Up until the early 1980s, Eloy were practically unknown in the UK. A German group in existence since the late 60s, it was only when Heavy Metal Records (eccentric stalwarts of the classic Kerrang! years) re-packaged and re-released their ‘Planets’ & ‘Time To Turn’ concept double-set that they came to the attention of British prog neophytes such as myself. Because hardcore prog is what this is — and as such, it seems unlikely that Eloy will ever undergo any form of hip Krautrock rehabilitation.

Which is a great shame, because not only did they have a fantastic sound (crunchy Gilmour-esque guitar, meaty synth lines, propulsively funky bass), but by the time of ‘Planets’, a real talent for writing well-arranged tunes that managed to be both tight and tangential at the same time. (In fact, the reason I started listening to my old Eloy records again recently was a bassline from ‘Planets’ that had taken up a full-time residence in my head). Musically speaking, Eloy might have stalled somewhere between ‘Dark Side Of The Moon’ and ‘Wish You Were Here’, but that’s still a pretty good place to be. Throw in the crazy science fantasy lyrics (though excuse the horrible Rodney Matthews covers), and you can probably see why these records were so appealing to a whole sub-culture of adolescent Michael Moorcock fans simmering away in small town England.

‘Ocean’, however, is another matter altogether. Doing a bit of research, it soon became apparent that Eloy had quite a back catalogue, but that none of it had been released outside of their native Germany. You’d occasionally see imports, but these were always priced at what seemed an unjustifiably high cost (these were the days when new LPs cost £3.99). So, imagine my excitement when I came across a copy of 1977’s ‘Ocean’ for £1.50 in the 2nd hand racks of Selectadisc (God bless it) in Nottingham. Little was I prepared for what lay within…

This is the scene: having got the record home, me and my mate are sitting in my bedroom getting ready to ascend to Teutonic prog heaven. As the needle hits the vinyl, we’re studying (of course) the lavish yet strangely European gatefold sleeve, and starting to read the lyrics to what is essentially a concept album (joy!) about the fall of Atlantis. With only four songs on the record, promising all manner of fret and key wankery, I’m thinking that it doesn’t get much better than this. But, hang on, there’s something a bit funny about these lyrics…

Initially, first track ‘Poseidon’s Creation’ doesn’t disappoint — a suitably portentous picked intro gives way to a swell of Hammond and bass, before a nicely rocking yet off-kilter riff kicks in. Floyd comparisons are inevitable, but it also brings to mind the heavier passages of same-period Tangerine Dream. One distraction though is the drummer’s over-fondness for what sounds like an entire studio’s worth of roto-toms, his paradiddles filling the listener with a ‘will-they/won’t they finish before the bar ends’ dread. Apparently he was a big fan of Rush’s Neil Peart (mmm, now what about those lyrics…).

Anyway, it’s just getting into its stride when the action breaks down for the singing, the words being so awkward and convoluted that they can apparently only be delivered over a basic acoustic backing, and the vocal melody sounds like it’s being strangled at birth. Already, lyrical outrages against the English language are being perpetrated, but I’ll save the best til later…

At this point, I should note that Eloy mainman Frank Bornemann’s heavily-accented vocals are also something of an acquired taste. But between ‘Ocean’ and ‘Planets’, he must have had some serious voice therapy, because on this record the poor guy has real trouble pronouncing certain words — ‘earth’ comes out as ‘erss’, ‘survive’ as ‘surwife’, ‘violence’ as ‘wiolence’ etc. OK, I’m suppressing my teenage sniggering now, but it does somewhat undercut the seriousness of the concept (man).

Still, once the singing’s over with, the song shifts with almost indecent haste to the next instrumental section, powered by a trademark gritty bassline, and featuring a great guitar solo from Frank. Somebody shoot that bloody drummer though…

Next up is ‘Incarnation of Logos’ (dig these titles), which begins as a moody synthscape with lots more words sung/spoken over the top (get on with it!), before moving up a gear with another great bassline and some impressively fearless synth work — one of the great things about Eloy’s music is the way in which the keyboards often carry the song, riffing rather than soloing or providing backing, while still retaining a definite ‘rock’ feel.

However, it’s onto side two, and ‘Decay of Logos’ that lyric-wise things start to get really silly. Musically, it’s still pretty strong — the opening section sounds like a missing part of ‘Shine On You Crazy Diamond pt 2’, and most of the singing is to the accompaniment of the album’s busiest guitar riff (though there is the faint aroma of Euro-rock here, particularly when the keyboardist lets himself down with some excessive Moog wibbling).

But Frank is really struggling to make sense of the words now, and must be cursing the ego maniac behind him responsible for them… yes, remember that Neil Peart reference — well, here’s further proof that you should think very carefully indeed before letting the drummer write your concept album for you, especially when all the evidence points to the fact that he’s been mainlining Eric von Daniken beforehand. And isn’t very familiar with the English language.

God knows what the original language lyrics were like, but the translation seems to have been achieved using only a cheap German/English phrase book. To say that this has led to some Python-esque ‘My hovercraft is full of eels’ type word manglings is actually an under-statement. Just check this outpouring of Dadaist psycho-babble:

In taper indented triangles
sterilized drops of blood
are wildly raving along and their shadows -
they are crossing my horizon!
Concrete becomes liquid, sweats along
and pours along through my legs — Alright!
Extensive feverish stuff.
Rough surface — murderous red!
Even in the air,
which is still gliding
quite and understandable!
I feel the slippery, whispering,
rainy dead end street.
Hanging deep above the vaporing sea!
The final signal for low truth approaches!
Fear did die?
Vanity — insanity, warm, hot and true,
who cut the enemy down? We are betrayed!

Back in the bedroom, this is suddenly the most fantastic thing I’ve ever heard.

But it’s not over yet. The magnificently titled final track, ‘Atlantis’ Agony at June 5th — 8498, 13pm Gregorian Earthtime’, begins with an astonishingly ill-advised spoken word introduction from the drummer himself (Frank’s given up and gone home). I can’t adequately describe quite how funny this is, but it sounds a bit like a lisping Sven-Goran Erickson reciting Revelations in the midst of a seriously heavy drug comedown.

By now, me and my mate are convulsing on the carpet in uncontrollable, and quite possibly life-threatening, paroxysms of laughter. This is one of the funniest things ever committed to vinyl — it’s like Spinal Tap times a hundred, and first hearing it is one of those moments I will remember forever.

After that, the actual track barely registers, which is probably just as well, as most of it is sludgey ambient keyboard washes, though it does perk up towards the end. But really, anything would be hard pressed to follow that intro.

Look, don’t get me wrong — this isn’t about ‘poking fun at the silly Germans’ (I really like this band and dig this album!)… but God almighty, what were they thinking of??? They weren’t even selling any records in England (though Harvest Germany probably used this album’s lyrics as ‘exhibit one’ as to why not). Suffice to say, the drummer didn’t last much longer.

To be honest, this isn’t the best place to start if you’re interested in checking out Eloy in their prime — for that, go to the aforementioned ‘Planets’/‘Time To Turn’, or their last German-only LP ‘Colours’. But as a gonzoid cultural item, ‘Ocean’ takes some beating.