Introduction

THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS (1995)
1) It's A Sad, Sad Affair; 2) Somewhere In Your Heart; 3) Cold As Ice; 4) Liar; 5) Don't Want Love; 6) Travelling Ways; 7) This Time; 8) If It Wasn't For Your Ego; 9) It's Not Real; 10) Wendy Wants Another 6" Mole; 11) I Know Why You're Laughing.
The Battle of Hastings, fought on October 14, 1066, is generally considered a key event in the political, social, and cultural history of England, leading to a decisive victory on the part of Nor­man forces led by William the Conqueror and initiating a major period of transformation for the entire English society. Precisely one year later, in 1067, the old cathedral of Canterbury was completely destroyed by fire, and starting in 1070, rebuilt under the supervision of the first Norman archbishop; the new marvels of Norman architecture, along with the subsequent murder of Thomas Becket on the steps of the cathedral, led to a major increase in its popularity and, consequently, the popularity of Canterbury as such, directly reflected in such artistic highs as the works of Geoffrey Chaucer (The Canterbury Tales), Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger (A Canterbury Tale), and English progressive rock bands such as The Soft Machine, Gong, National Health, and, of course, Caravan. In addition, the Norman conquest led to major changes in the English musical tradition, with new styles of court, sacred, and even folk music complementing and sometimes replacing older Saxon traditions — echoes of which still survived in English popular music in the 20th century, and were merged by progressive and experimental artists with African and American elements to form the basis for progressive rock music, including the Can­terbury school, in the late Sixties and early Seventies. All of these connections are brought back to us with the front cover of the album, a partial reproduction of the monumental Bayeux Tapestry, depicting the key elements of the Ba...
...wait a minute, what? You're telling me it is all just a lame pun on the last name of Pye Hastings, the de-facto leader of Caravan since at least 1973? Oh. Bummer. Could we please get Mr. Hastings on the phone here, to confirm this? What's that? He's got no memory of making this album, so he can neither confirm nor deny? Double bummer.
Admittedly, it is true that The Battle Of Hastings, released 929 years after the epochal event and 13 years after the last attempt at a Caravan reunion, sank to the bottom even quicker than Back To Front, and continues to be largely ignored by prog and pop fans alike: in 1995, it was hard to imagine a style less out of touch with the times than Pye Hastings' brand of «soft prog», and good luck to anybody wishing to find a comprehensive and serious review of the record. And yet, it was a serious record. Most of the songs were indeed composed by Hastings, but the band also included Coughlan on drums, Dave Sinclair on keyboards (he is also credited for at least one song, ʽTravelling Waysʼ), a returning Geoff Richardson on viola and 50,000 other instruments, and even brother and long-time sideman companion Jimmy Hastings on the usual flutes and saxes. The only new member is bassist Jim Leverton, and even that guy is a true veteran (of Noel Red­ding's Fat Mattress, Juicy Lucy, Hemlock, Savoy Brown, and whoever else's fame).
Naturally, the lineup alone does not matter: what matters is whether the songs, the production, and the level of energy/inspiration makes the record any better than the lackluster works by the 1977–1982 versions of the band. According to a few disappointed fans whose opinions may be gathered from various prog review sites, the answer seems to be a firm «no». The Battle Of Has­tings is, indeed, a collection of acoustic-based pop songs, with very little by way of «listening challenges», very low-key in execution, rather monotonous in atmosphere, and sort of embarras­sing when it comes to the occasional quirk such as that ʽWendyʼ song. So it would seem that if you were bored stiff by Better By Far and The Album, the same should be expected of this re­cord. And yet, this is not how it works for me.
Two things in particular make enough of a difference to make me want to embrace and recom­mend the album. The first and lesser one is the production: everything here sounds a ton better than the muffled, hollow production of the 1977–1982 albums. This is obvious from the opening lively acoustic guitar chords and old-fashioned background organ hum on ʽIt's A Sad, Sad, Af­fairʼ — a good sign that even if the songwriting will not be up to par, at least the overall sound will remind you more of classic Caravan than of the late-period plastic Caravan. It is not always like that (occasionally, the ugly synth tones and the silkbox-enclosed guitar echoes will come back to haunt you), but it is the rule rather than the exception.
