Van der Graaf Generator (1971) After the Flood - LOST70SGEMS

The Least We Can Do is Wave to Each Other is VdGG’s first real group effort and it doesn't disappoint. Often heralded as the little brothers of Prog Rocks' darkest band, King Crimson, they finally proved how terrifying they could be in the coda of White Hammer as Hugh Banton’s ominous organ chords provide the foundation for the angry, marauding gang of David Jackson's buzzard like saxophones. It is a moment that makes your skin crawl, it reminds me of the bawdy, sleaze house seediness of the Sin City theme. The ending is so unnerving, the saxophones sounding like the wheeze of a rooster; like a bizarre barnyard of deformed saxophones.

But even White Hammer' ungodly climax doesn't equip you for the mayhem and peril of After the Storm; kicking off is a dance around the maypole riff on a damp organ that sounds like it is playing from the darkest depths of a catacomb in the ruins of a felled monastery. When Peter Hammill sings over a jaunty acoustic line, a rumbling sound effect potentially originating from an electric keyboard enters in time with the lyrics about 'a far distant rumble'. A galloping organ rock segment takes the tension way due to the 'Deep Purple' nature of the groove. Triumphant sax lead us into a quietly surging section as dark thunderstorms gather; this is manifested by an oscillating effect on an amplified organ as it overdrives like how Jon Lord would sometimes 'conjure the beast' by riddling the keys with an expansive distorted 'whoosh'. Harmonies of Hammills sing; "ice turns to water" in clear voices before we slip seamlessly into an acoustic verse with a bass guitar that dongs like a church bell tolling for the masses. After some filler acoustic pull off licks we get a thundering wah-wah bass gallop with an eerie sax loitering in the back while Hammill sings throughout in his part thespian prince part ghoulish gargoyle vocalisations. His received pronunciation and classical theatre mannerisms add a level of grandeur to the band’s already 'epic' suites, but his subhuman growl is so ugly and unrefined it is almost that of a brutish demi-god or a mangy demon dog.
The way Banton's organ in the left channel combines neatly with Jaxtone' sax in the right is excellent reminding me of the band Kansas would harmonise. However the roundabout flute and sax riff around 3.30 sounds and awful lot like the tight jazz ensemble in the middle of 21st Century Schizoid Man. Around 4.10 the group sings out in scripture like a resuscitation "..and when the water falls again, all is dead and nobody lives" the soulful rock vibrato of Hammill, Banton's huge anthemic chords and Jackson's soaring brass display the full force of their mainstream hard rock abilities. Soon the music comes to a complete stop and sax, organ and their ballistic drummer trudge forth in a winding walking jazz melody, speeding up to a circus like rave up. This overlapping festival of brass and organ work spins like a carousel out of control and slowly descending down to the fifth rung of hell.


Then a fade occurs into a lone strummed acoustic guitar, the same golden 12 string open chords of earlier, same hammer toned bass notes, then a gorgeous Phil Collins-esque drum roll tumbles in; all panned around in the mix for an explosive transition to the latter half of the song.
"And then he said.." Hammill dryly makes his presence known all of a sudden, cutting in like a studio outtake in a speaking tone of voice, as if talking to the engineer in the booth it's so jarring. But it comes with a surprise no one was expecting as he declares feverishly in the grips of his paranoid delusions that all that awaits us at the end of the flood is


TOTAL ANNIHILAAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTIIIIIIION!!!!!


What on earth was that?!, but the most scariest turn you've ever heard in music full stop.


Its Prog at its most unpredictable and dark, it damn near frightens you long after as the mechanically processed vocal seems to go on and on making your flesh crawl from the broken electronic treatment of Hammill's voice as if his vocal cords suddenly stripped and burst into sparks. It is positively 'creepy' as if a robotic voice box within Peter Hammill just abruptly assumed control mid-sentence, suddenly possessed like a gypsy under a curse he gurgles the word out as if emerging from a cyborgian night terror. As he hoarsely yells out the word annihilation to doom laden effect you wonder whether its ever going to end; the ragged, diode sound of Hammill’s vocals is disturbing in itself but the unexpected shift form the soft verse is staggering, it 'takes your breath away' in a bad sense of the phrase. The word just seems to seethe and rage long into the night; a warning, a death knell to a village living on the banks somewhere, a cry of hysteria! Ragged and drawn out for maximum heft in an absurdly grotesque scream it's white hot terror perfectly expressed.
Though admittedly, it is close to tipping on the edge of absurdity, the robotic filter is identical to the ones used for the Daleks in Dr Who, it is still effective beyond the initial shock value and probably VdGG’s most memorable moment; comparable to famous movie scares like the head falling out of the boat wrecked hull in Jaws.

The song continues into another quiet folk verse and another anthemic section all driven by the understated organ and sax while PH's lead guitar appears at the end before the last disjointed piece is taped on as the rumbling clouds reappear, the electronic organ's white noise distortion signal oscillates away like a hacksaw slicing back and forth.