Author: Peter Podbrežnik
Artist: Klaatu
Label: Capitol Records
Release: 1977
Length: 39:34
Rating: 4.5/5
“Hope” was the second album to spring from the creative twists of Klaatu, the sharp-witted Canadian progressive rock “spacemen,” an enigmatic cult outfit that, ever since their birth, some people took for the Beatles in secret reunion, thanks to their cheeky vocal harmonies, loads of melodic passages and eccentric humor.
By the time “Hope” came out, the playful trio — keyboardist, bassist and singer John Woloschuk, guitarist/singer Dee Long and drummer Terry Draper — was still guarding the members’ names carefully, so the enigma of the secretly resurrected Beatles still hung in the air and stirred up the emotions. Despite all that speculation, the obvious musical kinship with the legendary Liverpool four, and the fact that The Carpenters’ cover of their best-known song “Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft” (from the excellent debut “3:47 EST”, 1976) turned into a mega pop hit, none of it did much to lift them out of the prog underground, which, as one of the pioneers of the Canadian (prog) rock scene, they undeniably deserved. “Hope” was a lovely proof of what Klaatu were capable of in their best creative years: a convincing and hugely ambitious concept project, recorded with the London Philharmonic Orchestra, that built out most of the ideas from the debut.
The Orwellian concept of the album tells of the last survivor of the once mighty and arrogant state/civilization of Polizania (the name hides a more than obvious sarcastic nod to the police and repression), which ended up destroying itself through its own wantonness. While wandering aimlessly through the ruins, the protagonist runs into visitors from space and warns them about what could happen if they put too much trust in leaders, pin all their hopes on social institutions, and put security before freedom. His sermon leaves him hoping he has saved the alien visitors from a possible catastrophe, and so made up at least a little for his former blind devotion to the police regime. The lyrics are packed with their trademark roguish humor and a heap of sociopolitical satire that would have pleased masters of social cynicism like Ian Anderson or Roger Waters.
The album is distinguished by a flawless production that was remarkably advanced for its time. Besides the magnificent orchestral arrangements from the London Symphony Orchestra, which brought them closer than ever in their career to classic symphonic prog rock, they also made good use of their own instrumental talents. Woloschuk’s melotron, piano and Hammond organ “curve” a series of delicate arrangements, while Long, besides his drastic use of juicy guitar phrases, makes lavish use of three-part guitar harmonies. Draper, with his technically simple but always precise and perfectly synced drumming, kept up his title as a true pupil of Ringo. The album also boasts plenty of electronic touches on the already popular synthesizers, and all sorts of electronic effects run through most of the record. Besides the occasional “spacey” sounds, just like on the debut, we get surprised at the start and the end of the album by squeaking mice. Compared to the debut, the structures of the individual songs have become even more complex, yet they held on to their romantic melodies and trademark Beatles-style vocal harmonies.
The album is the very picture of compositional and instrumental diversity, and at the same time perfect for everyone who puts melody ahead of speed and rhythmic complexity. With its cheeky vocal harmonies, mischievous sound effects and bouncy rhythms, the opener “We’re Off You Know” could fool plenty of the uninitiated into thinking the Beatles had risen from the dead seven years after the breakup. The witty orchestral flourishes in the background add to the “Beatley” feel, evoking some of that old-English romantic-archaic atmosphere that soaked the Beatles classic “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.” Even a jazzy wind interlude near the end is in there. Klaatu were indeed very diligent students of the Fab Four, but despite borrowing a few ideas they never copied their teachers. After the most Beatles-like piece on the album comes a string of compositions that flow into one another very effectively on a conceptual level.
“Madman” has a crazy, almost chaotic atmosphere, true to its name, with nervous synth bits, a run of fiery guitar moves and diligent use of the vocoder. “Around the Universe in Eighty Days” has a distinctly melancholic piano intro before it moves into dramatic realms via magnificent layers of melotron. The lyrics tell of the development of atomic weapons, which Polizania keeps stockpiling to defend itself against foreign intruders, much to the nation’s delight. The biggest irony is that they couldn’t care less whether there’s another intelligent species out there that might want to make peaceful contact. They’re so wrapped up in their own superiority that they don’t care what’s going on around them. The mocking vocals and electronic sound effects fit the deeply fatalistic mood very well.
