The Canterbury school of British progressive-rock (one of the most significant movements in the history of rock music) was born in 1962 when Hugh Hopper, Robert Wyatt, Kevin Ayers, Richard Sinclair and others formed the Wilde Flowers. Wyatt, Ayers, Hopper and their new friends Daevid Allen and Mike Ratledge formed the Soft Machine, whereas Sinclair and the others went on to form Caravan.

Soft Machine (103), one of the greatest rock bands of all times, started out with albums such as Volume Two (1969) that were inspired by psychedelic-rock with a touch of Dadaistic (i.e., nonsensical) aesthetics; but, after losing Allen and Ayers, they veered towards a personal interpretation of Miles Davis' jazz-rock on Three (1970), their masterpiece and one of the essential jazz, rock and classical albums of the 1970s. Minimalistic keyboards a` la Terry Riley and jazz horns highlight three of the four jams (particularly, Hopper's Facelift). The other one, The Moon In June, is Wyatt's first monumental achievement, blending a delicate melody, a melancholy atmosphere and deep humanity. The Moon In June will remain in the essential canon of music well after rock music has disappeared. A vastly revised line-up, heavily influenced by Ian Carr's and Keith Tippett's jazz ensembles, that in october 1969 added a four-piece jazz horn section (notably Elton Dean), continued the experiment in a colder, brainy, austere manner, for example with the four-movement suite Virtually (1971), on their fourth album, and the futuristic 1983 (1972), on their sixth album.

The other co-founders of the Canterbury school, Caravan (3), impersonated a simpler, lighter, mellower and catchier kind of jazz-rock than Soft Machine's. Their specialty were melodic fantasias that basically enhanced folk-like lullabies with jazzy rhythms and intricate instrumental counterpoint: Can't Be Long Now, on If I Could Do It All Over Again (1969), Nine Feet Underground (their masterpiece), that takes up half of In The Land Of Grey And Pink (1971), Nothing At All and The Love In Your Eye, off Waterloo Lily (1972).

Ian Carr's Nucleus (2), one of the most skilled combos in the world, were protagonists of Britain's jazz-rock scene for several years. The dreamy, romantic Song For The Bearded Lady, off We'll Talk About It Later (1970), the "orchestral" and electronic sound of Torso, which takes up half of Solar Plexus (1971), the elegant, baroque synthesis of their most flawless album, Belladonna (1972), relied on horn and keyboards arrangements, as well as on rhythms that were both slippery and solid.

Keith Tippett (2), who had assembled a formidable group of talents, delivered works such as Dedicated To You But You Weren't Listening (1971) and the colossal Septober Energy (1971), performed by the 50-piece orchestra Centipede, that were more properly jazz.

Dave Stewart and Steve Hillage started another dynasty within the Canterbury school when they formed Egg (3), yet another overlooked band that played musical nonsense. The Symphony No.2, on Egg (1970), the classical-jazz-rock phantasmagoria Long Piece No.3 (their Valentyne Suite), on The Polite Force (1971), and the last, brainier jams on The Civil Surface (1974), such as Germ Patrol and Enneagram, packed enough ideas for two generations of musicians to explore.

Several of Canterbury's masterpieces were recorded in the early 1970s by former members of Soft Machine. Daevid Allen (12) was only vaguely related to the school's main stylistic directions: Allen was, first and foremost, a hippie/freak who wed Frank Zappa's paradoxical aesthetics and San Francisco's communal ethos. His Gong, featuring guitarist Steve Hillage, saxophonist Didier Malherbe and keyboardist Tim Blake, concocted a "cosmic" version of acid-rock. Their masterpieces, which include at least Camembert Electrique (1971), the superb Flying Teapot (1973) and Angel's Egg (1973), are demented collages of nursery-rhyme melodies, circus horns, jazz rhythms, galactic keyboards, sensual/celestial wails, sardonic mantras, mock-heroic electronics, caricatural anthems. The whole exudes a sense of stately cacophony. This is psychedelia that is hallucinated but not catalectic. Flying Teapot (1973), in particular, still ranks as one of rock music's wildest flights of imagination.

Kevin Ayers (12) became a lunatic singer-songwriter projecting the persona of an exotic, decadent dandy. Joy Of A Toy (1969), a collection of enchanting ditties, defined his nonchalant cross-breeding of music-hall, folk lullabies, world-music and even children's music. The existential melancholy that already surfaced on that work permeated his most eccentric album, Shooting At The Moon (1970), featuring avantgarde composer and keyboardist David Bedford, teenage guitarist Mike Oldfield even jazz saxophonist Lol Coxhill. Here Ayers found an unlikely balance of harmonic nonsense and catchy refrains, while drenching his fairy tales into surrealism and expressionism. The 18-minute four-part suite The Confessions of Doctor Dream (1974) was his most ambitious and nightmarish work.