The major difference, however, is that, apparently, Pye Hastings had grown himself a few de­mons to exorcise in the 13 years that we hadn't heard from him. Most of the songs here do not sound like commercially-oriented sentimental pop songs: this is more of a gloomy, melancholic, nostalgic singer-songwriter record, formally dressed up as a collection of pop tunes. There is in­deed a «battle» fought here, and I do not know how personal it was (information on Pye's per­sonal life is quite scarce to come by), but most songs are about cheating, rejection, bitterness, reproaches — I mean, just look at the titles: ʽIt's A Sad, Sad Affairʼ, ʽCold As Iceʼ (no, not Forei­gner!), ʽLiarʼ (no, not Argent!), ʽIf It Wasn't For Your Egoʼ, etc. It might not necessarily be about one's love life as such — might be a general allegory for the bitterness at feeling forgotten and rejected, which had pretty much been Caravan's ordeal for the past 15 years. Regardless, it feels very sincere when you really get into it, and, oddly enough, I find myself returning to some of these songs far more often than I'd expect myself to, usually in times of trouble.
Describing the individual songs is hard, though, because they are really all unified in terms of style and substance. Some are a little slower, some a little faster, most float by on a double-layer bed of acoustic guitars and keyboards with whatever additional instrumentation Richardson and Jimmy Hastings decide to throw in for fullness' effect (flutes, mandolins, accordions, etc.). Pro­bably worth singling out is that opener, ʽSad, Sad Affairʼ, slightly more upbeat and precisely shaped than the rest (what with Pye playing and singing the exact same catchy folk-pop melody); the sax-embellished waltz of ʽCold As Iceʼ; and the squint-eyed, stop-and-start menace of ʽLiarʼ (which was probably influenced by the old Argent song after all — at least, the stop-and-start trick, followed by the massive eruption of "LIAR!", follows the same formula, and I do not be­lieve this is a coincidence).
The only «objective» standouts, however, are the last two tracks. ʽWendy Wants Another 6" Moleʼ is the specially incubated ugly duckling — a song that sounds more 10cc than Caravan with its vaudeville-pop rhythmics and caricaturesque vocals, not to mention grotesque (though not very funny) lyrics, although even 10cc would probably have never dared to end any of their tracks with a bunch of raspberries (literally!). Apparently, Pye remembered at the last moment that he had neglected to imbue enough of his sick humor into the songs, and synthesized it all within a single short track. It's okay to feel offended, though I'd guess that for some people, it would at least be a nice breakup of the overall monotonousness.
The real kicker, however, is the last song, ʽI Know Why You're Laughingʼ. It begins by skilfully deceiving you into thinking of it as a lazy adult contemporary ballad of a conclusion, then quickly kicks into high gear and becomes the fastest, catchiest, and most grim-faced pop-rocker that Pye had ever written up to that point. I really mean it — the song rocks, and at 3:36 it goes into genu­ine hard rock mode, with a fluent, furious, and perfectly constructed guitar solo that may remind one of Lindsey Buckingham (think ʽGo Your Own Wayʼ and suchlike). It is the kind of song that I would never in a million years expect out of Caravan, and it's been one of my favorites of theirs ever since I heard it — a criminally underrated pop-rock masterpiece that could have gotten its due were it released in 1975 rather than 1995... but it is never too late to make amends.
So, is this really the «comeback» we'd been hoping for? Certainly not for those who expected long-winded progressive structures, and probably not even for those who hoped for the bright, shining fun of Blind Dog. It is a monotonous, morose, autumnal record, good for the mood on one of those days where the rain just won't stop, but it is authentically atmospheric and perhaps even subtly allegorical, so much so that I could easily see it becoming the favorite album of the defeated King Harold Godwinson, had he had the (mis)fortune to survive the battle of Hastings and live into his late 920s. Thumbs up.
