If there ever was an album that went against the grain of mainstream, pandering musical theatrics, it's Uriah Heep's "Conquest" from good old 1980. This British rock powerhouse threw out all the politically-driven musical norms and instead delivered a classic rock album that screamed individuality. "Conquest" hit the airwaves with an audacious blend of pomp and hard rock, challenging the diluted, over-commercialized sound dominating the music industry. The album marked a new direction for Uriah Heep amidst a world that seemed content on shoving saccharine pop melodies into our unsuspecting ears.
First things first, let's talk about who made this sonic masterpiece happen. Uriah Heep, a band synonymous with progressive rock bravado, had been pushing boundaries since their inception in the late 1960s. The lineup for "Conquest" featured the formidable David Byron taking a hiatus, while John Sloman stepped up to the vocal plate, altering the band's sonic chemistry. This wasn't just any lineup change; it was a bold melodious revolution. With Mick Box's guitar prowess lighting the path, Trevor Bolder's thumping bass, Ken Hensley's organ magic, Lee Kerslake’s relentless percussion, and of course, Sloman's unabashed vocal delivery, the band powered through the art of reinvention in "Conquest".
But what really makes "Conquest" such a striking album? Is it the energy? The defiant howl of Sloman’s vocals? Perhaps it's the unapologetic approach to tackling themes of disillusionment and change in a rapidly shifting world. The band had the guts to say what needed to be said—usually much to the dismay of those who preferred their music to be less thought-provoking and more in tune with safe, sponsored radio tracks.
Track number one, "No Return," kicks off with an electrifying mix of bold lyrics and dynamic instrumentation. The message here is clear. There's a point of no return, and for modern culture, it's right around the corner. The song acts as a rallying cry for those tired of the endless loop of banality served up on a platter.
Then there’s "Imagination," a track that exemplifies what happens when robust musicianship meets fearless lyricism. The song challenges listeners to expand their minds. It's a call for listeners to believe in something bigger than what's spoon-fed through glossy media channels.
"Feelings" is another testament to the band's ability to blend raw emotion with a rocking sound that refuses to kowtow to the superficiality of the then-popular R&B disco wave. With these tracks, Uriah Heep unleashed a fierce storm of creativity and protest against the mundane.
But the crowning gem has to be "Think It Over." Originally a non-album B-side, this track stood as a metaphorical middle finger to the music industry’s penchant for predictability. Its release on later editions of "Conquest" made it a must-listen, becoming an anthem for those refusing to blend in with the crowd.
It's crucial to understand that "Conquest" doesn't just demand a listen—it requires courage and intellect. Fans and critics alike were, at the time, split on this album. Its critics, who might have been more content sticking to mainstream drudgery, called out different aspects—the vocal changes, the diversions from previous albums—and yet, what they often missed was the message of adaptation and the artistic challenge. Much like the world we are in, it takes a brave soul to confront change and fight for a transformation of ideas: ideals that this album propelled forward with hefty guitar riffs and headstrong lyrics.
In a time where music tended to follow formulaic patterns that attracted hefty radio play and mainstream approval, Uriah Heep dared to think differently. "Conquest" was not just an album; it was a statement. Those who keep thinking they can dilute real rock and twist it to fit sanitized commercials should learn a thing or two from the grit and authenticity that "Conquest" brought to the table. The truth is, real music isn’t afraid.
In the end, "Conquest" stands as a battle hymn for the defiant—and a sharp reminder that in the world of rock and roll, there is—and always was—room for conquest over conformity.