Consider a fan's response to a post in the NEARfestForum concerning a flippant remark about Gentle Giant reuniting for a Nearfest show. Lamenting his belief that Derek Shulman single handedly guided the band into the eternal fires of commercialism, a forum member wrote how he wouldn't want to see Shulman play again because "I'd be too tempted to spit in his face for giving us garbage like Kingdom Clone. Then again, he probably doesn't care about musical integrity anymore."

That's quite a hyper-sensitive reaction to anything regarding music in itself. When you weigh with it the fact that its utterance occurs 20 years after the band's demise, it begins to illustrate the fury inherent in the idea of selling one's soul, or selling out. At times it can mirror religious fanaticism. So what do you do with the energy produced by the acute pain of your prog hero's turning into wimps?

We need to deconstruct the concept "selling your soul," which immediately leads us to the antiquated and meaningless argument: does man have a soul? Since everything existing has some material value, it posesses volume and therefore can be measured or weighed. This includes thought, but does not extend to the subject of thought. In other words, from a materialistic point of view, there is no difference between a thought of an elephant or a thought of a car. Thought has invented the soul, but can't validate its existence because the soul can't be weighed or measured. So if thought exists but not the soul, there is no soul to sell. And no reason to fly into a rage when you hear a 4/4 beat for longer than 30 seconds.

Seeing things in this light, we can now understand the problem from the musicians point of view. Hey, they've played their asses off for many years, sweating out intricate, demanding music we've ingested through every pore of our skin. Its made our lives more bearable, which is perhaps the greatest gift one can receive.

Then at some point in a band's life, a series of events happen which initiates the consideration to explore a broader musical direction. Wife and children must be fed and made comfortable. Their future must be attended to. Bills must be paid. We all know the drill. There may be any number of difficult, or even tragic factors that require a significant amount of cash. The decision is made to structure the music so it reaches the widest audience possible.

Or they may just want to be rich. Why is there something wrong with that? Any discriminating ear ought to be able to tell the difference between a band that is trying to make money, and a band that's trying to simplify its sound. Whatever the motive, one thing is certain. If the music sounds as if it were made to make money, it may temporarily, but not for long. Simple and greed are not necessarily congruous.

Let's look at one of the top progressive groups ever, Genesis. The general consensus, sprinkled with minor objection, was that "Wind And Wuthering" was upon release the band's weakest effort. Also harboring overwhelming support was the thought that while there were a few nice moments on the album, it didn't make up for the rest of the fluff contaminating it. In addition to that moaning and groaning, it was further declared that the album indicated Genesis's collective soul was free falling toward a crash landing. The evidence for that intelligence was "A Trick of the Tail" was fluffier than "The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway."

In order to give any subject in the arts proper objective evaluation, history must be ignored, including and especially the evaluator's history. This ensures the elimination of bias. Doing so in the case of "Wind And Wuthering," we can see what it actually is- a great record. It has a wonderful full, majestic sound that meshes adroitly with the album's design and lyrics. The musicians can't be blamed for over-playing; in fact, it was refreshing to finally hear a Genesis album minus the abundance of technical skill. If a comparison needs to be made, it's "Nursery Cryme" five years later. So what if "Wind and Wuthering" lacks the brilliant intrumental passages of its predecesor? In tone it is its equal.

Which brings us to "And Then There Were Three." This is a masterful piece of work. I've rarely heard such beautifully relaxed, simple playing like this. The melodies are joyus throughout, and the dynamics superb. Even though there's more than enough sap oozing from the lyrics of "Follow You, Follow Me," it's a good song and fits well with the others. Many fans however point to this recording as undeniable proof that the end was near. I was among them years ago until I saw the music for what it offered rather than using it as a vehicle to unleash my frustration because I was mourning the departures of Peter Gabriel and Steve Hackett. Silly, isn't it.

The enlightenment one gets from Andy Warhol is that everything is commercial, and everything is art. Whenever an idea is communicated either casually with friends or for public consumption, it becomes a selfesh attempt to advance the ego. Motivation may vary, but the action is the same: rapacious arm twisting. So whether you're viewing Campbell soup cans at an art exhibit, watching your favorite band on stage absolutely blowing away the entire human race, or writing prog rock editorials, we're all buying or selling something.

About the Author:
Mik Dietlin was born and raised in Torrance, California, about 20 miles south of Los Angeles. He moved to central Virginia in 2001 with his wife to escape big city life. He earns money by drivingvtrucks, but his real work is writing. He's currently working on a novel. Please feel free to send feedback to Mik at msdietlin@adelphia.net.