This is an excellent live double-CD from Eloy, recorded during their 2012-2013 tour and released in 2014. A bit of background information for those of you who are unfamiliar with this group, and the events leading up to this very special live album. .Eloy are a German Prog-rock band who began in 1969 – and are still going! Over the decades since, the band has been wound-up, recreated and re-invented several times, with the only constant factor being the presence of founder, frontman, songwriter and guitarist Frank Bornemann. While many fans regard Eloy’s 1970s Prog epics such as Ocean and Silent Cries and Mighty Echoes as their greatest achievements, for later fans such as myself, their 1980s output  (Colours, Planets, Time To Turn, Performance and Metromania) was their high-water mark. This was when Bornemann’s creativity was enhanced by the wonderful musicianship of keyboard player Hannes Folberth and second guitarist Hannes Arkona. (As a bassist myself, I also have to mention the inspirational bass work by long-standing member Klaus-Peter Matziol, AKA “Matze,” which is what initially impressed me about this band.) In this period, they released several beautifully-constructed space rock albums, filled with exciting and mind-expanding music that elegantly balanced synthesiser and guitar roles. Sadly, the group was always on the verge of self-destructing, and no line-up seemed to last beyond a few albums (with the 80s band being their most stable and long-lived iteration).After another hiatus in the late 80s, Bornemann resuscitated the band in 1988, initially as a guitar/synth duo with keyboard player Michael Gerlach. Over the course of the next few albums through the 90s, the duo were augmented by session and guest musicians, with Matze returning, first as a guest, then as full-time member again from 1994’s “The Tides Return Forever” onward.

The concert starts with Frank reciting his poem “Namaste” (Sanskrit: “I bow to you” — a Hindu greeting) to a brooding, throbbing, musical backdrop, largely synth-driven, with occasional strummed guitar chords and tubular bells. The album cover shows this moment, with Frank wearing a Venetian mask under his trademark beret, his arms spread wide in supplication. This intimate and understated piece has the effect of drawing the audience in, raising expectations. The piece ends on repeated bell chimes.

Straight on the tail of the introduction, Mann kicks off the set with the tasty guitar riff to “Child Migration” from 1980’s Colours album (omitting the album version’s opening synth section). The verses’ heavy riff is contrasted with the gentle choruses. After the second chorus, there’s an upbeat section with an intricate piano melody. In the studio version, there’s a Spanish guitar over this. The live version uses electric guitar instead, which also works well. The song ends with the multiple-echoed single high guitar notes that are a Bornemann trademark.

The previous song merges straight into “Paralyzed Civilization” from 1998’s Ocean 2 – The Answer, which rocks out harder than the studio version. The opening guitar riff sounds a little like mid-80s Rush (“Red Sector A”, in particular), but with a frantically busy bass part from Matze driving the song on. It also has a reference to Eloy’s own earlier “Follow The Light” with the female vocal melody that comes in on the chorus. The song goes into an instrumental section with Neil Peart-like touches on drums (wood-blocks!) that add to this Rush feel, although it has that classic Eloy high, wailing synth. A Bornemann guitar solo includes nods to the original Ocean. The song seems to be ending on bright synth arpeggios and a touch of vocoder from Gerlach, but then reprises the opening section. A key change promises a keyboard solo, but it ends quickly.

This song from 1983’s Planets misses out the slow starting section of the original and jumps straight in with Folberth’s arpeggio synth intro to the second part, featuring Matze’s brilliant pedalled bass riff and a classic organ riff. They do a great job of reproducing the sound of the album track with modern synths, albeit with some different drum fills. A middle-eight with a pastoral feeling, courtesy of its high synth melody, comes in briefly before that great bass riff returns. The ending features a much longer playout with Folberth and Gerlach threading their synth improvisations beautifully. It speeds up, then slows down and ends on the same ominous crashing synth effect used on the album.

