by Dean Wolfe, prog dog media (Album Released 1973, new remixed/mastered vers. 2026)This is a brilliant, well-recorded album. It feels musically adventurous and distinctly underground and obscure, with its cult status clearly justified. It’s full of interesting instrumentation, far more varied than a typical rock group, especially given that many of the band members are multi-instrumentalists playing a wide range of less common instruments.
It feels largely written by intuition rather than formal training or any real leaning toward convention. The band seem more than willing to push into unexpected territory and defy what might typically be expected of a group with a recording contract. In fact, they even touch on the tempting comfort of conformity in the lyrics of “Way of Life.”
'Runaway' begins with a broken glass loop —kind of like Pink Floyd’s cash register motif in “Money”, something that could easily be reused in a modern context.
There are strong analog synth textures throughout, and the band sounds very tight. The drums have that classic dry 1970s production feel.
One of the most striking elements is the contrast between the minstrel-like lead vocal passages and the heavier, slightly grimy guitar riffs. The bass is especially satisfying to listen to—hard to pinpoint exactly why, but it has a smooth tone and consistently intelligent note choices, often locking in or harmonising subtly with the guitar lines.
There are loads of small, intricate riffs scattered throughout, to the point where the music feels almost fragmented at times, yet still cohesive. The organ parts are also excellent. It’s hard not to admire the musical memory required from the band to execute something this detailed and fluid. At times, it almost feels like the music is purposefully “chopped up,” raising the question of how it all holds together so well—there's an interesting creative energy driving it forward.
There are also flashes of marimba, woodwinds, and other colouristic touches that keep things playful and unpredictable.
Frequent time signature changes add to the sense of instability and symphonic looseness, but the piece repeatedly returns to softer vocal sections that feel grounding—like everything briefly collapses back onto a kind of trampoline the band is bouncing on (in perfect symmetry) before launching off again.
'An Inmate’s Lullaby' evokes a kind of timeless nostalgia—for me, like an afternoon spent sitting at the TV on the shag rug watching innocent, child-focused shows in the 1970s. That sense is reinforced by the use of vibraphone, marimba, and staccato percussion, which give it a bright, music-box quality.
Against that backdrop unfolds the lyrical perspective of a psychiatric inmate, described from within his own distorted sense of normality. The contrast between subject and sound makes the track more striking: the music feels like a soundtrack to a child’s carefree summer afternoon, but the narrative steadily reveals something more constraining and unsettled.
Musically, there’s a gradual exchange between several motifs that pass between instruments, building gently into a softly alarming crescendo before easing back down toward resolution.
'Way of Life' is a standout track—lively, fun, and consistently quirky. It has an orderly quality that can sound deceptively chaotic at first, but it’s clearly not; everything feels carefully structured and tightly controlled, highlighting the band’s remarkable cohesion and precision as a unit.
There are some excellent slamming chords on the bass in parts, and a beautifully handled repeated section where acoustic piano and organ intertwine. At moments it brings to mind Fish Out of Water by Chris Squire, which would arrive a few years later.
The musical transitions all feel so distinctive, almost like the band is communicating in a language of its own—leaving the listener to interpret meaning more through feeling than analysis, as if deciphering something slightly alien but emotionally direct.
The track winds down in a slow-breathing conclusion, with rich, church-like organ textures that are both beautiful and slightly subversive. Rather than evoking a traditional sacred setting, it feels playful and unexpected—almost as if a conventional church organist had decided to abandon expectations entirely.
As the album unfolds, it becomes increasingly complex. “Experience” shows how comfortable the band is with breaking conventions. To the “normal” listener it may sound bizarre, but the music consistently maintains its own internal order and sense of balance.
The piano bursts into the track as a strong, lively melodic anchor, joined by moments of loud, soulful rock guitar and a more forceful vocal delivery. Once again, there’s a constant exchange of ideas between instruments, including a quieter, almost medieval-sounding keyboard texture, reinforcing the sense that the band has something to express in both subtle and direct ways.
Lyrically, the song reflects on moving through life and how people are continually influencing, and being influenced by, others. It suggests that it is often only later in life that we recognise the ripple effects of our actions, and how those consequences can eventually come back to us.
At times, the track has a strong groove, and the sense of playfulness and discovery runs throughout the album, unfolding continuously as it progresses.
'Reunion' is probably the shortest track, featuring an intimate, warm vocal performance that carries tender lyrics, supported by delicate acoustic guitar work and subtle transitions between minor and major chords. The arrangement also includes bass and Fender Rhodes, with the most poignant element being the small classical string ensemble. Suitably, the song deals with reunions in relationships and how these meetings can highlight the “plans and hopes erased in our maturity.”
The title track 'In A Glass House' opens with a straight, acoustic-guitar–driven rock feel that, in hindsight, isn’t too far from what Dave Matthews would explore decades later. It also features a strong violin presence that brings to mind bands like Kansas and the Dixie Dregs.
The vocals begin with a flowing phrases that sound deliberately extended—so much so that the singer Derek Shulman seems to only just make it through without running out of breath, which adds a sense of tension and effort right from the start.
Later, it shifts into electric guitar and takes on a more serious edge, even introducing the now-immortal rock cowbell. From there, the arrangement keeps branching outward into a series of side trips and musical detours, including moments of acoustic slide guitar and saxophone. Despite the complexity and constant movement, the track serves as a clear unifying statement for the album, tying together its musical and narrative themes around the fragility of living in a “glass house,” and the idea that the glass can just as easily function as a mirror.
Well... 5 out of 5 dog bones. It's the kind of album you can revisit an infinite number of times and it will never lose its' freshness. There are plenty of ideas to reflect on, both lyrically and musically, and it stays engaging and playful despite some of the more introspective subject matter.
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