pable Ascent: Lawrence Gowan on 'Crash of the Crown' and the Band's 2021 Creative Peak
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Editor's Note: This 2021 interview captures Lawrence Gowan during the Crash of the Crown era. We honor the legacies of Styx co-founders John Panozzo (1948–1996) and John Curulewski (1950–1988), alongside Susan Young (d. 2022) and fellow Canadian icon Neil Peart (1952–2020). Styx remains a force with the 2024 addition of Gowan’s brother, bassist Terry Gowan, and is currently headlining the 2026 Windy Cities Tour.
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Revisiting the raw transcripts from our July 11, 2021 conversation with Lawrence Gowan is a study in capturing a specific moment in time. The world was just beginning to creak open. And Styx, a band that could have easily rested on its legacy, had just unleashed Crash of the Crown, an album that defied every expectation for a band nearing its 50th anniversary. Gowan himself was calling in from the tour bus, parked in Fargo, North Dakota, a setting that felt both mundane and mythic. This was the frontline of rock’s return.
The immediate news was seismic. For a legacy act to top the charts is a statistical anomaly. For Styx to do it was a statement. Gowan didn't bury the lede. “Well, it's been overwhelming. It went to number one on the Billboard Top Rock Albums chart. I am very pleased to say, and I'm enjoying saying that at the top of every interview,” he says, the satisfaction clear. This wasn’t just a win; it was validation for a band that had consciously decided not to become a jukebox.
But this wasn't some fluke. Looking back, this success was the culmination of a creative surge that Gowan pinpoints to a specific period. He felt a shift around 2015 during the sessions for The Mission. That album was the moment the band recalibrated its internal compass finding the perfect equilibrium between its two foundational pillars.
“There was a sense that we had struck the right balance between the prog side of Styx, which is what I've always been most attracted to and what I try to champion the most in the band, and the accessible pop rock, however you wanna describe it, side of Styx that makes it so easy for the masses to absorb,” he explains. This is the core of the band’s DNA: the complex musicianship that satisfies the purists and the massive hooks that fill arenas. For a time one often overshadowed the other. Now they were in lockstep.
A huge part of that revitalization came from producer and now full-fledged bandmate Will Evankovich. His involvement was the catalyst that helped harness the band's renewed energy turning potential into a tangible product that felt both classic and contemporary. It’s a common story in the industry: a trusted outside ear can often remind a band of its own strengths.
Gowan has been in the band for 22 years now, a tenure longer than many bands’ entire careers. Yet the moniker of “the new guy” still clings to him, a running joke he embraces with the grace of a seasoned professional. He doesn't mind the label at all. “I don't mind being referred to as new for anything at this point in my life. And if you did put 'new' next to me, I'm quite happy to accept it,” he notes. It speaks to a lack of ego that seems to permeate the current lineup.
That collaborative spirit is palpable. Gowan speaks of the band's chemistry not as a professional obligation but as a genuine bond. “We really do kind of lift each other up on stage, and when you're doing that in front of thousands of people, it creates a bond that is very unique,” he says. The brief, unscripted appearance of master drummer Todd Sucherman on the call serves as a perfect real-world example of the easy camaraderie that defines this era of Styx.
I go to the Steinway piano and I go to the Hammond B-3 first and foremost to sculpt whatever the keyboard approach is gonna be to the song.
The return to the stage in mid-2021 was charged with an energy that no one could have predicted. After a year of silence the connection between band and audience felt primal. “There's definitely an extra layer of emotional release that's very evident in the audience, throughout the show, quite frankly,” Gowan observes. It was a shared catharsis a collective exhalation after a year of holding our breath. Styx wasn't just playing songs; they were providing a service.
Sonically Crash of the Crown is a masterwork of intentional architecture. The band went to extraordinary lengths to ensure the album felt anchored in their golden era. This wasn’t about chasing trends. It was about honouring a sonic legacy. Gowan, the keyboard maestro, was central to this effort, leaning heavily on a palette of vintage instruments.
