Author: Peter Podbrežnik
Artist: Comus
Label: Dawn Records
Released: 1971
Rating: 5/5
To the Ancient Greeks, Comus was the god of revelry and excess. His notorious rites were the scene of countless debauched orgies, mostly fueled by all sorts of intoxicating substances, which later spread to Ancient Rome as well. Like his father Dionysus, aka the Roman Bacchus (his mother was Circe, that infamous nymph most people know from the Odyssey, who loved turning travelers into wild beasts and pigs), Comus was hugely popular with the rabble thanks to his carnal rites, while the authorities of the day tried in vain to curb the influence of his worshippers. And as the Romans showed, it was precisely their over-the-top worship of him that ended up burying them in the end. That’s why he’s also considered the god of anarchy and chaos today. So why the quick history lesson? Because the obscure English prog/folk rock band Comus, who took their name from the aforementioned god and who are the subject of this review, have a whole lot in common with him. This is an utterly one-of-a-kind band, one without equal, whose brilliant yet obscure music clearly never stood a chance of wider commercial recognition. Sadly, that’s why they slipped into music history far too soon, but not before making an album whose peculiarity still stirs up debate today. Their music could be roughly described as experimental folk rock, full of pastoral motifs, along with arrangements that are atypical for this kind of music, and mostly dark (but by no means satanic) lyrics. Comus are one of the few bands who dared to explore the dark side of folk rock, and if you scare easily, listening to this album in the dark is definitely not advisable, because some of the musical motifs could give you a proper fright.
“First Utterance”, their debut, is a one-of-a-kind, instantly recognizable blend of wildly inventive and experimental folk rock, loaded with dramatic tension, mysticism and pastoral charm, and it doesn’t stick to traditional Celtic folk rock elements alone, since you can also catch traces of world music in it. Even though their music does contain plenty of traditional elements of British folk rock, it also has far too many wildly experimental arrangements and obscure but brilliant musical structures for the likes of Fairport Convention to have ever dreamed up. In their unpredictability, Comus are thus a real oddity among the early British prog rock bands, which they undoubtedly belong with, as they’re much too complex to be labeled as just a folk rock band. In their short career, it was precisely this strikingly obscure debut, which is endlessly fascinating for music connoisseurs, that gave us a masterpiece that still surprises on every listen today.
What stands out most on “First Utterance” is its singular atmosphere, the kind you’ll have a hard time finding in any other folk rock band. The songs are packed with motifs you’d expect at some ancient pagan ritual, a witches’ festival or a barbarian orgy. And yet it doesn’t stir up any “baser instincts” in the listener. I’d say quite the opposite. That’s mostly thanks to the fantastic vocal arrangements (male and female), which are among the strangest and most original I’ve ever heard in rock music (only Gentle Giant come close, maybe). That “ancient” mystical atmosphere hangs over Comus’s music the whole time. The rhythm, deliberately built on hand drums, is downright primitively barbaric (the definition of barbarism is something we could debate at length somewhere else), practically shamanic, and adds even more to the overall atmosphere. The instrumental arrangements on flute, oboe, violin, and electric and acoustic guitar are top-shelf, and in this respect too Comus rank among the finest musicians of their day. Lead singer Wootton is a story in himself. In his vocal acrobatics he sometimes sounds like an early version of Marc Bolan from his early, psychedelic Tyrannosaurus Rex days (before he went glam and discovered the electric guitar), when he was still writing songs about hobbits and gnomes and singing like someone who’d just fallen out of a pear tree in his sleep. But a moment later Wootton’s voice sounds completely different. Their obscure and mostly dark lyrics are another chapter in themselves. You’ll try in vain to get to their true meaning. They weave mystical images of ancient times together with dark themes of violence, torture, madness and even rape. In other words, familiar scenes from many a Greek legend, and here Comus once again more than live up to their name. In rock music I only know of one other band that’s this fond of such subject matter, though they stand on a rather different musical shore (power/prog metallers Virgin Steele). The opening track “Diana” (obviously an ode to the Roman goddess of the hunt and fertility) opens with a totally unexpected bluesy riff. Next comes Wootton’s most pronounced take on Bolan’s vocals, joined by arrangements on violin and oboe plus backing female vocals. A fantastic composition, but definitely