CULTURE
The Shadow Member Of Procol Harum
The mostly forgotten genius of Keith Reid
Mention Procol Harum to the average teen on the streets these days and you will likely be met with a wondering, slightly suspicious gaze — are you serious? Sane? Crazy? For real? Some sort of vitamin? Is that Latin, or what?
I have read that some of the critics who now occupy the music industry’s Mount Olympus think of Procol Harum as that 1967 one-hit-wonder: A White Shade of Pale, and that’s all she wrote. And, oh, so long ago. Who cares? Certainly not relevant today, at all.
Yes, Whiter Shade certainly was a hit. Even John Lennon, who along with the other Beatles had released Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band two weeks to the day after Whiter Shade was released, and who now was riding the crest of the amazing success of their epic album, was so taken by Procol Harum’s single that he was calling his pals in near wonder: “You’ve got to listen to this; you’ve got to listen to this.”
It was a monstrous hit in the early summer of 1967. It reached number one on the U.K. charts on June 8 and stayed number one for six weeks running.
In far-away Stockholm (this beautiful city facing east always felt distant to me, far away from the big, cool world out there — e.g., London, San Francisco, Los Angeles, et al.), I was captivated, to put it mildly. To me, the song felt slightly unreal, transcendent, almost holy — especially when heard early in the morning (as in 3 or 4 already-light-outside A.M. on Radio Luxemburg which was a bit fading-in-and-out unreal to begin with).
And the lyrics: they were as far from boy-loves-girl-loves-boy as you can possibly get and still call them lyrics. And written by: Keith Reid — the least acknowledged, and to many still completely unknown, poet and genius in Rock’s colorful history.
As an aside, I am the proud owner of a signed copy of the Charnel House Collector’s Edition of My Own Choice, A Selection of Lyrics by Keith Reid. My signed copy is number 67, which I think is so wonderfully appropriate considering the Summer of Love. The photo above is taken from that edition.
In the 1960s and early 1970s, Keith Reid was considered by some to be Procol Harum’s sixth member. Though he played no instrument nor did he ever perform with the band, he wrote most if not all their lyrics and Gary Brooker all the music. What an amazing pair: Together they wrote (and produced) what I still in my brighter moments consider Classical Rock (no, not Classic Rock, Classical). Yes, up there with Bach and Ludwig van.
Another aside: There are two other song-writing partnerships that, to me, reach the Reid-Brooker heights: Robert Hunter and Jerry Garcia for the Grateful Dead and Bernie Taupin and Elton John for Elton John’s albums.
As for great song poetry, I would also add Joni Mitchell, who I feel is beyond compare as a solo writer, and Bob Dylan, who, though mostly amazing, and his Nobel Prize notwithstanding, at times still strikes me as an amphetamine-induced word junkie.
When Whiter Shade was released in May 1967, Procol Harum was already in the studio recording their first album. Once the single took off, and the band’s potential now clearly in evidence, their record company urged the band to wrap things up as soon as possible in order to capitalize on the single’s success. And wrap things up they did. Procol Harum, the album, was released to an excited and expecting world on September 1, 1967. However, both amazingly and stupidly, the record company decided not to include Whiter Shade on the album and as a result, it did not do well on the charts since, unfortunately, none of the other songs were of the Whiter Shade caliber. Granted, this error of omission was corrected in re-prints, like the edition that reached Swedish shores later in the fall of 1967 — that edition began, as should they all have, with Whiter Shade. Still, an album that should have ruled the charts for a while only whimpered.
In September 1967, Procol Harum released their second single, Homburg, which, although great in my view, never made it to number one. It reached number six, and that was that. And, again amazingly, this song was not on the Procol Harum album either, but, curiously, replaced Whiter Shade on subsequent re-prints of the album — I had a Swedish release that began with Homburg and no longer included Whiter Shade. Go figure.
I think the record company really muffed this one.
Their second album, Shine on Brightly, released in 1968, sank like the proverbial stone. Rock critics labeled it as not a rock album (it wasn’t — it was so much more than that) and didn’t give it the time of day. I, on the other hand, bought it, loved it, and still do; but then I was (and am) a true Procol believer.
Another weird aside: When I read that the liner notes to Shine on Brightly, were written by Paul Williams I immediately flashed on the American middle-of-the-pack singer-songwriter, and later a composer of some note, wrote the liner notes. As I saw it, this was not a marriage made in any sort of heaven; more like asking Neil Diamond to write the liner notes for Black Sabbath — in that ballpark anyway.
Of course, came to find out later that the liner notes were not written by that Paul Williams but by the American music journalist and critic who founded the first national U.S. magazine of rock criticism, Crawdaddy, in January of 1966, well before other magazines such as Rolling Stone took the stage.
Ah, that makes more sense.
This is a wonderful record. Kind of a letter from a friend I guess. — Paul Williams
Williams was kind to the album. “This is a wonderful record,” he said. “Kind of a letter from a friend I guess.” He ended the liner notes with this lovely admission, “Procol Harum is a cornerstone of my existence, something I would have a craving need for were it not here.”
Well, Williams was rather alone in his appreciation of the album. As a rule, critics more or less unanimously tanked it.
While for me, it was and still is a wonderful album. Again, all the lyrics by Reid.
But more wonderful still, and possibly their masterpiece: Their third album, released in June 1969, A Salty Dog.
While not overtly a concept album, it still strikes me as one. And to paraphrase the Procol Harum site (procolharum.com), which agrees, the concept of this album is metaphoric, not literal, which allows the subtle writer’s art of suggestion, one of his most powerful tools, to roam (or sail, as it were) this loose, conceptual framework, giving the album its power, a power that seems only to grow with the years.
And, A Salty Dog, magnificently executed by a great band at the top of its game, is also one man’s story:
The story of one particular writer: Keith Reid.
Throughout his partnership with Gary Brooker, Reid penned his beautiful, insightful, and meaningful lyrics in a genre that didn’t quite know what to do with them. Well, Gary Brooker knew (and sometimes Matthew Fisher), and set them to fantastic music (along with his great singing voice) as evidenced by their many albums, but the consensus seems to be that if you can’t dance to it, or it isn’t about infatuation or sex or violence, well, then what good is it?
To me, the final song on that album, Pilgrim’s Progress, is the best testament possible to Keith Reid’s genius: as fine a lyric as was ever written, and it is, in my opinion anyway, set to as great a music as ever composed for a song — this song composed and sung by Matthew Fisher, Procol’s organist.
And the fact that I am writing about this lyricist and this song, today, more than half a century later, as I would about some rare art specimen from a bygone age, bears a sad testament to how overlooked the band in general and Keith Reid in particular is these days.
In closing, I yield the floor to Keith Reid — Pilgrim’s Progress
I sat me down to write a simple story
which maybe in the end became a song
In trying to find the words that might begin it
I found these were the thoughts I brought along
At first I took my weight to be an anchor
and gathered up my fears to guide me round
but then I clearly saw my own delusion
and found my struggles further bogged me down
In starting out I thought to go exploring
and set my foot upon the nearest road
In vain I looked to find the promised turning
but only saw how far I was from home
In searching I forsook the paths of learning
and sought instead to find some pirate’s gold
In fighting I did hurt those dearest to me
and still no hidden truths could I unfold
I sat me down to write a simple story
which maybe in the end became a song
The words have all been writ by one before me
We’re taking turns in trying to pass them on
Oh, we’re taking turns in trying to pass them on
Keith Reid bid his final farewell on March 23, 2023.
