I predict that in the next year or so, progressive rock music is going to experience a huge comeback. Guffaw if you must, my friends, but we'll see who's scoffing when you're frantically downloading MP3s from Peter Gabriel-era Genesis records.
Think about it: the math rockers already primed us for prog's triumphant return, way back in the '90s, by updating prog's complicated guitar lines against a backdrop of post-Fugazi punk. Flaming Lips' The Soft Bulletin, with its psychedelic grandiosity, embodied the spirit of trip-out parts from songs like Yes' "Heart of the Sunrise." Your favorite band right now is Tortoise (See: Progressive Easy Listening). And have you ever heard a Mary Timony record? That shit is 100% progressive rock.
Another sign of prog's imminent return: although the band Tool can described as "Prog for the Lowest Common Denominator," they had enough foresight to ask their idols, King Motherfucking Crimson, to open for them.
KING CRIMSON! The band that made Red, the best album of the 20th Century! (Except for Yes' Fragile and maybe Close to the Edge, or that Mary Timony record.) I could just DIE!
So, for Crimso's tour, the drummer from Mr. Mister is filling in for Bill Bruford, and Trey Gunn, Robert Fripp (ooh!), and Adrian Belew (aah!) comprise the rest of the line-up. Now, one question I know you will pose is, "Hey, aren't you forgetting that they are all approximately 70 years old now?" Luckily, I have an answer.
Unlike punk rock and rock and roll, prog rockers are more likely to IMPROVE with age. To generalize: because prog relies on skill and the ability to construct complicated music, progsters don't have to prance around with purple scarves and try to look hot, while still trying to tote a colostomy bag. Why? Because we prog-lovers are a bunch of DORKS who would rather be wowed by a musician's prowess than by how much fire they can blow and how many chicks' panties are creamed by the end of the night.
You can bet your ass that this fucking awesome King Crimson show is Sign One in prog's imminent return. Really. I mean, haven't you noticed the sudden infrequency of Jean Luc-Ponty in the record bins?