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My moss-roofed cottage.

Magically lit paths.

The album’s title, Minstrel in the Gallery, according to Wiki “refers to the use of a minstrel’s gallery in the great hall of castles or manor houses. This analogy was used thematically in the opening spoken words of the title track, “Cold Wind to Valhalla” and “Baker Street Muse” and also in the songs lyrics.” While not quite a manor house or castle, we also had a great hall of sorts that I think Jethro Tull would have felt quite at home playing their hard prog-rock archaic British folk music blend.

Minstrel in the Gallery reached #7 on the US charts and #20 in the UK. Organ, strings and (of course) flute abound, long complicated guitar solos and epic tracks (“Baker Street Muse” clocking in around 17 minutes), and while not as traditionally Brit-folk as their ‘77 Songs From the Wood would be, the same impulses are present, especially the Norse heavy “Cold Wind to Valhalla.”

And ride with us young bonny lass
With the angels of the night.
Crack wind clatter flesh rein bite
On an out-size unicorn.
Rough-shod winging sky blue flight
On a cold wind to Valhalla.
And join with us please
Valkyrie maidens cry
Above the cold wind to Valhalla.
Breakfast with the gods. Night angels serve
With ice-bound majesty.

Frozen flaking fish raw nerve
In a cup of silver liquid fire.
Moon jet brave beam split ceiling swerve
And light the old Valhalla.
Come join with us please
Valkyrie maidens cry
Above the cold wind to Valhalla.
The heroes rest upon the sighs
Of Thor’s trusty hand maidens.
Midnight lonely whisper cries,
“We’re getting a bit short on heroes lately.
Sword snap fright white pale goodbyes
In the desolation of Valhalla.
And join with us please
Valkyrie maidens ride
Empty-handed on the cold wind to Valhalla.

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I personally didn’t find that quiet spot until around 1991 or so when my college roommate and I had our first apartment. Her boyfriend was spending a year abroad studying in London and we were tasked with keeping his vinyl collection safe for the year – he was a Dead Head and prog/classic rock fiend and this record was part of the stack of vinyl that resided at 204 N. Pinckney in Madison. We threw some epic parties during our time in that apartment and during one in particular I remember my friend Eric, having smoked a copious amount of weed, dancing and singing along to  “Velvet Green” and “The Whistler,” pipe in hand. (Those two songs are my favorites.) Eric is not a big guy and in that moment – he may have even been wearing green – I could have sworn we’d transported a particularly groovy dope-smoking woodland elf onto the fourth floor of a shitty student apartment building. It was amazing.

I’ll buy you six bay mares to put in your stable
Six golden apples bought with my pay.
I am the first piper who calls the sweet tune,
But I must be gone by the seventh day.

So come on, I’m the whistler.
I have a fife and a drum to play.
Get ready for the whistler.
I whistle along on the seventh day
Whistle along on the seventh day.

All kinds of sadness I’ve left behind me.
Many’s the day when I have done wrong.
But I’ll be yours for ever and ever.
Climb in the saddle and whistle along.

So come on, I’m the whistler.
I have a fife and a drum to play.
Get ready for the whistler.
I whistle along on the seventh day
Whistle along on the seventh day.

Deep red are the sun-sets in mystical places.
Black are the nights on summer-day sands.
We’ll find the speck of truth in each riddle.
Hold the first grain of love in our hands.

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