If there's one thing that can light up the good old heart of rock enthusiasts, it's the story of a great band like Qango—the British progressive rock supergroup that took music seriously but themselves, perhaps, a little less so. Qango was formed in the burnished days of 1999 with Carl Palmer and John Wetton at the helm, both of whom were members of the legendary band Asia. Alongside them were guitarist Dave Kilminster and keyboardist John Young, making Qango one of the most capable supergroups ever to assemble. The magic happened mostly in the U.K., a land that has always favored quality rock music, slightly more than it does poorly thought-out social policies.
But here’s the kicker; Qango was not just a rehash of past glories. No, sir. They made sure to pepper their performances with selections from both Asia and ELP (Emerson, Lake & Palmer) songs, adding a fresh perspective to the classics you thought you knew. Perhaps their timing was less than impeccable, debuting at the dawn of the new millennium when fearless rock bands were overshadowed by pop music stars who often seemed more concerned with virtue signaling than guitar solos. However, their brief existence didn’t stop them from making an indelible mark.
Qango managed to produce a live album, ‘Live in the Hood,’ which put a spotlight on their explosive renditions and musicianship. If you weren’t lucky enough to witness them perform at intimate venues across the United Kingdom, this album was the next best thing. Their performances were small, but they were mighty, reflecting a gravitas and musicianship that is unfortunately rare in today's auto-tuned music landscape.
Speaking of their short tenure, Qango only stuck around for about a year or so. A bit like a comet blazing across the sky, they delivered their music just as fiercely but briefly. And yet, they left behind enough material and memories to be remembered fondly by the rock purists who experienced their live gigs. In a world that was just recovering from the tremors of the '90s alternative scene, Qango was a tutelary reminder of what true musicianship can achieve.
The band members went on to pursue various individual projects, ever the busy musicians, although the world was robbed too soon of John Wetton's incredible voice with his untimely passing in 2017. And while Qango itself didn’t produce a boatload of records, the ones they did produce are cherished by those who hold rock's rich traditions near and dear. They’ve got stories to be told and harmonious experiences to deliver, the kind you just can't find riffling through endless Spotify playlists.
Qango may have gone, but they waylaid the modern obsession with transient fame for a musician's ethos that smacks of credibility and authentic artistry. These days, the world could use a few more bands who choose talent over tweets, and profound riffs over politically correct posturing. Some would argue the liberal ethos of today’s music industry would find it hard to stomach the uncompromising sincerity and sheer musical talent that Qango represented.
As with any great art, their live performances weren't just concerts; they were experiences vividly imprinted in the memories of those with appreciative ears. It's hard to say exactly why Qango didn't go on to be massive. Perhaps their commitment to creating authentic music kept them ahead of their time. Or maybe the cultural climates, ever obsessing over momentary pop idols, just weren’t ripe for a band like Qango.
Once you unravel the layers of what Qango was, you'll see why their sudden appearance and subsequent disappearance is one of the greatest ‘what-might-have-beens’ of music in the era. In true rock fashion, they didn’t preach but performed; they didn’t pander but elevated. Isn’t it time we stopped sacrificing talent and authenticity on the altar of transient pop culture? As for Qango, they forever remain a call to arms for those who see virtue in artistry and reject formulaic conformity.