This seems a much better song (and is less of an intense listen) than the studio version from their (then) most recent album, 2009’s Visionary. It sounds fresher, somehow. The guitar parts on this song are fairly restrained and simple, relying on Matze’s busy bass to supply the excitement. The chorus’s descending-chords guitar riff is a bit like Rush’s “Dreamline”. There’s a spoken middle-eight from Frank. After a guitar solo there’s a reprise of the spoken part. It seems to be ending with the final words, but picks up the pace again for a synth solo, which becomes a duet with the two keyboards men synchronised. Frank takes the guitar solo.

This highlight from 1979’s Silent Cries and Mighty Echoes has a livelier arrangement, with Schopf’s more focussed drums, but some older fans may miss Jurgen Rosenthal’s delicate toms which helped define this “classic” era song. Alexandra Seubert performs the vocalese section (subtitled “The Vision — Burning”) in a manner that is less operatic and more soulful than Brigitte Witt’s original studio version. This has a melody that is initially played on synth before being taken up by Seubert’s voice. Given Eloy’s fondness for borrowing from Pink Floyd, one might assume a possible “Great Gig In The Sky” inspiration for this section, but in this case any similarities are only superficial, as “The Apocalypse” is gentler, more ethereal and operatic, becoming more intense as it goes on. The guitar comes in later, echoing that melody. After a while, the melody returns to the synth. The song’s final section, “Force Majeure” is not played this time – probably simply because of time constraints.

This slick rocker from 1980’s Colours (which was also a single, released with an early video performance of the band) unfortunately misses out Folberth’s melodramatic keyboard intro, instead going straight into the single’s rocking bass riff. It features a wild guitar solo from Steve Mann that captures the essence of Hannes Arkona’s original. In this live set Bornemann leaves much of the guitar work to Mann so he can concentrate on the singing. This song has a lot of high notes, which are probably more of a challenge to sing now that Bornemann is much older. But there are some great twin-guitar moments in this song. The weird Hammond-drone ending of the studio version is replaced by a simple chord change and stop.

This is an absolutely sparkling version of the opener to their immensely popular 1977 album Ocean — and the band do not disappoint. It’s introduced with arpeggiated guitar and Shopf’s cracking drum fills. The audience claps along to Matze’s hammering bass, as the organ chords power in. The original wailing guitar part owes more than a little to Meddle era Dave Gilmour, but now both guitars are cross-threading their melodies to great effect. After this instrumental section, the song settles down to more guitar arpeggios for the lyrical section, with Bornemann’s half-sung, half spoken delivery dripping in echo. When the original studio version was recorded, Bornemann had difficulty dealing with the unfamiliar lyrics, which drummer Jurgen Rosenthal had only delivered at the 11th hour (with the ink not yet dry on the pages!) after all the music had been recorded. These were verbose, hastily translated into English, and had not been finessed to fit the music: no rhyme, rhythm or metre. To put it mildly, Bornemann had a great deal of difficulty fitting the words into the songs, let alone finding a suitable melody. In this version, with several decades of honing his delivery behind him, the lyrics work much better. The music then goes into another long instrumental passage, behind a guitar solo, before playing out on a carpet of lush faux-choir and tubular bells. It doesn’t end on the repeated guitar notes of the original, but plays out on the soloing instead.

This is the title track of their 1982 album, and a significant hit as a single. Bornemann still mispronounces the word “facades” in the opening lines after all these years! Perhaps he feels it’s expected of him now (or simply so it rhymes with the previous lines “fades”). It has damped, echoed, chorused guitar (reminiscent of Pink Floyd’s “Another Brick In The Wall”), overlaid with wild pitch-bend synth screams over the bridge. It establishes an excellent groove, although Matze’s delicious bass part is not so clear in the mix in this version, which is a shame.  Bornemann’s master-stroke here is to have the anthemic chorus delivered solely by the female backing singers which instantly makes the song more radio-friendly. The live singersRenner and Lux sound great but don’t achieve the uncanny “ABBA” feel of the album version’s original chorus singers. Mann performs the slide solo. The song ends perhaps too abruptly, and could have benefitted from further repeats of that chorus.

