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Peter Hammill: pH7

 A l b u m   D e t a i l s


Label: Charsima Records
Released: 1979.10.01
Time:
 53:11
Category: Progressive Rock
Producer(s): John Etchells
Rating:
Media type: CD
Web address: www.sofasound.com
Appears with: Van der Graaf Generator, David Jackson
Purchase date: 2008.10.06
Price in €: 13,65





 S o n g s ,   T r a c k s


[1] My Favourite (P.Hammill) - 2:52
[2] Careering (P.Hammill) - 4:06
[3] Porton Down (P.Hammill) - 3:41
[4] Mirror Images (P.Hammill) - 3:51
[5] Handicap and Equality (P.Hammill) - 3:56
[6] Not for Keith (P.Hammill) - 2:25
[7] The Old School Tie (P.Hammill) - 5:07
[8] Time for a Change (S.Robshawe/Ch.J.Smith) - 3:15
[9] Imperial Walls (P.Hammill/Traditional) - 4:16
[10] Mr. X (Gets Tense) (P.Hammill) - 5:13
[11] Faculty X (P.Hammill) - 4:58

Bonus Tracks:
[12] Mr. X [Gets Tense] (P.Hammill) - 6:05
[13] Faculty X (P. Hammill) - 4:50

 A r t i s t s ,   P e r s o n n e l


Peter Hammill - Guitar, Keyboards, Vocals, Digital Remastering, Reissue Producer, Compilation
David Jackson - Saxophone
Graham Smith - Violin

John Etchellis - Producer
John Pel Show - Recording
Nick Gomm - Engineer
Kathy Bryan - Analogue Remastering
Mark Powell - Analogue Remastering, Compilation, Tapoe Research
Phil Smee - CD Package

 C o m m e n t s ,   N o t e s

1979 LP Charisma 2205
1999 CD Blue Plate CAROL-1696-2
1999 CD Plan 9/Caroline 1696
1999 CD Charisma 1146
2006 CD Virgin CASCDR 1145


Peter Hammill's seventh album has been recorded with the same lineup as The Future Now (with the singer handling most instruments,David Jackson on sax, and Graham Smith on violin) but yields very different results. The spirit of experimentation that prevailed on the earlier opus has, for the most part, vanished in favor of tighter mainstream songs. After the slightly-too-sweet opening ballad, "My Favourite," comes "Careering," a jerky rocker that fails to convince. The dark "Porton Down" and "Mirror Images" are much better. The latter was part of Van Der Graaf Generator's live repertoire in the group's final months, and this studio version is pale compared to the raw rendition on VDGG's Vital. "The Old School Tie" and "Mr. X (Gets Tense)" attend political and social concerns. The pick of the litter is Chris Judge Smith's "Time for a Change," slightly country and totally charming. "Faculty X" ends the album with a more complex song for the progressive rock crowd (although it hardly concedes to any cliché of the genre). pH7 is a bit lackluster, and doesn't yield its fair share of classics, but it remains an enjoyable album and surely is more comfortable to listen to than The Future Now - if comfort is something you're looking for.

François Couture - All Music Giude


Peter Hammill's pH7 is one of those albums that bedevil every artist's catalog, once they've racked up a certain longevity. When it's good, it's astonishing. But when it's average, it really doesn't bear too many listens, and fully one-third of pH7 falls into that category. Sweep away "My Favourite"! The manic percolation and shock-opera acrobatics of "Careering" would have made a far more effective album opener anyway. "Handicap and Equality" and "Not for Keith" can go as well, while "Mirror Images" was (and remains) far inferior to the version of the same song that hallmarked VDGG's Vital live album. But the science-gone-mad horror of "Porton Down" and the political scourging of "The Old School Tie" were both timely and well-targeted observations on Britain at the end of the 1970s, and provided the taut prelude to the album's frenetic nightmare end. The ease with which the deceptively tender balladry of "Time for a Change" melds into "Imperial Walls" seems almost prophetic, and that despite this chilling, post-apocalyptic study of society-in-ruins having been penned over 1,000 years ago. And then there's the brutal denouement of "Mr X (Gets Tense)" and "Faculty X," a ten minute mini-epic that wipes out everything that has gone before. And if you thought it sounded amazing in the past, the remastering has pulled things out of the mix that could keep you awake at nights. Astonishing.

Once again, the bonus tracks are less than stunning, a reprise of the album's finale, lifted wholesale from Hammill's BBC sessions CD. But the solo performances themselves are fascinating, and they do allow the enterprising listener to play alternate endings with the original album.

