Why Tony Banks, the quiet genius behind Genesis, is hesitant to create new music at 75

At 75, keyboardist Tony Banks should probably be savoring the near-mythic afterglow of the work he created with the band Genesis during the ’70s and ’80s — rewriting and expanding the tenets of British progressive rock, and selling over 100 million records in the process.

One would imagine that, like most surviving prog legends of his generation, Banks would be planning his next solo album, followed perhaps by a lengthy tour featuring guest appearances by some of his former bandmates.

But the slightly somber man on the other side of our Zoom connection is certainly not as convinced of his own staying power. During a lengthy conversation held while promoting the reissue of the classic double LP “The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway,” Banks sounds at times as nostalgic and melancholy as the pastoral piano lines that populate such exquisite Genesis anthems as “Ripples” and “Carpet Crawlers.”

“I’ve got one or two things around that I think would work — maybe,” he hesitates. “But that would involve getting the whole machinery going again, and if it’s fine weather, I’m out in the garden. I’m not a young man anymore, even though I still have musical ideas. Just don’t hold your breath for any combination involving [former Genesis bandmates] Mike [Rutherford] or Phil [Collins.]”

In terms of mainstream visibility, the bona fide Genesis stars were its two charismatic lead vocalists: first Peter Gabriel, then drummer-turned-pop star Phil Collins. But you only need to be marginally familiar with the band’s 15 studio albums — released between 1969 and 1997 — to realize that it was Banks and bassist-guitarist Rutherford who created most of the group’s astonishing soundscapes.

Emerging in the progressive scene at the same time as the other icons of post-Beatles rock — King Crimson, Pink Floyd, Yes, Emerson, Lake & Palmer — Genesis was probably the best of the bunch. Banks was only 21 when they released “Nursery Cryme,” a haunting LP that combines the melodrama of post-romantic classical with esoteric folk-rock. The lyrics breathe like literary miniatures, gleefully exploring social satire, the fantastic and macabre. The album ends with an eight-minute retelling of a Greek myth — Salmacis and Hermaphroditus — drenched in Mellotron and erotic pathos.

“We were lucky that pop music hadn’t gone very far at the time,” Banks says. “Obviously groups like King Crimson had tried a few things, but there was still space to go places that hadn’t been explored much. You could tell a story and allow yourself 10, 15, even 25 minutes to get it across. And in those days, we sort of got away with it. We managed to carry on enough of an audience to make it practical. I don’t think people’s attention span would go for that sort of thing today. And they say that your most creative period is probably up to the age of 28.”

The late-era Genesis canon appears to disprove that theory. In the ‘80s, after Gabriel and guitarist Steve Hackett had jumped ship, Banks, Collins and Rutherford decided to soldier on as a trio. They built their own studio, started jamming together and composing material from scratch, and focused — mostly — on shorter songs. In concert, they conjured up a beautiful racket by having Collins duet with American drummer Chester Thompson during the kind of lengthy instrumental passages that were prog’s badge of honor.

Banks’ refined melodic sensibility and sophisticated chord progressions were the glue that held the magic together. Inspired by Rachmaninoff, his piano intro to the 1973 epic “Firth of Fifth” summed up the essence not only of Genesis, but of progressive rock itself as a harbinger of change: passionate, majestic, intoxicated by its own sense of longing (“a lot of people play it very well on YouTube, but they go too fast,” he points out. “If you play it fast it just sounds tricksy.”)

Even after the band “sold out,” with huge radio hits like “Throwing It All Away” and “That’s All,” Banks didn’t recede; instead, he went covert. 1986’s “Invisible Touch” was an updated prog manifesto camouflaged as pop artifact. Its closing track, a harmonically suspended instrumental titled “The Brazilian,” flirted with the avant-garde by repeating the same anti-melody, anchored on a jungle of percussive clangs and hyperkinetic Simmons drum rolls. It was as brilliant as anything the band had done in the ‘70s.

“Our best music was not our singles, it was the stuff that went a bit further,” he explains. “I avoided using regular chord sequences because I felt it was lazy. A lot of modern pop goes through variations of C, A minor, F and G, then wobble along on top of it. That doesn’t interest me as a writer. I was always trying weird things.”

