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**Van der Graaf Generator - H To He, Who Am The Only One**
★★★★☆

In the pantheon of progressive rock's most uncompromising acts, Van der Graaf Generator occupy a throne built from equal parts intellectual rigour and primal scream therapy. Their third album, the cryptically titled "H To He, Who Am The Only One," stands as perhaps their most cohesive statement – a 40-minute descent into existential dread that somehow manages to be utterly compelling rather than merely punishing.

The album emerged from a period of upheaval for the Hammill-led collective. Following the departure of organist Hugh Banton and saxophonist David Jackson after their second album, Peter Hammill found himself contemplating the band's future. The cryptic title, derived from a line in Nostradamus, reflects this uncertainty – a meditation on identity and isolation that would prove prophetic. Banton and Jackson eventually returned, but not before Hammill had begun crafting what would become their most focused work.

Where many of their contemporaries were expanding their sonic palettes with orchestras and exotic instruments, Van der Graaf Generator doubled down on their core strengths: Hammill's operatic wail, Jackson's multiphonic saxophone assault, Banton's cathedral-sized organ, and Guy Evans' martial drumming. The result is an album that feels both claustrophobic and expansive, intimate yet cosmic.

The opening "Killer" sets the tone with its relentless 7/8 time signature and Hammill's paranoid narrative of urban alienation. It's prog rock as film noir, all shadowy corners and existential dread. Jackson's saxophone doesn't so much solo as interrogate, while Banton's organ provides a foundation that's simultaneously sacred and profane. The track builds to a climax that feels less like musical resolution than psychological breakthrough.

"House With No Door" showcases the band's quieter, more introspective side without sacrificing any intensity. Hammill's vocals navigate between whispered confessions and anguished cries, supported by delicate acoustic guitar work that feels almost fragile against the weight of the lyrics. It's perhaps the closest thing to a conventional song structure on the album, yet it remains distinctly alien.

The centrepiece "The Emperor in His War-Room" unfolds across multiple movements, each more unsettling than the last. Part medieval court drama, part nuclear-age nightmare, it finds Hammill inhabiting various characters with the commitment of a method actor. The musical arrangements shift like tectonic plates, from sparse piano-and-voice passages to full-band eruptions that feel genuinely apocalyptic.

"Lost" provides a brief respite – if four minutes of Hammill's most vulnerable vocal performance can be called restful. Accompanied only by piano, it's a moment of naked emotion that makes everything that follows hit harder. The album concludes with "Pioneers Over c," a space-age shanty that somehow makes cosmic exploration sound like the loneliest job in the universe.

What sets "H To He" apart from both Van der Graaf Generator's own catalogue and the broader prog canon is its emotional directness. While contemporaries like Yes and Genesis were crafting elaborate fantasies, Hammill and company were excavating the human psyche with surgical precision. The technical virtuosity is undeniable – Jackson's saxophone techniques remain unmatched in rock music, while Banton's organ work redefined what the instrument could do – but it always serves the songs rather than overwhelming them.

The production, handled by John Anthony, captures the band's live intensity while allowing space for the intricate interplay between instruments. The mix places Hammill's voice front and centre without diminishing the impact of his bandmates' contributions. It sounds like four musicians locked in a room together, which is exactly what it should sound like.

Five decades on, "H To He, Who Am The Only One" remains a singular achievement. Its influence can be heard in everyone from King Crimson to Radiohead, though none have quite matched its combination of intellectual complexity and emotional rawness. In an era when progressive rock often seems synonymous with technical showboating, it serves as a reminder that the genre's greatest achievements came from using virtuosity to explore the human condition rather than simply displaying it.

This is music for 3am contemplation and midlife crises, for anyone who's ever felt like the only conscious being in a world of sleepwalkers. Essential listening for the cosmically minded and emotionally brave.