Dave Thompson - All Music Guide



All good things come to an end and PH7 (Peter Hammill's seventh solo album, duh) was the last solo Hammill work to be published on Charisma records.  This album showcased more of the expansive instrumentation and production quality that appeared on The Future Now, with Hammill taking over the reigns on just about all the instrumentation (except for the ever-present contributions by ex-VDGG mates Graham Smith and David Jackson), even on the drums which, by this time, had become electronic samples - following the drum machine craze which began in the mid to late 1970's.

The liner notes for PH7 are quite illuminating and present a relatively in-depth look at what was going on in the artist's mind when he wrote the album.  Of special interest to personally was where the lyrics to "Imperial Walls" came from.  As it turns out, the lyric was lifted from words etched in the wall of an ancient bath house Hammill visited.  The prophetic words, centuries old, had always been of great interest to me and to find out about their antiquity was an eye opener.

There are some real stand-outs on PH7 that really warrant a good listen.  As a matter of fact, in going back and listening to the album after such a long time, I have to say that this one is a pretty close second to "The Future Now" and "Nadir's Big Chance."   Another schmaltzy one, "My Favourite" starts the album:  (In my time I've told a lie or two/I've been a deceiver, but believe me, what I now say is true/There's no other way I can express what I'm thinking of/You're my favourite, you're the one that I love).  Many will find it overly sappy and pretentious, but it's a lovesong done the way only Hammill can.  "Not for Keith" is a tribute to a former bandmate of VDGG, Keith Ellis who died in 1978 while on tour with the band Iron Butterfly.  A heartfelt expression of grief and gratitude for a man who, at least in Hammill's eyes, was bigger than life.  I especially like "Faculty X," one of my all-time favorite Hammill tunes.  The melody -- especially David Jackson's flute -- run chills up my spine every time I hear this song.  A great way to end the album ... leave 'em wishing for more!

The Future Now and PH7 almost run hand-in-hand in the evolution of Hammill's solo career.  Though the former edges out the latter as my personal favorite, I can't recommend either one highly enough!

www.music-reviewer.com



pH7 is an album by Peter Hammill, originally released on Charisma Records in September 1979. It was Hammill's 8th solo album and his last release on the Charisma label. The song "Porton Down" refers to the Porton Down military research facility in Wiltshire, England. The song "Not For Keith" is a tribute to Keith Ellis, a former member of the band Van der Graaf Generator, who had then died just recently. "Cover note: The photographs were all taken late at night in NYC. As we left Dan's [the photographer's] place in search of a cab Graham [Smith] and I ran into some trouble from which, frankly, we were lucky to escape..."

In 2006, the album was remastered and expanded, adding alternative versions of "Mr X (Gets Tense)" and "Faculty X" recorded for John Peel's BBC Radio 1 programme as well as a fresh sleeve note by Hammill.

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

 L y r i c s


My Favourite

In my time I've told a lie or two,
I've been a deceiver, but believe me
what I now say is true.
There's no other way
I can express what I'm thinking of:
You're my favourite,
you're the one that I love.

It's a one-horse race,
still I'm ready to place my bet.
I'm a pretty slow starter,
and I haven't quite caught up with it yet.
It seems so extraordinary
that you should care for me.
You're my favourite –
how lucky can any man be?

You're my favourite –
will you stay the course with me?

You're my favourite of all time.
You're my favourite, can't you see?
You're my favourite of all time.
Say you'll stay the course with me.


Careering

I don't know, can't you see
I'm just passing through, fast as you –
don't ask me.

Careering out of control
disappearing down the black hole,
careering – the white man's soul
stands stark naked in the floodlight glare,
stands stark raving on the strap.
I've had the feeling that I've been there
but I can't quite believe it.

I don't know, can't you see
I'm just passing through, fast as you
so don't ask me.

Careering, simply day to day,
engineering everything I say,
careering for the work and the pay.
I'm just a passenger passing through,
I'm just an average chap.
(We are normal.)
If I said I hadn't got a clue
there'd still come the questions.

I don't know, can't you see
I'm just another case of wasted space
so don't ask me.

Careering, my apprenticeship
no nearer than my pension slip;
careering down the Cresta Run,
I screw it up just like anyone;
careering – pointless anyway
to do it just for the work and the pay.

Look here:
I don't know, can't you see
I'm so near the end, get it straight, friend –
don't ask me,
don't ask me,
don't ask me.


