This isn’t a traditional concept album in the sense of having a single narrative, however we intended it to follow a musical and emotional journey exploring a range of themes that have felt relevant to us over the past few turbulent years.

At the heart of this album is ‘Walking To Aldebaran’ (WTA), the longest and most complex of the tracks. Inspired by Adrian Tchaikovsky’s stunning novella, it explores the transformation of a scared and lost man into a monster. The protagonist’s unflinching but partial understanding of what he is becoming is amusing but haunting. In order to keep the focus on the human rather than the monster, the song leaves the narrative of WTA before the protagonist engages in some activities of which we are unlikely to approve.

In reality monsters don’t usually come with the helpful signalling of claws and fangs. They are the people some of us become, and some of us tacitly allow to take power, when we fail to control the worst aspects of human nature. 

The dehumanisation of our enemies allows seemingly normal people to commit atrocities. The day before I wrote this, I saw two photos. One was of children holding hands on their way to be murdered in a Nazi concentration camp. Adjacent to this was a picture of the smiling, playful Auschwitz camp staff on a day off. These people didn’t look like monsters. They looked like us. They had been trained for years to see the people they were killing as the monsters, starting with language designed to make us empathise less with those who are deemed different.

For those of us who live in times and places where people don’t face criminal sanctions for their sexuality, it is easy to forget how recently this became the case, and how in many parts of the world their sexual orientation still puts their lives at risk. I was greatly moved by Chris Bryant’s book "The Glamour Boys" about how a group of Tory MPs, despite threats to reveal their sexuality by Chamberlain’s government, stood up against appeasement. The song inspired by the book is sung from the perspective of one of these MPs (an amalgamation of several of the historical figures featured in the book).

There are several overlapping and recurrent themes in the album. Several songs explore historical and current threats, whether in terms of real life (‘Sold The Peace’, ‘The Glamour Boys’, ‘Burn The World’), or in the context of fiction (‘The Light Of Ancient Mistakes’). There is a parallel theme of failure of communication.

The album opens with ‘Sold The Peace’. After the Second World War, we entered the Cold War, a tense period in which nuclear-armed states balanced on the edge of potentially civilisation destroying conflict. 'Sold The Peace' explores how so much was risked to win the Cold War, only for some politicians to appear to sell out their principles so cheaply. Who would have imagined when billions were being spent on apocalyptic weapons, that so much influence could now be bought for so relatively little?

Apocalyptic weapons, and the long overhang of conflict and failure of communication also feature in the second track, ‘The Light Of Ancient Mistakes’. In his novel ‘Look To Windward’, Iain M Banks explores the long-lived consequences of an atrocity. In his book, the light from a sun-destroying explosion has travelled for 800 years before reaching an orbital where a commemoration for the tragedy is due to take place. The protagonist of the song is an artificial intelligence trying to show the futility of cycles of hatred to someone planning an act of mass destruction.

We explore the historical overhang of past mistakes on a more personal level in Sixteen Hugless Years, which was inspired by the author John Le Carre’s experiences of emotional neglect in childhood.

’imtiredandeverythinghurts' is a more personal track, relating to the difficulties I find in communicating about a chronic invisible disability. In my case this relates to my experiences with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, a genetic collagen disorder which causes, amongst many other problems, chronic pain. The title of the song was inspired by the logo on a Newsthump T-shirt (and used with their permission).

We tend to have standard semi-scripted outlines of acceptable conversations, and one of the typical opening lines is ‘how are you?’. This well intentioned piece of social interaction is potentially difficult to manage for someone who spends much of their time in pain. Is the phrase a social convention, to which I am supposed to say "fine", which is rarely true? Or is it an actual enquiry about my current health? I don’t want to be dishonest with people by pretending to be fine when I’m not, but I also don’t want to drag people into a conversation about chronic pain that they may not be comfortable with. On the other hand, for those of us with conditions that vary from day to day (or hour to hour), it may be important to communicate what our current level of functionality is. I am also aware that there is no negative intention behind the question, and the last thing I want to do is to discourage people from communicating. The song doesn't offer any answers, but I hope illustrates an aspect of living with an invisible disability.

Awkward communications, although in this case between different parts of the shattering self of the protagonist, continue with the next song, ‘Walking To Aldebaran’. This song was inspired by Adrian Tchaikovsky’s novella of the same name, and includes quotes used with the kind permission of the author. In the story, the space-ship pilot Garry Rendell, (a name that might appeal to Marillion enthusiasts... G.Rendel...), is exploring an ancient maze-like space object. Due to a miscommunication between himself and an old, possibly malfunctioning but well intentioned machine, he is transformed into a monster. This song aims to jump between different styles, from prog metal to musical theatre and contemporary classical music, to reflect the different shards of the shattered mind of poor Gary, and is sung from his perspective.

