain it is based on a highly inventive rhythmic pace: the drums do not limit themselves to providing energy, but become colour, atmosphere. It is a sound that seems to anticipate decades of music to come, heard today it is still very relevant. In other moments the more introverted Peter Gabriel re-emerges, but always capable of enchanting with more open communication. And, now without hesitations, there is also room for a new r&b episode: Big Time.
Ultimately, I know restores the image of an artist who has finally let go of his fears, choosing to give himself up, without filters, to the public. It is difficult to question that the most creative Gabriel remains the one from the third and fourth albums, but for once it is worth suspending judgment and simply welcoming the openness towards the world.
From this moment pop becomes an integral part of Gabriel's sound fabric, but it is a pop that is shaped from time to time. With the next one Us the songs become more introspective again, crossed by a vulnerability different from the perfect synthesis of I know. Steam seems like a mirror answer to SledgehammerWhile Digging in the Dirt it channels psychological impulses into an immediate and pounding structure. The black influence does not disappear, but becomes one of the many currents that run through the sound, while the melodic lightness of Blood of Eden makes it new Don't Give Upwith Sinéad O'Connor replacing Kate Bush.
On Up Gabriel attempts to harmonize the more simplified writing of previous records into structures that expand, with the rhythm becoming more rarefied and songs that seem to escape any immediate communicative urgency. The exception is the playful one Growing Up and above all The Barry Williams Show which represents it Sledgehammer-clone on duty: mocking and contagious, an explosion of groove within an otherwise dark and rarefied album. Over twenty years later, I it allows us to glimpse glimmers of light and consolidates Gabriele's pop-world to the point of making it a sort of gilded cage. Songs like Road to Joy or Olive Tree they recover an immediate dimension, while Panopticom works on a balance between accessibility and sonic layering.
This brings us to the present day. Among the songs of the soon-to-be-released twin, O\IGabriel focuses in particular on Till Your Mind Is Shiningexplaining that «in a certain sense it takes me back to my school days. Before Genesis even existed, we were trying to be more songwriters than musicians, pop songs or soul/R&B. This song connects me back to those roots and the kinds of things I was working on back then, trying to master them.”