ALL OVER YOU (1996)
1) If I Could Do It All Over Again, I'd Do It All Over You; 2) Place Of My Own; 3) The Love In Your Eye / To Catch Me A Brother; 4) In The Land Of Grey And Pink; 5) Golf Girl; 6) Disassociation (Nine Feet Underground); 7) Hello Hello; 8) Asforteri 25; 9) For Richard; 10) Memory Lain, Hugh; 11) Headloss.
Re-recordings of your own classics are not just pitiful: as a rule, they brand you very concisely as a «second-rate» artist — I think Page and Plant were the only ones who could properly get away with this shit, because most of the stuff they did was re-inventions rather than re-recordings, but other than that, Caravan here are joining the league of Blue Öyster Cult and The Animals, for no reason whatsoever — of course, it is understandable if you want to nostalgize in the confines of a studio, but what good are the results for even a dedicated fan? This is not a bad album, just utterly pointless. Unless the point is just admitting defeat: «hey guys, none of you bought The Battle Of Hastings when it came out — so I guess you like the old shit more, here's an acoustic version of ʽThe Love In Your Eyeʼ for you, enjoy».
As you can see from the track list, this is a representative retrospective of the classic years of Caravan, covering every album from the self-titled debut and up to Plump In The Night. The sonic structure is a little weird: about two-thirds of the record is almost completely acoustic (ex­cept for a few lead electric parts every now and then), up to the first part of ʽFor Richardʼ — after which the distorted guitars kick in with full force, and the album continues as an electric appearance until the end. The musicianship remains strong through the entire album, and Hastings continues to be in fine voice — and these are all great songs, so, formally, one cannot complain. But I struggle to find any specific points for which these arrangements should be re­commended. If anything, there are some weak points — namely, the production, which sounds strangely cluttered and disorienting: lots of gratuitous percussive overdubs, special effects, echoes, sometimes giving the songs a cavernous feel that they really do not deserve.
Additional odd ideas include, for instance, the overdub of fake stadium audience cheer and applause over the last two tracks — well, sure, those Plump In The Night tracks could be played in an arena setting, but why should we be told that? Is it some sort of poorly hidden envy on Pye's part, that he never got to play in a proper arena? Anyway, those crowd noises splattered all over ʽHeadlossʼ are really very annoying and distracting and, might I say, in poor taste.
Thus, unless you are interested in a couple of nice jazzy acoustic solos here and there (with a Spanish touch on ʽThe Love In Your Eyeʼ), it is probably better to just forget this record ever existed. Apparently, that was not the end of the story: a couple of years later, Hastings and Co. followed it up with All Over You Too, featuring a second batch of re-recordings, this time from 1973 to 1976; and that one, according to rumors, was even more tasteless than the first one, so I have not bothered to search it out. All in all, a very silly decision.
THE UNAUTHORISED BREAKFAST ITEM (2003)
1) Smoking Gun; 2) Revenge; 3) The Unauthorised Breakfast Item; 4) Tell Me Why; 5) It's Getting A Whole Lot Better; 6) Head Above The Clouds; 7) Straight Through The Heart; 8) Wild West Street; 9) Nowhere To Hide; 10) Linders Field.
The Battle Of Hastings, with its subtle, but special atmosphere of cold melancholy and nostalgia, could have been a highly appropriate and intelligent last goodbye for Caravan — one of those nice turns of events when a formerly great and then degenerated band comes together for one last statement; not a huge one, but reflecting a certain degree of wisdom and experience. Too often, however, the temptation to mistake a successful «last goodbye» for a sign of self-permission to go on recording new stuff, so to speak, becomes impossible to overcome. And thus, at the turn of the new millennium, Caravan come together once again — to make a record that, to me at least, sounds completely superfluous.
