Tales of Mystery and Imagination

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Most of my friends probably became aware of the Alan Parsons Project in 1977 or 1978, possibly later than that.

The group enjoyed its greatest commercial success in the early 1980s.

But I remember when I first became aware of the band. It was 35 years ago this summer, probably in June. I say "probably" because, when I was growing up, I didn't measure summer by the calendar.

I think my school system held summer sessions in those days for students who had failed certain courses, but that was never an issue for me. I usually got good grades so I never had to spend even a fraction of any of my summer vacations in school.

All I really knew — or, to be blunt about it, cared to know — about the summer season was that school adjourned in late May and resumed in late August. The actual dates were unimportant to me.

In between, I knew I would visit my grandmothers, sleep late most days, see some movies, do some swimming and some reading — and go back to the classroom whenever the adults told me to do so.

About midway through the summer would come the Fourth of July, with roadside fireworks stands and homemade ice cream. That was the closest thing to a measuring stick that I used to calculate how much remained of my summer vacation.

For the purpose of pinpointing events in my young life, "summer" is about as specific as I can be.

I was browsing in a local record store — as I was apt to do during summer vacation in those days — and the proprietor of the store, who was in the habit of playing recent releases, started playing Alan Parsons' debut album, "Tales of Mystery and Imagination," on the stereo.

It wasn't a very large store, and, whenever the stereo was playing, the sound seemed to fill the place, leaving no room for anything else. It was impossible to carry on a conversation with someone standing next to you.

That — and the delightful feeling of the cold breeze coming from the window air conditioning unit — is my most vivid memory, but I also remember buying many records and tapes there.

One of them was that Alan Parsons album.

I had already been introduced to the writings of Edgar Allan Poe, and I stood, transfixed, as I listened to songs that had been inspired by those masterpieces, all of which were more than a century old — "A Dream Within a Dream," published in 1849; "The Raven," published in 1845; "The Tell–Tale Heart," published in 1843; "The Cask of Amontillado," published in 1846; "The System of Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether," published in 1845; "The Fall of the House of Usher," published in 1839, and "To One in Paradise," published in 1833.

The album took its title from the name of a posthumously published collection of Poe's works that focused strictly on his mysteries.

(That collection, by the way, reportedly inspired sci–fi writer Ray Bradbury, who received a copy of it when he was 9. I supposed devoted sci–fi readers owe Poe a great deal for that.)

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Modern readers will probably tell you that Stephen King is the master of horror.

And, for modern readers, that is probably true.

I'm a fan of Stephen King's works, and I'm a fan of Poe's works. And I'll put Poe up against King any time.

Read any one of the pieces that inspired the music on the album that came out 35 years ago this month, and you'll see what I mean.

The Final Days of Edgar Allan Poe

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"Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow—
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream:
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream."

Edgar Allan Poe
"A Dream Within A Dream" (1849)

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He is best remembered as the author of mysterious and macabre stories.

I remember becoming interested in his works when, as a teenager, I heard a recording by The Alan Parsons Project playing in a record store.

The album consisted entirely of songs that were inspired by his writings. It was called "Tales of Mystery and Imagination."

It fascinated me. It was the store's featured new release and, as such, was being played repeatedly for all the patrons to hear. At the front of the store, the album's cover was displayed beneath a sign that said, "Now playing."

I don't know how many people were persuaded to purchase that album by that kind of exposure and sales technique, but it worked on me. I bought it that day, having read nothing about it beforehand and having heard only a couple of songs while browsing in the store.

I marveled then, as I do now, at the mind that could compose poems and stories capable of inspiring such musical composition.

Even today, more than 30 years later, I am dazzled by the musicianship of the early incarnation of the group that was put together by a mostly unheralded engineer who worked on the Beatles' "Abbey Road" and Pink Floyd's "The Dark Side of the Moon."

Edgar Allan Poe's death, which remains shrouded in mystery nearly 160 years later, also fascinated me — and still does.

On Oct. 3, 1849, Edgar Allan Poe was found wandering the streets of Baltimore. Poe was delirious, according to the man who found him. He was "in great distress, and ... in need of immediate assistance."

He was taken to a hospital, where he died four days later, never having been lucid long enough to explain what had happened — or why he was wearing clothes that did not belong to him when he was found.

All of Poe's medical records have been lost. Newspaper accounts of the day reported his death but used code words to imply that alcoholism was the cause of death.

Alcohol may or may not have caused Poe's death. Clearly, he struggled with alcohol during his life, but various reports over the years have indicated that it may not have caused his death at the age of 40. He may have been a victim of heart disease, cholera, epilepsy or rabies.

Like the death of Mozart at 35, of which I wrote the other day, Poe's death probably will remain unsolved.

But, as it was with Salieri in the death of Mozart, there does appear to be a plausible suspect in Poe's death.

A fellow named Rufus Griswold, who was a contemporary editor and critic, apparently was one of Poe's adversaries who also apparently tried to smear Poe after his death.

The effort was temporarily successful — until the sources for Griswold's assertions were discredited and the allegations were exposed as lies or distortions.

Poe's reputation was restored — but the cause of his death remains undetermined.