This song from 1976’s Dawn (the debut of the third Eloy line-up, featuring Jurgen Rosenthal, Detlev Schmidtchen and Klaus-Peter Matziol) became a live favourite, so it’s right that the song is still in the set, even decades later. It is missing the spoken interjections of the original, but otherwise captures the studio version well. It begins with that Eloy favourite - a guitar arpeggio. The song has a mellow feeling with its high synth melody and soaring strings. It’s an atmospheric piece of overlaid keyboards, with Matze’s bass forward in the mix. Bornemann handles this song’s difficult long vocal notes well – perhaps better than he did on the 1978 Live album.

This song (the unusual opener from 1980’s Colours) is a chance for singers Renner and Lux to take the spotlight, as their voices begin this song in a style that is reminiscent of medieval plainsong. The lyrics are cribbed straight from Yes’s “The Revealing Science of God,” but in the new setting, it’s not readily apparent.
In the original studio version the voices are initially unaccompanied, but in this arrangement the song is introduced with washes of synthesisers. The main keyboard riff comes in after a while, sounding stronger than on the original album version, bolstered by Matze’s bass, which is particularly impressive as he manages to combine low roots and a higher melodic line

As on Colours, this song directly follows “Horizons”, with Bornemann succeeding in recapturing his younger self’s higher vocal range. This has to be a contender for Eloy’s greatest ever song. It’s certainly the highlight of this live set. It’s a thrilling, wild ride, with a killer guitar riff, underpinned by Matze’s busy bass work. The song is a prog masterpiece, running through several sections that join and flow well. There’s a beautiful, subtle instrumental middle section with bell-like keyboards riding over damped guitars, before it returns to that catchy guitar riff (played unaccompanied, to underline its power). It ends with Folberth doing a magnificent pitch-bend synth solo that reminds me of Tony Carey’s technique - utterly brilliant! If you like this, do yourself a favour and go and listen to the studio version!

This is a pretty faithful rendition of the stomping Metromania classic from 1984, with a spotlight moment for the ladies of the chorus (perhaps to recapture the success of “Time To Turn”). The opening has layers of keyboards with ticking cymbals. Then it descends on the word “Dawn” (another long note from Bornemann) into a heavy metal feel with a cracking guitar riff. Bornemann’s voice sounds powerful - and a little like Saxon’s Biff Byford - on the vocals. The song enters a new section with the bass pedalling root notes while the synths and guitars trade screams. Only Folberth’s slightly changed synth part and the more prominent faux-vocals of the instrumental break sound different. The original’s elegaic keyboard coda is omitted.

This song from 1998’s Ocean 2: The Answer sounds so detailed and perfect that it’s easy to forget that it’s a live recording. It’s a pretty close rendition of the studio version. The production on this album is excellent, with good separation of the instruments that rewards repeat listening. The chorus features the backing singers harmonising with Bornemann. Matze’s bass is what holds this one together: busy yet melodic. Thankfully, the bass is well to the fore in the mix. A quiet interlude of plaintive synth gives this song a Planets-era feel.

This song (perhaps the highlight of 1994’s album of the same name) has quiet, restrained verses (mostly vocals and guitar, with a little synth wash), opening out into big, bombastic choruses with bags of soulful female backing vocals. After a gentle interlude with guitar improvisation, it launches into a reprise of the chorus which is a vehicle for this song’s big solo vocal set piece. Alexandra Seubert’s performance is different to Jocelyn B. Smith’s original, but still spine-tingling. Bornemann has said in an interview that in his opinion this is the best recorded version of this song.