Again, this lineup only includes Hastings and Coughlan from the original band, although Dave Sinclair was still a member when they went into the studio: he contributes and plays on ʽNowhere To Hideʼ. Reportedly, though, he split with the band again over «creative differences», and all the other tracks feature Jan Schelhaas, the band's old keyboard player from the Blind Dog At St. Dunstan's period. Richardson and Leverton reprise their roles from The Battle Of Hastings, and an extra lead guitarist, Doug Boyle (who'd previously played with Robert Plant's band) is brought over to lend a hand. With the Hastings / Richardson / Schelhaas core, you might faintly expect them to deliver another Blind Dog — unfortunately, instead of this they deliver another Better By Far, albeit with some technical flaws that were typical of the late 1970s corrected and repla­ced with some technical flaws that are typical of the early 2000s.
If you have heard the opening track, ʽSmoking Gunʼ, you have already assessed the overall sound of the record — grimly optimistic pop music created by prog survivors and released in a world where neither distorted guitars nor cosmic-sounding electronic sounds no longer make anybody bat an eye just because they are, you know, distorted and/or cosmic-sounding. It's a nice sound, but it no longer has the added bonus of The Battle's world-weariness, because these guys have survived their mid-life crises and seem fairly happy now to occupy their parliamentary seats in the post-prog world of elder(ly) statesmen — making professional, but pizzazz-free music. The production is marvelous: all the most subtle guitar overtones reveal themselves instantaneously. There is hardly anything substantial behind that production, though. The second track, ʽRevengeʼ, sounds almost exactly like the first one, and that is just the beginning.
Eventually, after about four numbers that are completely interchangeable, they arrive at a point where they remember that they used to be a progressive band with long-winded epics, and begin to pump out 7-8-minute long epics that, unfortunately, fall more into the «adult contemporary» pattern than into the «progressive rock» scheme (amusingly, something very similar had earlier happened to Genesis, with their pseudo-prog monsters like ʽDriving The Last Spikeʼ, etc.). ʽIt's Getting A Whole Lot Betterʼ, for instance, is an unmemorable chunk of smooth blues-jazz with Kenny G-style sax solos; ʽHead Above The Cloudsʼ is at least speedier, but essentially it's the same smooth jazz taken at a faster tempo. One might have hoped that ʽNowhere To Hideʼ, the only track left behind by Dave Sinclair (and sung by Jim Leverton rather than Hastings), would be better — but its first half is exactly the same jazz-pop as everything else, and its second half largely consists of a fusion synth solo from Sinclair that sounds like... well, I have no idea why I should be listening to any of this instead of, say, Al Di Meola. At least Al Di Meola had pyro­tech

nics. Why should you need Al Di Meola-like music without pyrotechnics?

In the end, the only track that has shown a few signs of life to me was the instrumental finale, ʽLinders Fieldʼ, mainly because they hit upon a different kind of sound here — multi-tracked folksy jangle mixed with smooth, ambient-like keyboards. It's a pretty and unassuming coda with a curious (probably unintentional) psychedelic effect on the brain. But having to sit through 50 minutes of professional, clear-sounding, thoroughly monotonous, humorless, and essentially meaningless adult pop to get to it? Honestly, I'd much rather live my life knowing that the door on Caravan was slammed with the last power chord of ʽI Know Why You're Laughingʼ. Recommended only for major Pye fans and hardcore sentimentalists; for everybody else, definitely a thumbs down.
PARADISE FILTER (2013)
1) All This Could Be Yours; 2) I'm On My Way; 3) Fingers In The Till; 4) This Is What We Are; 5) Dead Man Walking; 6) Farewell My Old Friend; 7) Pain In The Arse; 8) Trust Me I Am A Doctor; 9) I'll Be There For You; 10) The Paradise Filter.
Ten more years and another attempt to get back in the saddle. The funds for this, apparently, were raised through crowdfunding, and the recordings took place at the same time that Richard Cough­lan was fighting his last battle — his passing and the release of Paradise Filter both happened in December 2013. And whether it was Coughlan's state of health or just the usual aging process for everybody, Paradise Filter is quite obsessed with issues of health and dying. In 1975, a song with the title ʽTrust Me I Am Your Doctorʼ could have only had one meaning, and quite a sala­cious one at that. But considering that all of the band's members are well in their sixties now, who knows, maybe it is a song about how you should trust your doctor. (Well, not really, but then again, the album comes without a lyric sheet, and I'm too lazy to make it out on my own).