Porton Down

Won't hear a sound at Porton Down,
the clear liquids keep their silence,
buried underground at Porton Down
the fast form of the final violence.

Quite right to be worried about the proliferation
of nuclear bombs and power stations,
but there's a deterrent that's going to
unearth us yet...

Hurry on round about Porton Down,
a quick glimpse of the future warfare
hidden underground at Porton Down;
far too frightening to utter what you saw there.

They got bacteria to drop us where we stand,
they got diseases still unknown to man,
they got the virus and a microgram's enough
to do in a continent.

The ultimate madness,
just one shattered test-tube to wipe out the world.

It begins with the mustard gas,
it proceeds to Hiroshima.
The culture moves on -
now it's bacterial, truly insane.
Porton Down waits to fever the brain.

Won't hear a sound at Porton Down,
the clear liquids keep their silence
buried underground at Porton Down,
the fast form of the final violence.
Hurry on round about Porton Down
a quick glimpse of the future warfare,
hidden underground at Porton Down,
far too frightening to say what you saw there.

No sound at Porton Down,
No sound at Porton Down,
No sound from Porton Down,
No sound
after Porton Down.


Mirror Images

If I'm the mirror and you're the image
then what's the secret between the two,
these "me"s and "you"s, how many can there be?
Oh, I don't mind all that around the place,
as long as you keep it
well away from me.

I've begun to regret
that we ever met between the dimensions.
It gets such a strain
to pretend that the change is anything but cheap;
with your infant pique and your angst pretensions
sometimes you act like such a creep.

And now I'm standing in the corner,
looking at the room and the furniture
in cheap imitation of alienation and grief.
And now we're going to the kitchen,
fix ourselves a drink and a cigarette,
getting no closer to being the joker or thief.

Still, I reflect,
this nervous wreck who stands before me
can see as well,
can surely tell that he's not yet free;
he can turn aside, but can no more ignore me
than know which one of us is he,
than tell what we are going to be,
than know which one of us is me.

And now we're going to the kitchen,
fix ourselves a drink and a cigarette,
getting no closer to being the joker or thief.

These mirror images,
these mirror images won't stay,
these mirror images go away,
these mirror images are no help.

In these mirror images of myself
there are no secrets.


Handicap and Equality

All men are born equal at the moment they arrive:
check the limbs and senses we require to survive.
But some come deaf and dumb and blinded,
some have damage to their brains;
parents constantly reminded
that they'll never play the normal children's games.
They may not be normal,
but they're people just the same.

If Christ had been born defective
to fulfil the Father's plan
would he be as easily accepted as God made man
or does the human value alter
in the crippled human frame?
Though the tongue and fingers falter
must we shut them out and shut them up,
and shut the case and whisper "such a shame".
That's how we shut them away.

Most of us are lucky,
free from accidents at birth
but their victims share our right
to the inheritance of earth.
For all their grunts, their stumps, their tumours,
their eternal wheelchairs,
we're the freaks, we're the inhumans,
if we close our eyes and turn aside,
pretend that if we do they'll not be there...
They've got to face it, so we've got to face it.
Still, they've got to live with it
in a world we supposedly share.


Not For Keith

In Germany, his days finally caught him;
I won't insult his memory with long-distance grief.
Tears and wakes weren't his style:
not him,
not for Keith.

He'd have laughed in my face
if he saw it get mournful,
he'd pull me up short and say "Life carries on"
in that gentle way of being cruelly scornful...
now he's gone.

"I want to see it all, and eat it"
was as close to ethos as he came;
though he knew he couldn't beat it,
he never gave of himself
anything less than best in the game.
Oh, one for the game...

I never did say, I never quite found time –
he taught me a lot, and I carry it still.
I never thanked him at all for his friendship
and now I never will.

The diaries we write are those that we crave for,
we never put the P.S. at the foot of the final page.
He deserved more time,
but he never was made for middle age,
not for middle age.
Not for Keith.


The Old School Tie

Oh the bright young men in their tight-buttoned suits:
yeah, the light beams out from capped smiles
to the shines on their lick-spittle boots,
on their lick-spittle boots.
Oh these sharp young sparks with their fresh rosettes –
yeah, the artful way that they promise the earth
to all suffragettes.
What they won't promise we don't know yet.

They say they're build- and shaping society
but we know they're just saving for their own
safe home in politics,
a safe home in politics.
Anything goes: look at them run.