For me, this song is the standout track of 1998’s Ocean 2: The Answer. It’s a strong, emotional song that packs a big punch. I highly recommend that you hear the studio version — one of the band’s greatest ever recordings, It begins with some staccato heavy metal guitar riffing while Bornemann chants the opening lines, but opens out into a  bombastic chorus. Synth wails are added to the second verse, ratchetting up the tension. Then the music drifts off on arpeggiated synths and intricate bass riff to begin its gooseflesh-inducing gradual build-up of the huge choral section that contains the song’s emotional centre. It’s a bit “Child In Time”-like, but who cares? It’s simply wonderful. Then there’s some more metallic riffing to accompany the powerful middle eight. This is followed by another great Folberth synth solo that ends suddenly on a thunderclap sound effect. Perhaps this live version doesn’t quite reach the same emotional heights (and that gorgeous choral build-up really should have gone on for longer, IMHO!) but it’s still great.

This song is from the then-current album (Visionary). It’s also a pointer to the style that Bornemann would adopt for his next three albums (all telling the story of Jean d’Arc – Bornemann’s continued fascination for the French Saint reached its height at this time), with its low, bluesy guitar arpeggio riff. The backing vocals and synths blend in a pleasant way that reminds me of Mike Oldfield’s Incantations. That being said, this live rendition gets more into a groove than the album version, and the song becomes more exciting a third of the way in when a faster, chugging chorus riff comes in. The energetic ending of the song (with a “Sympathy For The Devil” feel, thanks to the backing vocals) makes up for the low-key beginning, and includes multiple synth solos, culminating in a bit of a joust between Gerlach and Folberth at the end. Matze’s semi-soloing bass adds interest.

Eloy finally gets to release a live version of this piece from 1977’s Ocean that didn’t make it onto the band’s classic 1978 Live double album (perhaps due to the electrical interference problems that rendered some of the source recordings unusable). It sounds like there’s more going on in this version, and it’s tighter than the studio original. It begins with Matze’s chorused bass arpeggios, with the synth riff joining in shortly after. Schopf plays a fast high-hat rhythm, then emulates Rosenthal’s distinctive rototom action. Gerlach and Folberth’s synths add some brightness to this version. The song climbs to a quite intense level, with almost ranting vocals, before entering into a Genesis-like keyboard solo. It settles into a mellower interlude before recapitulating the initial heavy section.

This is, perhaps wisely, a much shorter version than those presented on the first Live album and on the original studio Ocean, without the long synth intro or Jurgen Rosenthal’s monologue. Such things were just fine in the 70s, when many members of the audience would be stoned and tuned-in to the vibes, but not for a modern rock concert, where decades-worth of hits need to be packed in. But it still captures the essence of the piece. After a short keyboard mood-setting, Matze’s bass initiates proceedings. The drums crackle and that gorgeous, almost sobbing, synth riff begins. Despite the apocalyptic subject matter (the title says it all!), the song is surprisingly gentle and fluid, staying in a constant groove with sustained keyboard melodies riding on Matze’s swooping bass riff. Mann’s stately slide guitar solo near the end has a Ritchie Blackmore feel.

Going even further back in Eloy’s history, this song was the closing piece from 1975’s Power And The Passion (originally recorded by the band’s second line-up: Bornemann, Fritz Randow on drums, Manfred Wieczorke on keyboards, Luitjen Janssen on bass and Detlef "Pitter" Schwaar on second guitar). That was one of Eloy’s weirdest albums, with a bonkers storyline about time travelling lovers, drugs and a wizard! But this song is a serious, restrained, emotional piece that balances much of the (enjoyable) silliness of the rest of the original set. As with the studio cut, it fades in on the sound of the titular bells. The bluesy guitar solo follows the recorded version quite closely, building up from a gentle start to a powerful finale with wailing synths.

The short and understated album closer from Visionary also ends this live album, with just Bornemann and a guitar, joined on vocals by Renner and Lux, with their close harmonies giving this song a more country feel.