For the life of me I can't figure out how people actually listen to three consecutive discs of this kind of thing. What are these people on, anyway? I've been told my ability to concentrate is better than average -- I can listen to the "National Lampoon Radio Hour" and read Tom Wicker at the same time -- but Keith Emerson's rococo razzle-dazzle on the keyboards (which seems to be what this group actually exists for) leaves me numb, craving aspirin, and mentally singing over and over the first lines of Kristofferson's "Why Me, Lord?" Emerson has fast hands, everyone knows that, and Carl Palmer seems to be a competent drummer (although his taste in gadgetry does belong right besides Emerson's), and Greg Lake, one discovers every twenty minutes when Emerson and Palmer allow him to be heard, is a decent guitar player. But if this is music, I'm glad I'm still hooked on what used to be music.

There are some improvisations, incorporating some of Friedrich Gulda's "Fugue," that prove Emerson is capable of sounding like a musician -- and there is interminable synthesizer and organ glop that proves he isn't much interested in doing it. Decorations are decorated until one would think we could no longer detect how lame the melody was at the bottom of these "original compositions," but we do detect it. I'm sure some people really do like this stuff and listen attentively all the way through (some people, according to some letters to the editors of Oui magazine, like being spanked with a paddle that has holes in it), but what concerns me is the greater number of people who are afraid of what their peers would say if they admitted they hate it. Well, peers, I can't stand it.

- Noel Coppage, Stereo Review, 3/75.

Original album advertising art.
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Not since Yes's great over-indulgence have I been forced to sit through a three-record set. Three records of live music is totally absurd. The fact that it shipped as a platinum record proves that most of the country disagrees with me, but I quite honestly don't care. The recorded quality on this particular set is excellent. The performances are just fine, but why when I've got all the original LPs am I now expected to sit down and listen to the very same stuff (out of order) and with applause?

The title is so very true; now the sun will never set and the show will never end for Emerson, Lake and Palmer. Why, an evening with Pictures At An Exhibition and Welcome My Friends could keep you totally occupied for hours and hours.

All of the old favorites are represented here. There's "Hoedown," nicely performed by a well-tempered Emerson; there's Jerusalem" which sounded a great deal better on Brain Salad Surgery ; there's "Toccata" which I've always found hard to get through with its galloping beat and jarring keyboard work. Side Two opens with the first half of Tarkus . Side Three continues with "Take A Pebble" (including "Still You Turn Me On" and "Lucky Man"). It's Side Three that's the easiest to listen to, but one keeps wondering if it wouldn't be just as pleasant or even more so to pull out the original recording.

Carl Palmer is a fine, fine drummer. I've thought highly of him since he was seventeen years old, wide-eyed and touring America for the firt time with The Crazy World Of Arthur Brown. Still, I cannot stand subjecting myself to the percussion movement of "Tocatta" anymore than I can stand any self-indulgent solo on record. True, this is not a solo, it is coupled with some of the most incredibly horrific synthesizer work I've ever heard. If this is music I'd rather skip it. I've never been in favor of the avant-garde classical style of music (sometimes called "outright prolonged noise") so I cannot stand sitting through this stuff, no matter how hard I try.

Moving right along to the record comfortably sandwiched under the "L" in your three-record fold out sleeve, it is as if Side One never ended. Emerson appears to be playing Tarkus now, but after struggling through "Toccata," the incredibly complex tempo does absolutely nothing for my normal breathing patterns, my aesthetic good taste or my digestive system. Trudging through to the end of "Tarkus" we are given the band's best pieces, "Take A Pebble," "Still, You Turn Me On," and "Lucky Man." Lake was in pretty good voice this tour, and through Emerson's self-admitted sense and use of dynamics, the absence of noise and clutter makes his side a pleasant oasis. Finally, it is possible to listen to Emerson's incredible piano work (at its best when he's left on his own) and Lake's fine vocal style.

Side Four features a long piano improvisation by Keith Emerson. For this, and this reason alone, I would recommend anyone who has not already done so to go out and buy this album. It is always a pleasure to listen to Keith Emerson play the grand piano. Moving along to "Karn Evil 9" it seems somehow strange to find a band rushing to release live versions of material from their last album. Why should anyone want to spend their money on the same tracks two albums in a row? Even Lou Reed had the good sense not to issue Berlin in its entirety on his live LP .

It sometimes seems like I spend a great deal of good time criticizing E.L.P., a band who are incredble showmen and fine musicians. It just seems that so much of their talent, time and effort is misdirected. Still, I'll always be the first one in line, hoping they might get it right, this time.

- Janis Schacht, Circus, 12/74.

A three record "live" set that tosses everything at your ears but the kitchen sink. CRASH. * * *

- Ed Naha, Circus, 12/74.

Welcome Back, My Friends, To The Show That Never Ends... is a marathon three-record set of live performances that are more like assaults. They roar from start to finish with such frenetic energy, ad overkill, that you may find yourself wishing the show would end. This is not to diminish the dazzling, flawless performances or the awesome tightness of the band, because it's all here, recorded with complete faithfulness -- everything an E.L.P. freak could desire. For anybody but a diehard fan, however, there are no surprises in the album and little chance of conversion.

- Playboy, 12/74.

For serious fans only. Not quite an adequate sounding document of their stage act. Others should stick with Pictures at an Exhibition. * *

- Bruce Eder, The All-Music Guide to Rock, 1995.

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