There is such a thing as the musical wallflower. An album that has been there forever, blending in with its background on the shelf. Hidden from view. I must have skipped over Mike Rutherford’s Smallcreep’s Day for years when looking through my dad’s vinyls. I don’t remember listening to it ever before. Maybe because my dad didn’t play it regularly (he admits that the LP could use a thorough cleaning). Maybe because this music didn’t interest me as a kid. Maybe because out of all the cover sleeves, this one didn’t really stand out. Maybe all of the above. And yet, having no previous point of reference, no point of comparison feels kind of freeing and exciting.
I first assumed my dad had bought this one to complete his collection of Genesis records by adding the solo project of the band’s bassist, Mike Rutherford. But no. Instead, a weekly radio show, airing from the 1970s to 90s, turns out to be the reason here. Wim van Putten’s LP Show on the Dutch radio station TROS used to air weekly on Thursdays, presenting a selection of new and old records by artists that focused on making music for entire albums instead radio singles. Artists like Pink Floyd, Genesis, Jethro Tull. Making albums like Dark Side of the Moon, Duke, Thick as a Brick. And one day, Mike Rutherford and Smallcreep’s Day were among them.
The record’s entire A side consists of only one song, Smallcreep’s Day, a seven-part song saga. And at first, the simple fact that it indicates 24:41 minutes of play time on the album sleeve might put you off. It put me off. But its first part opens with such simple keyboard arpeggios that I wouldn’t be mad to be listening to this for twenty more minutes. Combined with a subtle bass line and melancholic vocals, this minor fantasy develops calmly, almost shyly. Creeping underneath the door frame, slowly filling the room with vaporous notes. It’s immediately clear: this is no dance music. I cannot listen to this too attentively. This music blends in wonderfully with the background, almost unnoticeable yet unmissable in its shy presence. This is music I can imagine driving to, on lonely highways with the sun in the back.
That first song plays all different parts, switching from soothing melancholy to more upbeat guitar riffs to harder rock ‘n roll drum beats. The parts can be easily distinguished, each one of them bringing a new little melody to your ear, yet never confusing or disturbing the feeling the previous section created. Rutherford has made a clever decision here to combine the many smaller parts into one coherent storyline – referencing the 1965 novel of the same name by Peter Currell Brown. Separately, these melodies would lose their charm, thinned out over the stretch of more than three minutes. But as a more than twenty-minute-long evolution of sound, they create something wonderful. Nothing new, no. But nevertheless, something pleasurable. I find myself drifting in the sadness, tapping along to folksy guitar build-ups and bobbing my head to a classic rock tune. I imagine myself sitting in a van with friends on a road trip to the sea as we tell each other stories and laugh.
There’s definitely more bite to the B side. Moonshine starts off strong, a straight-faced, straight-forward rock sound, highlighting Rutherford’s guitar skills and featuring Ant Phillips (former Genesis lead guitarist) on keys. There’s not much to say here. It’s a solid rock tune with a punchy rhythm and bold vocals, strong beats on 2 and 4 and classic verse-chorus-bridge structure. There’s nothing that really sets it apart from any other rock song of its time. But that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I’m still enjoying myself listening to it for the third time today. The second track on this side, Time and Time Again, is, as the title might suggest, quite repetitive. The only movement lies in the changes of dynamic, the mixture of soft and hard, the constant going-back only to push forward again. To be honest, this song could do without the lyrics and more guitar solos. I’m not paying attention to what Noel McCalla is singing about. What I am paying attention to are the entrancing conversations that are happening between the guitar, keys and drums. The way the instruments come together, the way these masterful musicians create something so musically pleasing.
And musically pleasing certainly is an attribute I’d happily assign to Smallcreep’s Day. The penultimate song, Every Road, has that exact quality. Although it borders on the verge to kitsch – walking that very fine line every glam rock singer in the 70s had to walk – it ultimately succeeds to remain in the realm a classic, romantic rock melodies. The whistle-like synthesiser, the acoustic guitar strumming away on a regular 3/4-beat – it ticks all the boxes. This tune works on a rainy Sunday, it works on a long car trip, it works by the campfire. This track might be the epitome of the entire album’s atmosphere. As long as you only listen, as long as you’re not looking to dissect every bar in search of artistic genius, as long as you approach this music without a point of comparison, it is quite beautiful.
Will I remember any of the melodies on this record? Maybe. Any of the lyrics? One or two. Any of the riffs? Not sure. Does that make it an inferior record, condemned to a life on the shelf? Certainly not. Because I will listen to it again. I will listen to it again if I want to brighten up these rainy Dutch days; if I want to think of my dad sitting in front of the radio and discovering a new record every week; if I want to listen to some simply good music. Lower your expectations. Erase them. Some albums are a stroke of genius. Smallcreep’s Day may not be one of them. But that’s no reason to dismiss it.
Want more non-genius yet simply enjoyable music? Give Gloria – Geister a try!
The Dad Anthology 