Originally published in Melody Maker, 10 July 1976

The concept album, contemptuously rejected by many critics as the great bore of rock, has returned, and this work of producer Alan Parsons, supported by a cast of hundreds, will doubtlessly meet the same condemnation. But Parsons pleads: “Don’t judge this book by its cover.”

Who, though, could be blamed for taking two steps backwards when confronted with the title Tales of Mystery and Imagination: Edgar Allan Poe? That is the problem Parsons and company will have to surmount if their masterwork is to make the impact in Britain it deserves.

The album is an insight into the life of American writer and poet Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849), as seen through the eyes of Parsons and Eric Woolfson, an admirer of Poe’s work and at whose instigation the Project (as it was titled during its embryonic stages) was undertaken. The lyric content of the album incorporates many adaptations of Poe’s work.

Parsons’ musical roots lie in good commercial rock (called “pop” until the Bay City Rollers happened along). One has only to view his list of credits to appreciate this pedigree: assistant engineer on the Beatles‘ Abbey Road, engineer on Paul McCartney’s first two Wings albums, Wildlife and Red Rose Speedway, engineer on the Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon, and producer of, among others, Cockney Rebel, Pilot, John Miles, and Al Stewart

A pop pedigree if ever there was one, put to excellent use when it came to piecing together Tales of Mystery and Imagination, striving for a blend between sturdy lyrical content and popular music, and, after a year’s work, succeeding.

Before moving into pop engineering, Parsons worked as a laboratory research assistant with EMI, specializing in television cameras.

His first break came at the Abbey Road studios where, as resident engineer, he was assigned to work with the Beatles on Abbey Road. His involvement with the band was at a crucial point in their career, when friction between the four members, or at least three of them, McCartney, Lennon, and Harrison, was at its height.

“There was one thing really strange about that,” Parsons recalled. “After the basic tracks were recorded, you’d never see all four in the studio at the same time. John would be there for a day and then George and so on. They’d just each come in for the tracks they’d written.”

“The John and Yoko thing was at its peak and the others’ reaction to that was a bit strong. There was a double bed moved into the studio so that Yoko could sit writing letters. Just imagine that. There was this studio full of amplifiers, guitars, and all that, and in the corner was this double bed.”

It was noticeable that when Parsons talked of his association with the Beatles, he referred constantly to Harrison, McCartney, and Lennon, never mentioning Ringo Starr.

“Well, Ringo’s career is rather different.” Parsons thinks for a second. “Even I could sense that he was just going along with what everybody else wanted to do. If he made a suggestion or something, the others would say something like, ‘Why don’t you go and make a record,’ which he’d do, partly with George Harrison’s help.”

Parsons also worked with McCartney at a time when the former Beatle was particularly prone to criticism. His first solo release, McCartney, hadn’t won much praise, and the albums Parsons engineered, Wildlife and Red Rose Speedway, did little to alleviate the cynicism, especially during a spell when Harrison’s and Lennon’s solo careers were shaping up well.

“I remember thinking with Wildlife that Paul wasn’t making such a perfect record that he might have made with the Beatles. It was a good sound but he wouldn’t spend quite as long getting guitar solos and harmonies right.

“As a producer, he’s fairly demanding. He’s often unable to describe what he wants and it’s down to experimenting. He’d say: ‘I want a better bass sound’ and I’d say, ‘Where’s the knob on the desk to get it?’