“I go to the Steinway piano and I go to the Hammond B-3 first and foremost to sculpt whatever the keyboard approach is gonna be to the song,” he details. “And then when it gets enhanced with the synths, you know, I have a vintage Oberheim and Moog, and I even got a chance to use my Mellotron, which is in working order just enough to make it onto several songs in this record.” This isn't just gear talk; it's a statement of purpose. Using these instruments is a direct line to the progressive rock textures that defined albums like The Grand Illusion and Pieces of Eight.
Ironically the pandemic itself was a key ingredient in the album's sound. Forced to record remotely Gowan ended up using his personal collection of vintage keyboards at his studio in Toronto. These were the instruments that might have been left behind for more reliable modern equivalents had they all recorded together in Nashville. The result is an album that breathes with the authentic warmth of analogue technology.
The very existence of a new Styx album in 2021 was a victory over a fractured industry. Gowan offers a candid look at the dark ages of the record business. “I'd say it was at its lowest from my vantage point probably between around 2008 to 2013,” he recalls. During that time the band’s focus shifted entirely to the road becoming a relentless touring machine because the infrastructure for selling new music had all but collapsed.
Then the paradigm shifted. With the rise of streaming and a new model solidifying Universal Records re-entered the picture. Crucially they didn't ask for a hit single. They asked for an album. A complete artistic statement. That directive led to The Mission a full-blown concept record that reinvigorated the band and their fanbase proving an appetite still existed for ambitious long-form rock.
Crash of the Crown continued this tradition. It's an album meant to be consumed whole a “theatre of the mind” as Gowan calls it. The structure itself is a nod to the greats. “We used the side two of Abbey Road as a little bit of a road map of how to do that in an effective way,” he reveals. It's a record where segues like “Lost at Sea” are as important as the songs they connect creating a seamless narrative flow.
While the album's themes of resilience and societal upheaval resonated deeply within the pandemic context much of it was written before the world shut down. It was a strange synchronicity that gave the songs an unintended and powerful relevance. The only real critique one could level is that, at times, the lyrical parallels feel almost too perfect a little too on-the-nose for the moment but it’s a minor quibble for an album so musically robust.
At its core this conversation with Gowan reveals a deep and abiding love for the album as an art form. He laments a world of six-second bites and fleeting attention spans championing the immersive experience that only a full record can provide.
“I want to be able to drink things in and absorb them in a in a meaningful way that will stay with me. And the albums that I grew up loving, that's how it is. Goodbye Yellow Brick Road means as much to me today as it did when I first got it,” he says with passion. This is the ethos driving Styx in the 21st century: creating music with that same staying power.
Looking ahead from that 2021 vantage point Gowan was hopeful for a return to familiar stages like Caesars Windsor and Detroit's legendary Pine Knob Amphitheatre. His plans for solo tours were also in motion demonstrating a creative restlessness that benefits both his own work and his role in Styx.
Ultimately the transcript captures an artist and a band not just surviving but thriving. Lawrence Gowan’s perspective from that Fargo tour bus wasn’t one of a musician on a victory lap. It was the sound of an engine firing on all cylinders ready for the next 50 years. He was still in the “we’ll see” mode after 22 years. And from where we're sitting the view looks pretty good.
519 Magazine Archive: We are thrilled to officially unearth the 519 Magazine Digital Vault. This isn't just a re-post; it's a high-fidelity restoration of a pivotal era in music journalism. By pairing original print dates with modern retrospectives, we’re bridging the gap between historical rock-and-roll grit and the lightning-fast performance of today’s web. These stories—once locked in physical print and lost URLs—are now back, fully searchable, and optimized for a new generation of fans.
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We are thrilled to officially unearth the 519 Magazine Digital Vault. This isn't just a re-post; it's a high-fidelity restoration of a pivotal era in music journalism. By pairing original print dates with modern retrospectives, we're bridging the gap between historical rock-and-roll grit and the lightning-fast performance of today's web. These stories—once locked in physical print and lost URLs—are now back, fully searchable, and optimized for a new generation of fans.