Robert Wyatt (113) expanded on the intuitions of his The Moon In June on his first solo album, The End Of An Ear (1970). He invented a whole new language, with nods to both the tradition (pop, soul, folk, jazz) and the avantgarde (minimalism, electronics), both personal and public. The same fusion of private and public themes, but with an emphasis on his public (and communist) persona, characterize the two Matching Mole albums, Matching Mole (1972) and Little Red Record (1972), which are rare examples of brainy, agit-prop music that is actually touching, besides ranking among the most intense recordings of any jazz-rock quartet. His private persona erupted on Rock Bottom (1974), one of rock music's supreme masterpieces, a veritable transfiguration of both rock and jazz. Its pieces straddle the unlikely border between an intense religious hymn and a childish nursery rhyme. Along that imaginary line, Wyatt carved a deep trench of emotional outpouring, where happiness, sorrow, faith and resignation found a metaphysical unity. The astounding originality of that masterpiece, and its well-crafted flow of consciousness, were never matched by Wyatt's later releases. The last significant work of his career was Animals Film (1982). Wyatt concocted some of the most moving music of all times and at least one of the century's masterpieces. He was helped by being both a gifted drummer, heir to both the progressive-rock and the jazz-rock traditions, and a uniquely innovative vocalist, whose falsetto cry, loosely derived from wordless jazz singing, blended soul, Buddhism and psychedelia.

1984 (1973) by Hugh Hopper (1) and Elton Dean's Elton Dean (1971) also rank among the most original and erudite works of British progressive-rock. Overall, Soft Machine alumni constitute a significant chunk of the prog-rock canon in Britain.

The Canterbury school continued to produce bands, talents and masterpieces throughout the mid 1970s. Richard Sinclair and Dave Stewart joined forces and formed Hatfield & The North (1), whose first album, Hatfield And The North (1974), was a competent appendix to Caravan. Then Dave Stewart and Alan Gowen formed a more keyboard-oriented band, the National Health (2), who were not shy to toy with dissonance, electronics and Frank Zappa's orchestral jazz-rock on the four lengthy jams of National Health (1978) and on their masterpiece Of Queues And Cures (1978).

When enfant prodige Mike Oldfield (11) cut Tubular Bells (1973), an album-long suite of instrumental music, all played by himself gluing together the parts of dozens of instruments, he redefined what prog-rock was. In fact, "progressive-rock" became an obsolete term to refer to a music that crossed all stylistic borders. Oldfield's subsequent ventures into the suite, starting with Hergest Ridge (1974), never repeated the miracle of his first work, despite the fact that Ommadawn (1975) and Incantations (1978) were built on more and more ambitious foundations (and Oldfield would eventually downplay that format in favor of the pop song, particularly with 1982's Moonlight Shadow).

However, the second Canterbury generation was best represented by Henry Cow (22), founders of the "Rock In Opposition" political and musical movement. Featuring virtuosi such as guitarist Fred Frith, bassist John Greaves, percussionist Chris Cutler, keyboardist Tim Hodgkinson, and, later, oboe player Lindsay Cooper, they increased the intelligence quotient of progressive-rock. Leg End (1973), inspired by Soft Machine's jazz-rock and Frank Zappa's orchestral suites but also by free-jazz and by the dissonant avantgarde (Nine Funerals Of The Citizen King), was merely the appetizer for Unrest (1974) and its brainy, convoluted, arduous but also extravagant, whimsical and surreal jams/suites. The Henry Cow had found a magical balance between composition and improvisation. Further progress was displayed on Desperate Straights (1974), the first fruit of merging with multinational group Slapp Happy, featuring British keyboardist Anthony Moore, German vocalist Dagmar Krause and USA guitarist Peter Blegvad, whose Acnalbasac Noom (1973) had been an intriguing experiment of expressionist cabaret and rock music. Their second, and better, joint album, In Praise Of Learning (1975), was their artistic testament: the clownish fusion of the early years had mutated into an austere and erudite form of art. That idea was further explored by Frith, Cutler and Krause as the Art Bears (2) on the abstract lieder of Hopes And Fears (1978) and Winter Songs (1979).

Other notable works by Canterbury veterans include L (1976) by Steve Hillage (2), who would later bridge hippy culture and rave culture on System 7 (1991), and Tim Blake's New Jerusalem (1978).