Neil Cox’s Plays The Walker And Frobenius Organs Of Lancing College – A Timeless Journey Through Sound
If you’re into classical music but haven’t stumbled across Neil Cox’s 1987 gem, Plays The Walker And Frobenius Organs Of Lancing College, you’re missing out on something special. This isn’t your run-of-the-mill organ album; it’s more like stepping into a time machine that zips between Renaissance vibes, Baroque drama, and even modern twists. Recorded in the UK under Michael Woodward’s label (who wore so many hats for this project—producer, photographer, designer—he might as well have been an octopus), this record is one of those hidden treasures that sneaks up on you when you least expect it.
Let me tell ya about two tracks that stuck with me long after the needle lifted off the vinyl—or, okay, after I hit pause on my Spotify playlist. First up: “Choral No. 3 In A Minor.” Now, don’t let the title fool ya—it’s not just another churchy piece to zone out to. From the first note, there’s this haunting quality, almost like the organ itself is whispering secrets from centuries past. It builds slowly, layer upon layer, until you feel like you’re standing inside some ancient cathedral where time doesn’t exist anymore. Honestly? I kept rewinding it because it felt like every listen revealed something new—a little echo here, a subtle swell there. It’s hypnotic.
Then there’s “Variations On A Galliard By Dowland,” which flips the script entirely. Where “Choral No. 3” feels meditative, this track has energy bursting at the seams. You can practically picture Elizabethan dancers spinning around a candlelit hall. Neil Cox nails these variations with such finesse that you forget you’re listening to someone hammer away at keys—they sound alive, playful, unpredictable. It’s the kind of song that makes you want to grab a partner and twirl, even if your dance moves are questionable at best.
What strikes me most about this album is how it blends different eras without ever feeling disjointed. One moment you’re deep in medieval chants (“Te Lucis Ante Terminum”), and the next you’re vibing with the lush complexity of “Prelude, Fugue And Chaconne.” Credit goes to Neil Cox, who clearly knows his way around an organ, and Michael Woodward, whose production lets the instruments breathe naturally. Even the liner notes by David Graebe add a personal touch, making the whole thing feel less like a cold artifact and more like a story being told.
But here’s the kicker: despite all its technical brilliance and historical nods, what stays with me is how human this album feels. These aren’t just compositions played perfectly—they’re conversations between musician and machine, between past and present. Listening to it feels like finding an old book in a dusty library and realizing it holds answers to questions you didn’t know you had.
So yeah, give Plays The Walker And Frobenius Organs Of Lancing College a spin. Just be warned—you might find yourself daydreaming about cathedrals or accidentally waltzing through your living room. And hey, maybe we need more albums where the producer also handles photography and sleeve design. Who knew multitasking could sound so good?