The lineup for Paradise Filter is the same as for the previous album, with the obvious exception of Coughlan, replaced by newcomer Mark Walker; Jimmy Hastings is not involved, either, nor is Dave Sinclair, so most of the extra instrumentation is provided by Richardson (viola, cello, flute, mandolin, you name it), while the bulk of the material is written by Pye. Fortunately, there is no attempt to repeat the «limp-prog» formula of Breakfast Item — once again, this is a straight­forward pop-rock album, with a bit more emphasis on rock this time around: after a brief organ introduction, ʽAll This Could Be Yoursʼ kicks in with a colorfully distorted guitar that immedi­ately makes it more likable, if no less stereotypical, in a power-pop mode, than ʽSmoking Gunʼ. Do these guys show renewed energy? Probably not, but at least the upbeat melodic fun is back, and Richardson's viola solo gives the song a nice lightweight classical edge in addition.
Not that the whole album is amusing: like I said, there is a clear fixation on death and all sorts of problems that usually lead to it — apparently, Pye is not growing happy as time goes by, and from a musical standpoint, I actually welcome the fact that he is becoming more grumbly and leads the band in a darker direction, that is, back to the disposition he showed on Battle Of Has­tings. This is not to say that blues-rocky songs like ʽI'm On My Wayʼ and ʽPain In The Arseʼ have any staying potential: their riffs are dusted off from fifty-year old stock or so, their atmo­spheric effect is undermined by excessive restraint, and even a thoroughly pissed-off Pye Has­tings is never quite as convincing as a sunshine-radiating happy Pye Hastings. But it all feels sincere — enough to make me vaguely interested in hearing what a sixty-year old Pye Hastings has to say about the state of the world, or, rather, how he is saying that.
The darkest songs are in the middle: ʽDead Man Walkingʼ and ʽFarewell My Old Friendʼ need no special explanation and trigger no special endorsement — a dark acoustic folk-rocker and a mournful piano ballad with predictable effects, although Richardson's viola always makes things a tad more exquisite than they could be. As things roll by, the mood eventually lightens up and Pye starts throwing some of his stock sugar around (ʽI'll Be There For Youʼ — the song sounds exactly as its title could suggest), before winding things down with a yawn, on a completely adult contemporary note with the title track (ironically, this is the only non-Pye song on the album).
As of 2017, it is quite possible that this is going to be the last new Caravan record: the guys are not getting any younger, there has been very little activity from them since 2014, and Paradise Filter gives off an even stronger impression of a musical testament than Battle Of Hastings did (come to think of it, these guys seemed really old in 1995, and there's almost twenty years lying in between these two albums!). If it is, at least it is definitely a better bet than Breakfast Item: it feels more true to Hastings' real state of mind and less bent on trying to «recapture the magic» that can no longer be recaptured by any means. With a modest thumbs up, I can recommend the record to any major fan of Caravan — its mix of elderly grimness and cheerfulness is a useful last brushstroke to the life picture of Pye Hastings. And if it happens not to be the last, well, I'd be happy to be proven wrong in my predictions.
ADDENDA
COOL WATER (1977; 1994)
1) Cool Water; 2) Just The Way You Are; 3) Tuesday Is Rock And Roll Nite; 4) The Crack Of The Willow; 5) Ansaphone; 6) Cold Fright; 7) Side By Side; 8) You Won't Get Me Up In One Of Those; 9) To The Land Of My Fathers; 10) Poor Molly; 11) Send Reinforcements.
I do realize that a «from-the-vaults» release of an entire album that was originally deemed unfit for release by Caravan's record label at a time of general decline for Caravan is hardly going to be exciting news for the non-diehard fan. But yes indeed, after the critical and commercial failure of Better By Far, Caravan did record a second album for Arista, scheduled for release in 1978; and Arista did reject it, shelving the tapes for more than 15 years, before Pye got hold of them, dusted them off and released them pretty much as they were, on a minor label. And the most surprising thing about it is — Cool Water is, by all means, «better by far» than Better By Far, or, for that matter, anything else that Caravan did in the late 1970s and early 1980s.