Inspirations for this song included the wonderful rhythmic patterns inherent in Adrian Tchaikovsky’s writing and Peter Maxwell Davies’ ‘Eight Songs For A Mad King’.

The album ends with ‘Burn The World’, in which a regretful future human looks back on the choices we could have made if we didn’t want to ruin the world. We have amazing potential, but risk making terrible decisions because we assume that someone else will sort things out.

“All the things we could have done, and we chose to burn the world”.

Although my aesthetic may tend towards the bleak, I think I am neither an optimist or a pessimist overall, but somewhere in the middle. As individuals, humans are often lovely, but as a group, particularly if surrounded by an echo-chamber, we can be appalling. I don't think we are inherently bad, but we do have evolutionary hangovers in our psychology than can be hacked by those with malicious intentions.

Some people prefer their music to be apolitical, and of course I believe that people should be able to listen to what they like. But as someone writing songs, I find it very difficult not to be inspired or affected by what is going on around me.

We are very concerned about what appears to be an increased normalisation of the othering of minority groups in society in recent years, in a way that appears to be designed to channel anger at the vulnerable, rather than at those taking advantage of their power. 

Garry Rendell had some insight into what he was becoming, but wasn’t able to control his actions. Maybe we could do better. We’ll see.

Malcolm Galloway

The song starts with floating, but increasingly ominous textures made from manipulated guitar and flute. The sound of the flute is increasingly stretched and the vibrato exaggerated. 

The song then brings in a Rhodes-style keyboard, drums and bass.

One of Mark and Malcolm's favourite moments in the album is when the right hand guitar comes in on 'I brought you here to show you'.

The track features two short guitar solos. The first Malcolm plays on a Fender Stratocaster and the second on a PRS Custom 24.

The Anxiety Machine is a three part instrumental, split within the album. 

It is the least tonal and most experimental/contemporary classical/music concrete sounding of the pieces on this album.

There is a very long continuous version of this track that will be released on one of Malcolm's solo albums - 19 minutes of disturbing burbling is probably a bit long to fit on a Hats Off Gentlemen It's Adequate CD. 

I was reading an academic book on animal cognition, and was delighted to see they had recommended Adrian Tchaikovsky's writing as an interesting perspective on imagining consciousness from a non-human perspective. This track was inspired by a couple of his spaceships. 

These ships were piloted by highly advanced octopuses. He describes the mother-ship as being like a huge ball of dark water. The introduction to this instrumental tries to capture a sense of dark watery depth. 

This track features the first use of the base of a broken floor-standing lamp as a gong. 

Malcolm making the base of a broken lamp make unlikely noises - photograph by Mark Gatland

The city has changed
The sparkle faded
The colour drained by red and black
It used to be somewhere where we could
Be ourselves
Could live be without fear

The party’s almost over, 
My friends are disappearing
So many gaps
The empty spaces left
Behind the barbed wire fences 
It opened my eyes

They call us the glamour boys
The punishment for speaking out
The leaks and smears and telephone taps
The hints the threat the veiled attacks

They call us the glamour boys
To force us into shadows
To warn us off from speaking out
But it’s gone too far

We were taken to a camp
Where everyone I spoke to gave the same reply
Word for word, while avoiding my eyes

There’s unbroken sea
Where an island used to be
The coral bleached 
The sandbags breached, long ago

The desert is winning
The forest is thinning
The rain that used to fall
Now floods or none at all
And not much in between

We could have made
But it’s easier to break
We could have tried 
But it’s easier to fake
We could have taken care

We could have cared
Just enough to give ourselves a chance
But it’s easier to fail 
We never learned to change

All the things we could have done, and we chose to burn the world

So many chances slip
And so many of us wait
For someone else to blink
For someone else to make the change
While we drift 

So much life to live
And so much life to save 
From ourselves, but we threw it all away
What have we left for you?

The solo for this track was recorded on a Squier Stratocaster. I had originally intended to play a placeholder solo (one that we put in the track to show where a solo will go, but which we don't expect to end up on the final recording), and just used the nearest guitar to hand, which I'd recently got from Ebay for about £80. 

Listening back, we liked the solo, and kept it as it was. I wonder if thinking at the time that nobody other than Mark and I would hear the placeholder solo might have been quite liberating, and led to a better solo than if I'd been overthinking it?