Come from every side, noses Pinocchio clean;
lock in synchromesh,
oil the wheels and the gears of the party machine,
of the party machine.
And the final goal is a cabinet seat...
in the trappings of power,
the presumption to speak for the man in the street,
for the man in the street.

Once they move in, they're in for good;
yeah, once they get that bed made
it's a safe home in politics,
a safe home in politics.
Jobs for the boys: look at them run.

Yeah, there's just one thing none of us should forget:
a political man is just in it
for power and the smell of success,
for power and the smell of success.

Yeah, some start out as idealists –
pretty soon they all cop for ideal careers
and a safe home in politics,
a safe home in politics,
a cushy job in politics,
a cushy job in politics;
oh, look at them run.

Politicians fight it out on the conning tower
but they all agree not to rock the boat.
It's a safe home in politics.
It's built on your vote.


Time For A Change

Time for a change:
I felt bad, things looked strange.
Home, home on the range...
yes, it's time for a change.

"Well, young man, when you grow up
what do you want to be?"
"Please, sir, if that's alright
I'd really rather like to learn how to be me."

Switch on the light,
getting late, almost night.
A shilling puts you right,
you can switch off the night.

The world was looking stretched and tight,
it's an overblown balloon.
I've got the feeling something big
has got to happen soon.

Oh, time for a change,
out of reach, out of range.
Go and tell Doctor Strange
that it's time for a change.

Time for a change,
time for a change.


Imperial Walls

Strange to behold
is the stone of this wall
broken by fate.

The strongholds are bursten,
the work of giants decaying;
the roofs are fallen,
the towers are tottering,
mouldering palaces roofless,
weather-marked masonry shattering.
Shelters time-scarred,
tempest-marred,
undermined of old.

Earth's grasp holdeth
its mighty builders
tumbled, crumbled,
in gravel's harsh grip
till a hundred generations
of men pass away.

Till a hundred generations of men pass away,
Till a hundred generations of men pass away.


Mr X (Gets Tense)

The current affair gets to be my business,
I heard the news on the radio:
the sun on earth... what is this?
Is that the way that the crazy goes?

Attention tuned to the satellites,
looking down for an overview.
In the chapel of space we are acolytes.
In the battle of time we're all soldiers too
and the relative choir push the energy higher
under fire.

The sliding show in the macroscopic,
finger on the button pointing to progress.
The apparatus roll, no-one here can stop it,
too busy learning more – always knowing less.
Soon turkey-wrapped in the spaceman blanket
we'll offer up lame duck apologies
and settle down for the final banquet,
the gourmet dish of technology...
cryogenic device catches all human life
under ice.

The current affair gets to be all our businness,
it's filtered in through the T.V. screen.
The norm, the average... what is this?
When it goes blank what does that all mean?
And what's the drive of each individual?
And what's the way that the story ends?
Is it Mr X, left as the last residual
holder of the flame, conscience of all men?
But he's so tense to expire
he throws himself on the wire
under fire.

Is this the way the world ends?
Under ice,
under fire?
Has there been some mistaken design?
Under ice.

Got to find the human voice.
Lord, deliver us from Babel.


Faculty X

Hope by and by, hope by and by –
motes in the eye, portcullis is shut...
a skull isn't much
of a c-c-castle to live in
when I know that the change is going to come,
the change has got to come.

Explosions in the brain attest to it.
evolution down the drain –
let all the rest do it.
Oh yeah, the only result
is cumulative drek.
It won't be the drug,
it won't be the sex,
it's got to be the Faculty X.

Looking for a method, I play a straight bat,
throw away the chances to slip.
Yeah, you talk about the average –
I don't care about that
and my words are only giving me lip
when I know that the change has got to come,
the change has got to come,
or what am I living for?
Or why am I here?
I'm running, I give in more,
far away from the near.

Go meta-physical world,
the sign that protects.
It wasn't the last,
it won't be the next,
it's Faculty X.

Reading seers, sages, prophets, obscurantist tracts,
draining the elixir to the dregs;
active yeast in the bottom is on the attack
and it leaves me without any legs to stand on.

Still I hope that the change will come.

Meanwhile I don't know,
I think I'll have to go,
go for the governing body
my consciousness elects.
It won't be so clear,
it won't be direct,
it's all that I fear,
it's all I suspect
and I'll disappear in Faculty X.

I pluck all these characters out of thin air,
I push them down into the lungs;
I infuse them with meaning as much as I dare.

Stretch out for the shoreline and wait for the wave...

 M P 3   S a m p l e s


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