Actually, if I am correct, only the first seven tracks here really come from the promised album; the surprisingly short length (32 minutes) is explained by the fact that the release only gives us the compositions by Hastings, leaving out a few contributions by Richard Sinclair — who did, as it turns out, temporarily return to the band in 1977 before leaving again to join Camel; apparently, one of the songs that he'd originally recorded with Caravan in that period eventually became Camel's ʽDown On The Farmʼ (which is hardly surprising, since it always had that lightweight, downhome, facetious Caravan groove to it). The CD release is further padded with four tracks from a later session — not sure about the year, but the only Caravan member on that session was Pye, accompanied by Roxy Music's John Gustafson on bass and future Marillion member Ian Mosley on drums. The songs do sound stylistically similar to the main material, though, so there will be no jarring break in perception.
Anyway, the key difference from typical Caravan output of the period is that, although this is still strictly a pop album, the songs are somewhat tighter written and contain more seductive melodic moves than usual. Formally, the title track might be one of those smooth-jazz-meets-adult-contemporary borefests, but Schelhaas chooses some epic keyboard tones (and it is cool how the song has Minimoog, electric piano, and organ all going on at the same time), and the chorus transforms the song into a heartfelt prayer — and we do not know many Caravan songs that sound like prayers, do we? Unfortunately, nobody seemed to take that request literally and give Mr. Hastings some cool water as requested.
But even if you still get bored with the song's slow tempo and way-too-soothing arrangement, ʽJust The Way You Areʼ is the first in a series of upbeat pop tracks with cute 'n' catchy singalong choruses that show Hastings had definitely not run out of ideas by that time — there's also ʽCold Frightʼ, a piece of funny funk-pop, and, among the later bonuses, ʽPoor Mollyʼ, one of Caravan's (or, in this case, solo Hastings') rare forays into disco, and the calypso-influenced ʽYou Won't Get Me Up In One Of Thoseʼ, both of which are passable. Things get worse on deliberate attempts to «rock out»: ʽTuesday Is Rock And Roll Niteʼ is pretty cringeworthy — Pye Hastings and boogie are about as compatible as Bill Gates and WWE, and unless you take Pye's invitation to «rock and roll!» with a heavy side of irony, I don't see any grounds for competing with contemporary rockers here. Did Pye intend this to be an ironic send-up? Not sure.
Then there are the other slow ballads: ʽCrack Of The Willowʼ has a memorable, old-fashioned synth riff, good for a decent traditional country dance; ʽSide By Sideʼ has an equally memorable voice-guitar duet, though the song's steady waltz tempo is far from the peak of Hastings' creative inventiveness; and ʽSend Reinforcementsʼ ends the CD on a very uplifting note — with the single best use of falsetto on the whole album. I realize that I am not shedding much light on particula­rities here, but these particularities are hard to comment upon — it's just good old Pye in his friendly-glowing mode, taxing his brain and his soul for a few more melodic lines that would accentuate the glowing.
So why exactly is this piece better than the albums that surround it on both sides, and is it pure coincidence that Cool Water had to stay in the vaults for so long when melodically inferior pro­duct was made available? My guess would be as good as anybody's, but Cool Water has a more homely and personal feel, where something like The Album would strive more for arena-rock values. As for Better By Far, it was homely, too, but somehow it just did not have the same amount of vocal and instrumental hooks — a slip-up, perhaps, that could be corrected with the follow-up level if the band had not been so cruelly let down by its label. Not that I am implying that Cool Water is a forgotten masterpiece: at best, it is just evidence that the genius of Caravan did not evaporate in one day, but kept fluctuating for a while, before the turbulence of the Eigh­ties shut it off completely. But it is indeed an album worth owning, and it is good to see it rein­stated in the regular Caravan chronology, so a thumbs up without any second thoughts.