Guest-blogged by my good friend Todd

Trevor Horn is everywhere. He produces your favorite English acts, he designs your synthesizer, he keeps your career intact despite shifting musical trends, and he kills your radio stars. His name was so ubiquitous in the liner notes of English music that it would be no surprise to learn that Limeys likely checked their cereal boxes to make sure he wasn’t an ingredient in there, too.Before making it big with The Buggles, he created the Fairlight synthesizer, which revolutionized the technique of sampling. Somewhere, a young Sean Combs was taking notes. He created the sound for ABC and countless “New Pop” acts, and hoisted the notorious joke upon an unaware America by creating “Frankie Goes To Hollywood, and their hit “Relax”. Don’t forget T.a.t.U. – perhaps the best argument for a re-Sovietization of Russia (Watch it – I already have “Dancing with the Czars” copyrighted).

As 1979 came to a close, Horn and co-”Radio Star”-killer Geoff Downes were rehearsing in the same studio as prog-rockers Yes. Late ’70s Britain was not hospitable to their sound anymore, with punk grabbing the imagination of the old Isle. By coincidence, Rick Wakeman and Jon Anderson had just left the band, taking their stacks of Moog synths and lyrics about hearts and sunrises with them. After crossing paths between rehearsals, Horn was recruited to serve as the substitute lead singer for Yes, and Downes was brought in to play keyboards. This “trade” completely changed the personality of the band, especially with the more dance-and-punk-oriented Horn at the front. In 1980, this new lineup recorded the perfectly-named Drama. Horn was not a good singer, but his skills with recording allowed his shortcomings to be overcome with gadgetry, and Downes was no slouch, either. Any true Yes fan must have shit their pants when they first heard the twisted punk-reggae-disco of “Tempus Fugit”. Lyrics such as “die like a dead beaten speed-freak” only twisted the knife. While it was far from The Jam or The Fall, Drama was a serious ass-kicking statement of relevance for a genre that was becoming a caricature of itself. If one was ever so geeky that they chose to compare Yes to Canadian counterparts Rush, it would be quite appropriate to call Drama the Grace Under Pressure of their catalogue. Both records feature a sardonicism that was quite new to each band, and this new attitude was, unfortunately, quickly abandoned within their subsequent releases.

While the music was quite good, rock stardom was not for Horn, and he absconded to the drink-in-one-hand, knob-in-the-other life of a producer. Downes and guitarist Steve Howe were recruited by John Wetton to join Steve Carell’s favorite supergroup, Asia. Only time will tell if their decision was well thought out, or merely made in the heat of the moment. (Sorry.) Did that mean the end of Yes? No.

After several rehearsals with some dude named Jimmy Page, last-men-standing Chris Squire on bass and drummer Alan White decided that following Bonzo and JPJ may not be the best career move. (Quick – name the drummer for Wings). Back when a young Vincent Gallo was obsessing over his every move, Squire recorded a solo track called “Brown Bunny”, which sold only one copy. Actually it was called “Run with the Fox”, but as Tony Wilson once said, when there is doubt between the truth and the legend, print the legend. By the end of 1981, Squire was introduced to South African guitarist Trevor Rabin, who topped the charts in his native country with the band Rabbitt (I promise this is not another Gallo joke). Rabin hopped out of his apartheid-laden warren for jolly-ol’ England, joining Squire and White to form Cinema. Soon, Jon Anderson was alerted at this trio’s new sound, and like David Putty receiving a call from Elaine, The “bump into” always leads to the backslide. Jon and old pal Tony Kaye were back – all they needed was a producer. Re-enter Trevor Horn.

Horn’s return to the fold as producer gave him a big stage to display all his new recording wizardry. Trevor Rabin brought him the perfect song for the time – “Owner of a Lonely Heart”. How would Horn treat this opportunity? If you guessed “He’d make the song sound like a pinball machine”, unfortunately you would be right.

There is a recent trend in journalism to refer to anything excessive as “___-porn”. Producer/schlockmeister Jerry Bruckheimer is guilty of making “Debris-porn”. You could cite Saving Private Ryan or Platoon as examples of “War-porn”. I’d even go as far and say that most episodes of “Oprah” could be categorized as “Empathy-porn”. (Vivid Video? Totally “Pornography-porn”.) Trevor Horn decided to add his own entry to the list – “Sound-Effects-porn”.

“Owner of a Lonely Heart” begins with a flanged drum sample, and Chris Squire’s signature bass slide. Then the guitar kicks in, giving one the idea that, hey, this sounds like a prototypical early-80s rock song – somewhat forward-looking, but prototypical. And then, 20 seconds in, it all goes to pot. First the crazy high-pitched stabs that sound like a tire-less El Camino screeching to a stop. Then the “where the hell did that come from?” guitar flourish, shorter than the sound-bite allowed to a liberal on Fox News. Then that screech again, like a wasp that won’t leave the car (Fu-uck!). After about 2 minutes of the main riff being repeated often enough you mistake the song for an automated train schedule, it just gets plain weird. A breakdown-style bridge, featuring multiple stabs, is imitated by Jon. No, this isn’t another “cha cha cha” like “Sound Chaser” – he’s more into imitating a saxophone here. Then Rabin gives us THAT solo – each note harmonized in 4ths. “Don’t deceive your freewill at all?” WTF? Exactly.

“What about the video?”, you ask.

Um, yeah. Let’s just say it gets a bit weird.

Don’t forget about drummer Alan White, with his patented “bite-lip, stick lips out, bob head” maneuver, like Mick Jagger doing “The Rooster” while seated on a circular chair. And when did the art directors for “Square Pegs” gain control over a band’s attire (or maybe they were sending in an early audition tape for Punky Brewster”)? If I ever dressed like that, I’d have to beat my own ass.In 1983, MTV had a program called “Friday Night Video Fights”, which pit 2 song clips against one another. All MTV’s viewers – yes, they were mostly 8-year-olds whose entire social life revolved around “Knight Rider”, “Airwolf” and neighborhood games of Hide-N-Seek – were asked to make a 69-cent call to MTV (kids, get your parents permission!) to choose their winner. When Journey released “Separate Ways (Worlds Apart)” – oh, the days of parenthetical song titles – viewers gave that fire-pantomiming, warehouse-abandoning anthem enough love to keep it in the victor’s chair for six straight weeks. Then came Yes, teaching us that fist-pumping indoors beats fist-pumping outdoors, every damn time.