In his all-too-brief professional music career, jazz-rock keyboardist and composer
garnered respect from his peers and a small cult audience but little more than that, although he arguably deserved much more. He made his initial mark within what is now referred to as the Canterbury scene of British prog rock, which received a fair amount of critical acclaim but usually only moderately sized audiences, and he also arrived on the scene after the late-'60s and early-'70s Canterbury heyday, thus never achieving the levels of attention enjoyed by such fellow keyboardists as
. Yet, his relatively small body of work reveals a searching and explorative sensibility that might have brought him wider artistic acclaim and even an acknowledgement of his impact on latter-day musicians extending into the 21st century -- had he not died of leukemia on May 17, 1981. As is the case with so many musicians who have died prematurely, this is something that can only be surmised.
Although
Gowen had been involved in early-'70s bands Assagai and Sunship, he first achieved relative prominence as the driving force behind
Gilgamesh, an instrumental prog and jazz-rock band formed in late 1972 and including drummer
Mike Travis, saxophonist
Alan Wakeman, bassist
Jeff Clyne, and guitarist
Rick Morcombe. The
Gilgamesh lineup had already gone through a number of changes before settling into the quartet configuration (with
Gowen,
Travis,
Clyne, and guitarist
Phil Lee) heard on the group's first, self-titled album. Recorded at the Manor with a co-production credit by
Dave Stewart,
Gilgamesh was issued by the Virgin Records budget-line imprint Caroline in August 1975, and this is where most listeners first became aware of
Gowen.
Most of the album's compositions were penned by the keyboardist, and display some hallmarks of the latter-day Canterbury style, particularly a combination of lightness, complexity, and melodicism along with a somewhat cerebral rather than visceral attitude -- not a recipe for mass popularity during an age of ascendency for punk and disco. In addition, there were some elements -- particularly the closing three-part suite including such whimsically named titles as "Someone Else's Food" and "Jamo and Other Boating Disasters" -- that seemed to echo
Hatfield and the North's
Rotters' Club LP issued around the same time, perhaps not surprising given
Stewart's role as co-producer.
Another factor that, in retrospect, might be seen as having both a positive and negative effect on
Gowen's musical career is his relation to the more well-known
Stewart (who himself might have issues with that
other David Stewart guy in
Eurythmics). As an important member of
Hatfield and the North (which Virgin likely viewed as a sort of Canterbury supergroup),
Stewart might have helped enhance
Gowen's public profile, but when
Gowen and
Stewart co-founded the post-
Hatfields band
National Health, some listeners likely viewed
Gowen as the group's "other keyboardist," with
Stewart in a more dominant role. This perception was reinforced by the cover of the first, eponymously named
National Health album released in 1977, with a photo of
Stewart, guitarist
Phil Miller, drummer
Pip Pyle, and bassist
Neil Murray but no other members of the band featured. But
Gowen was far from an also-ran in the group, as can be gleaned by his penning of "Brujo" on
National Health, and his presence on Moog and electric piano throughout the album.
Gowen's crucial involvement in the first version of
National Health was also made evident by the subsequent release of
Missing Pieces (East Side Digital, 1996), a recording by an expanded version of the band -- including drummer
Bill Bruford -- that predated the group heard on
National Health.
Rock-attuned ears might also have found
Gowen's fluid synthesizer lines, with their round clarinet and flute-like tones, to be less assertive than the sometimes more prog rockish keyboard attacks of
Stewart, at least during the time when both keyboardists were recording, either in the same band or separately.
Stewart was certainly capable of subtlety and nuance, but
Gowen seemed even milder -- which could also be perceived as more introspective, trippier, and even more psychedelic, the product of an imagination bred not only on the rippling overdubbed keyboard ostinatos of
Ratledge on "Out-Bloody-Rageous" on
Soft Machine's
Third but also
Brian Eno's early ambient experiments, not to mention such spacier jazz fusion efforts as
Miles Davis'
In a Silent Way and other Rhodes-heavy efforts of the '70s electric jazz era.
These various influences can be heard in such LPs as the second
Gilgamesh LP (
Another Fine Tune You've Got Me Into), 1978's
Rogue Element by the
Soft Head quartet, Soft Heap (released in 1979 by the quartet of the same name),
Two Rainbows Daily by the
Hopper/
Gowen duo, and
Gowen's final recording, the composed/improvised outing
Before a Word Is Said by the quartet of
Gowen,
Miller, bassist
Richard Sinclair, and drummer
Trevor Tomkins. (
Gowen was reportedly very ill during the latter portion of the
Before a Word Is Said session although he apparently remained in high spirits throughout the recording; he died before hearing the completed album.) One of
Gowen's most important collaborators during this period was bassist
Hugh Hopper who, like reedman
Elton Dean, was exploring a British variant on post-fusion that eschewed the pyrotechnics of American fusion stars in favor of
Miles and
Trane-influenced modalism and free jazz mixed with a certain post-
Soft Machine spaciness.
As is sometimes the case with musicians and other artists who leave us too soon, some surprises were in store for listeners after
Gowen had died -- in
Gowen's case related to both
Gilgamesh and
National Health. As for the first group, the Cuneiform label released the archival compilation
Arriving Twice in 2000, featuring previously unreleased tracks from three separate
Gilgamesh incarnations between 1973 and 1975. Although a disclaimer that "none of these tapes were originally intended for release" is included in the CD booklet, at times the recordings and performances actually seem more gutsy than the previous "legitimate"
Gilgamesh albums had been. The band as a whole, and
Gowen in particular, nicely balance the ethereal, spacy, and complex with punch and drive -- and the rough spots in the recording (some of which is in mono) actually lend a certain immediacy to the proceedings.
And as for an alternate view of
Gowen through the prism of
National Health, one must return to 1982, when that band's
D.S. al Coda album was released as a memorial to
Gowen. The LP was entirely comprised of his compositions performed by an extended
National Health ensemble, with
Dave Stewart handling the keyboards and in many cases jamming out with a noisy attack that, to ears accustomed to the more low-key approaches of most of the issued recordings actually featuring
Gowen, seemed rather un-
Gowen-like.
But in fact,
Gowen could muster his fiery side on the keys, pushing himself and his bandmates in
National Health, while also demonstrating an ever-evolving composition acumen. It was just that the last version of the group with these facets of
Gowen's musical personality fully on display, a quartet with
Gowen,
John Greaves on bass,
Miller on guitar, and
Pyle on drums, had never been heard on LP before. Thanks to
Playtime, a recording culled from two live
National Health dates in 1979 and also released by Cuneiform (in 2001), listeners could now hear a side of the keyboardist they had missed.
D.S. al Coda's context was now clearly understood. And
Alan Gowen's loss was perhaps even more keenly felt.
–
Dave Lynch, Rovi