“Tony was a big influence on me when I was a kid,” says Jack Hues, the former leader of ‘80s group Wang Chung, who worked with Banks on the solo album “Strictly Inc.” “I remember listening to ‘Watcher of the Skies’ every morning before I went to school. I used to put it on my little record player in my bedroom, and it seemed to be the kind of thing that I needed to get through the day. When I got the call to work with him, it was fabulous.”

“Out of all the Genesis entourage, I had the best relationship with Tony. I trusted him,” adds Ray Wilson, the Scottish singer/songwriter who became the band’s last vocalist on the lackluster 1997 album “Calling All Stations.” “He seemed to be the backbone of the whole thing. Very strong minded, very opinionated, but a good person. Being onstage with him when we toured with Genesis had more than its share of magical moments.”

“Calling All Stations” signaled the last time that Genesis released any new music. Collins returned to the fold for a 2007 tour — including two spectacular evenings at the Hollywood Bowl — and, after his health deteriorated, a bittersweet farewell jaunt in 2021-22. The long periods of inactivity may have affected Banks’ confidence, which apparently was not very strong to begin with.

“He always had a small beer before a gig, just to calm his nerves,” recalls Wilson with a smile. “Obviously this had nothing to do with his ability; the man is extremely talented. ‘The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway’ has a cross-fingered intro on the keyboards, and this little run before the first verse comes in. Tony would invariably f— that up. Every now and again, he’d get it right, but I was always thinking: Is he going to f— it up tonight? That was funny, and it was also part of his charm.”

“I cheat, really,” says Banks. “I’m not a great technical player at all. Because I was always writing for myself, I could avoid the things I couldn’t play. Someone like [former Yes keyboardist] Rick Wakeman has a far better technique than me, but technique has never been my priority. I wanted to explore what you could do with the piano. It’s down to how you use it, what you play. And what I play is what I like.”

In the past, both Collins and Rutherford joked about Banks’ stubborn streak. It may be the side of his personality that allowed him to cultivate a solo career of uncompromising integrity and, in commercial terms, one criminally underrated.

It started with the concept album “A Curious Feeling,” its obsessive autumnal gloom and ornate melodies made even more memorable by the monochrome opacity of the production. Released in 1979, a couple of years before Collins hijacked the charts with “In the Air Tonight,” it did moderately well. Four albums later — his last rock outing, “Strictly Inc.,” dropped 30 years ago — success still eluded him.

“I don’t see the point in putting something out there, really,” he admits. “Each one of my rock records sold about 10% less than the previous one. By the time we get to ‘Strictly Inc.,’ I’ve got all the copies here at home. You may have one yourself, but the project didn’t really work out.”

“Tony doesn’t suffer fools gladly, and he won’t play along with the kind of thing where you hang out with the right industry people,” says Hues. “Phil and Mike produced music that had more affinity with the Genesis hits. Tony wrote many of those songs, of course, but his solo product is not very marketable.”

When asked if he could imagine following the career path carved by other prog stars like his former bandmate Steve Hackett, who still releases new music independently and tours the nostalgia circuit constantly, Banks does not sound enthused.

“It’s a much tougher world out there, and people just don’t care.

“If Peter or Phil want to do something, it’s easy for them because they have the stature, and they’re very talented as well. I’m primarily a writer. I didn’t really want to be a player. I only played because no one else would play the stuff we wrote.”

Still, he has not altogether abandoned his creative pursuits. Between 2004 and 2018, Banks released three albums of orchestral pieces that enjoyed moderate acclaim in England. And he is still moved by the warm reception given to the last Genesis tour.

“I was amazed that people were still interested,” he says. ”I thought it was going to be quite tough, but we were able to play big places.”

He pauses to reflect, then adds with a smile.

“Genesis lasted longer than I thought it would. But that’s the nature of recorded music, it’s always out there, isn’t it? People can listen to it and say, well, that’s actually pretty good. And I think that’s really nice.”