“Long Live Polizania” is the centerpiece of the whole album. It’s a biting satire of an imaginary, all-powerful police state led by “big brother.” His subjects blindly follow him in exchange for a feeling of protection, all the way to final self-destruction. Sound familiar? This grotesque yet phenomenal epic opens with a ceremonial brass march that recalls some American or Russian military parade in the middle of the main square. Then comes the senile voice of a radio announcer, celebrating the achievements of the best country in the world, before an enraged, eerily distorted vocal bursts in through the vocoder, glorifying the name of the victorious and indestructible nation in the chorus. The rhythmic ornaments in between recall infantry marching, which over time comes off as chilling and comical at once. At one point, downright brutal guitar phrases crash in, along with a special effect that sounds like a whip cracking. You can also pick up the influence of King Crimson here, especially their classic “21st Century Schizoid Man.” The ceremonial mood built by the orchestral arrangements eventually tips over into a full-on battle march, with the sounds of neighing horses backed by a wind band and bristling guitar passages. Further on, the radio announcer reveals that special biological experiments are being carried out on fallen soldiers, where in laboratories their brains are reproduced by a special procedure for further use in other bodies (thus preventing any possibility of doubt). In the final section, one last tribute rings out to the most serene and beloved Polizania, which under the guidance of its beloved leader looks after its citizens’ well-being so nicely, is a model of democracy, and shields them from inferior foreign intruders.
“The Loneliest of Creatures” is the next multilayered symphonic rock epic. Within the concept, it takes place at the moment when, after the nuclear tragedy, the only surviving inhabitant of Polizania meets the visitors from space and warns them against self-destruction. The mysterious atmosphere of the intro is cut through by operatic vocals that come off more or less tragicomic. Majestic orchestral curtains build the dramatic mood, while Woloschuk sings the role of a person wracked by total loneliness in an utterly convincing way. With church organs and “gnomish” vocals, “Prelude” is an effective lead-in to yet another pretty chilling post-apocalyptic affair, “So Said the Lighthouse Keeper,” dominated by mighty multi-part harmonies, piercing guitar passages and aggressive vocals. The closing “Hope,” with its optimistic, cheerful nature, delivers an unexpected twist. Majestic orchestral arrangements, melodramatic guitar passages and a cheerful vocal melody make sure a ray of hope finally shines on the surviving protagonist.
With “Hope,” the legendary Canadians reached their artistic peak and, with mighty orchestral arrangements, came closer than ever to the high standards of 1970s symphonic prog rock, while a convincing socially critical fable made the album’s message relevant for all time. “Hope” is an upgrade in every respect on the excellent debut, better known among the wider public, and clear proof that Klaatu had huge potential to earn a place among the key players of a musical era. “Hope” was not a commercial success, which the sudden rise of punk surely contributed to, along with the band’s anonymous media profile and the fact that in 1977 hardly anyone had an ear for concept albums, even though their fellow countrymen Rush had gone down a storm with similar ambitions on “2112.” Sadly, Klaatu never managed to repeat or even come close to the brilliance of their first two albums, as their artistic standards just stagnated with each following release, so anyone who isn’t a devoted follower can wrap up their introduction to the band once they’ve added “Hope” to their collection.
Lineup
John Woloschuk – keyboards, bass guitar, vocals
Dee Long – guitar, vocals
Terry Draper – drums, percussion, vocals
GUEST MUSICIANS:
London Philharmonic Orchestra – orchestral arrangements
Production
Terry Brown
Track list
1. We’re Off You Know
2. Madman
3. Around the Universe in Eighty Days
4. Long Live Politzania
5. The Loneliest of Creatures
6. Prelude
7. So Said the Lighthouse Keeper
8. Hope
