Magna Carta – Seasons

Well, one man's trash is another man's treasure, you can't please everyone etc etc...
This is a beautiful folk rock (concept on side A) album. The fact that it was released on Vertigo doesn't mean that it should be progressive rock.
If you're into excellent harmonies, ethereal vocals, UK psych pop, Simon and Garfunkel, you will enjoy it. Plus it's at least ten times cheaper than a number of other similar (private and non private) "gems" out there.

By 1969 it seemed that bands had run out ideas for names, as some of them were pretty well out there, though with Magna Carta, perhaps they were attempting to connect historical references with the youthful ideas of the day that were blossoming across the world. And perhaps the band saw themselves as a group of youthful rebellious Barons, who wanted their own place in this world, and to freely express their own values and ideals … which is pretty much what the 60’s counter culture was all about.

Formed in the UK in 1969, Magna Carta quickly released two albums under the banner of progressive rock, with Seasons being their most ambitious, and conceptually inspired by the changing of the seasons, which again, could be seen as a metaphor for the changing of the guard. Filled with harmonizing pastoral images of wishful orchestration, where the twenty-two minute track “Seasons” takes up the first side of the album, tweaked with pretentious precious narration suggesting to the listener, that if they would but tune their hearing and adjust the lights, that perhaps out of the corner of their eye, they may see enchanted fairies dancing about … making this album most suitable for playing at The Gardens of Findhorn.

Seasons is far from what we’ve come to know as progressive rock, riding more closely to the popish weaving inspirations of The Moody Blues mixed with the vocal and guitar harmonizing attitudes of Simon & Garfunkel. Yet with all of this effort, the album comes off as easy listening for the most part, making it more of a pop folk rock renaissance effort that is nearly overwhelming with all it tries to bring to the table.

Should this album be taken seriously [?], that’s a subjective opinion, being released in 1970 under the supervision of Tony Visconti [if you can believe that], and with Rick Wakeman in tow, the band has been preforming this opus for nearly 40 years to gentle aging fans who delight in an affected sensitive spectrum of light, drenched in a bit of sunshine pop, one that if nothing else, achieves a melodic detachment within the comfort found in the cycle of life. Actually I want to suggest that I find this outing unbearable, suited for those who wear peasant dresses, Birkenstock and Earth Shoe sandals, women for whom makeup is a nasty word [though they would never say one], and aging men wearing the same starched cotton blouses and drawstring linen pants that they did forty years ago, and have the same sensitive ponytail, though today it’s no doubt a man-bun. All and all it’s much too much, yet goes down all the better with a nondescript glass of white wine from a box. But hey, what do I know, you may very well find this album delightful, many do, as it’s been reissued in the neighborhood of eight times, which in the world of records, is nothing short of an amazing achievement.

A relentless Maga Carta fan once told me, “It's like air … “ she said, ”You can't see it, you can't touch it, but you need it.” I didn’t know quite what to say, so I forced my hands in my pockets and felt with my thumbs, gallantly handing her my very last piece of gum, and went running for the safety of Blonde On Blonde.

Review by Jenell Kesler