a huge shock to the ears of the average listener. Interestingly, in the moments when he doesn’t recall Bolan, Wootton, singing in a more aggressive tone on this track, even slightly reminds me of David DeFeis (Virgin Steele), another lover of barbarian orgies and Greek mythos. It proves he’s a technically very good singer who had an absolute blast experimenting with vocals in the strangest forms. Watson’s angelic female vocal, on the other hand, conjures up the mood of some long-forgotten age in human history. The whole atmosphere really does bring to mind an orgy or a pagan ritual. Next up is the majestic, allegorical ballad “The Herald”, a gorgeous composition that will enchant all lovers of mysticism, as well as anyone who might have been put off by the obscurity of the opener. The first part is a dreamy ballad, soaked in Celtic mysticism to the nth degree. Picture a gathering of witches, druids or elves in the middle of a forest, in a circle around a fire. Here the elegiac, often mysterious and echoing female vocal of Bobbie Watson takes center stage. The track is dominated by the band’s beautiful, romantic and calm side. In the second part you can hear Goring’s superb acoustic guitar, which adds even more to the beauty of the whole composition, while the violin and flute add to its melancholy. Comus could be bizarre, unbridled and dark and, at the same time, beautiful, mystical and dreamy, and that’s what made them so one of a kind. “Drip Drip” is another longer composition with an epic feel, once again the complete opposite of its predecessor. It’s a masterpiece full of the best folk elements, with guitar in flamenco rhythms and breathtaking scraping on the violin. Wootton plays with his vocals again, which can be perfectly clean one moment and Bolan-style “stoned” the next, recalling a satyr and sometimes even Peter Gabriel (ex-Genesis)! In the final part of the song you can hear some of the strangest and most varied vocal arrangements in the history of prog rock. “Song To Comus” is an extremely complex ode to Comus with brilliant instrumental and vocal arrangements, especially on violin and flute. Wootton’s vocal here is a little reminiscent of Roger Chapman (Family). Without a doubt one of the album’s highlights, impressive for its remarkable breadth and original musical ideas. The lyrics, no surprise here, are loaded with eroticism. “The Bite” is another extremely complex composition, where the gorgeous flute and razor-sharp violin play the main roles, along with an angelic female vocal. Here the band, vocals aside, even sounds at times like a wound-up-to-the-max version of Jethro Tull. “Bitten” is the only instrumental on the album and yet another unique masterpiece. It’s downright unbelievable how the band managed to weave so many different musical motifs into a track that runs barely over two minutes. The closing “The Prisoner” is mostly based on blues and guitar in flamenco rhythms. It contains many of the best elements of English folk rock, and above all Wootton’s vocal acrobatics.
“First Utterance” is a lost masterpiece and a must for all fans of musical esotericism, prog folk, folk rock and early progressive rock. It’s a great pity for the music world that after this album the band put out only one more (which the label forced them to record, which of course couldn’t lead to anything good), and it was only a pale shadow of “First Utterance”. The critics, unsurprisingly, despised them quite a bit, even though David Bowie himself stood up for them and supported them. For the inexperienced ear of the average listener, “First Utterance” is certainly a pretty bizarre, shocking and strange affair, especially Wootton’s wildly varied vocals, as he uses every vocal trick in the book and has an absolutely unbridled time doing it, just like most of the band members on their instruments. All of this might feel too shocking for many a musical palate. But trust me, once you manage to grasp its core and the album grabs hold of you, you won’t be able to stop listening, and you’ll even end up wondering why you hadn’t heard it sooner. Today “First Utterance” is recognized as one of the forgotten gems of early prog rock and is a must for every serious collector of the genre. I just hope that nobody, after overdoing it on this timeless masterpiece, gets the idea, under the influence of certain substances, to start dancing naked in the middle of the city park to the sounds of Comus, disturbing public morals and the well-being of our dear fatherland.
Line-up
Roger Wootton – vocals, acoustic guitar
Glen Goring – 6-12 string acoustic guitar, electric guitar, slide guitar, hand drums, backing vocals
Andy Hellaby – Fender bass guitar, slide bass guitar, backing vocals
Colin Pearson – violin, viola
Rob Young – flute, oboe, hand drums
Bobbie Watson – vocals, percussion
Production
Barry Murray
Track list
1. Diana (4:37)
2. The Herald (12:12)
3. Drip Drip (10:54)
4. Song to Comus (7:30)
5. The Bite (5:26)
6. Bitten (2:15)
7. The Prisoner (6:14)
Running time: 49:08
