Jethro Tull Songs From the Wood (1977)

From progarchives.com

Review by Peter

 Songs From the Wood, from 1977, is one of my favourite Jethro Tull discs, and represents a brilliant return to form, after the previous year’s disappointing TOO OLD TO ROCK AND ROLL. Singer/songwriter Ian Anderson, in keeping with the recording’s title, revels in his folkier side here, with terrific, spot-on accompaniment from his band (comprised of Martin Barre on guitar and lute, John Evans on keyboards, Barriemore Barlow on drums and percussion, and John Glascock on bass and backing vocals). Additional keyboards and “portative organ” are provided by frequent collaborator David Palmer, who eschews his polished orchestral arrangements this time out, to further reinforce the session’s “rootsy” atmosphere.

The album gets off to a rollicking start with the title track — a cheery, multi-textured piece that features great harmony vocals with a pub-like, singalong feel, ringing acoustic guitars, tight bass and keys, and Anderson’s instantly-identifiable, joyous flute. Anderson’s clever lyrics serve as a sort of menu or traditional “calling on” song, telling the listener of the songwriter’s intent: “Let me bring you all things refined: Galliards and lute songs served in chilling ale. Greetings, well-met fellow, hail! I am the wind to fill your sail. I am the cross to take your nail: A singer of these ageless times — with kitchen prose, and gutter rhymes.”

The tracks that follow ably live up to the promise of the excellent opener: “Jack-in-the-Green,” concerns a diminutive woodland sprite who “drinks from the empty acorn cup” and tirelessly works to bring in the green of summer, even in “changing times” of “motorways (and) powerlines.” The multi-talented Anderson, somewhat of a Jack-in-the-Green himself, plays all instruments on this quaint little ditty, including guitar, bass, flute and percussion.

The following song, “Cup of Wonder” takes the form of a sort of extended toast, exhorting us to meet in good fellowship, and “pass the plate to all who hunger… pass the cup of crimson wonder.” Again, there are fine vocal harmonies and flute-work on this solid and satisfying slice of folk-prog (best served with some chilled brown ale!)

The next number, the harder-rocking “Hunting Girl,” is one of the spicier offerings on the menu, and is generously seasoned with delightful dollops of Barre’s chainsaw guitar. Fans of the heavier side of Tull will especially enjoy this musical entree, which wittily tells the risque tale of an impromtu amorous encounter between a “high-born hunting girl” and “a normal local so-and-so.” Very hot!

“Ring Out, Solstice Bells” is a celebratory song (it’s collected on the new Jethro Tull Christmas CD) that hails the arrival of the winter solstice, when the hours of daylight begin to wax, and the dark, chilly days of the season are on the wane. This would be an excellent choice to add extra cheer to your next festive gathering or compilation!

The sixth song, “Velvet Green,” is also quite tasty, with particularly good drumming from Barlow, and healthy leavenings of rhythmic organ and “singing” lead from Evans and Barre, respectively. This is another wonderfully diverse musical melange; at times quasi-medieval in flavour — at others herbacious and folky. The lyrics detail the myriad pleasures to be found in strolling — and rolling — in loving company “on the green.” A classic Tull cut!

Lucky number seven, “The Whistler,” is a very catchy tune, which, as the album’s single, garnered the band some well-deserved (and long overdue) airplay in the year of its release. The song masterfully combines Celtic and rock flavourings, via flute and guitar, in a tidy, three-and-a-half minute format. It’s a savoury aperitif which whets the appetite for the next course!

At nearly nine minutes, “Pibroch (Cap in Hand)” is the longest track on the album, and, for my tastes, the least satisfying. By no means a “bad” song, the relatively heavy “Pibroch” has some great guitar, but suffers somewhat from being just a tad over-extended and rambling, and risks leaving the (by now almost sated) listener with a “bloated” feel.

Any vague misgivings melt away, however, as the evening draws to a close, and we bask in the warm and hearty glow of the “Fire at Midnight.” By way of goodnight, Anderson bids us to his hearth to contemplate the “dying embers of another working day,” and informs his lady love that “it’s good to be back home with you.”

Before writing this review, I considered giving this CD only four stars, but upon revisiting it as I write, I can only conclude that SONGS FROM THE WOOD is one of Jethro Tull’s more noteworthy and successful efforts, and thus award it top marks. Highly recommended to all confirmed and would-be Tull fans! Please, don’t hesitate to take a walk in the WOOD! There’s nothing to fear, and the rewards are piquant and many-splendoured!

Jethro Tull Heavy Horses (1978)

From progarchives.com

Review by The Whistler

What happens if you take the folkish good nature of Songs From the Wood, the hard rock and calm acoustics of Aqualung, and the dry art of Minstrel in the Gallery, toss ‘em all in a blender and hit “puree?” Well, you get a heaping pile of plastic dust, that’s what! Not to mention the fact that you’ve just nuked about forty dollars worth of music there…honestly, why do I even bother?

Of course, if you did all that in a figurative sense, like you were supposed to, well, you’d probably get an interesting mess. But it would sound an awful lot like Heavy Horses.

Heavy Horses is a funny sort of album (heh, heh, Heavy Horses). Initially, I didn’t like it. Certainly not the title tune (too slow! Too boring!). I compared it to Songs, most obviously, which I considered to be God’s greatest invention since the seed drill. Later on though, I realized that it was good, and Horses and Songs entered into Mortal Kombat deep in my brain over which one was better. And, oddly enough, Horses won out.

We start out with the gentle sound of cats purring. This very quickly (in a “blink and you’ll miss it” sort of way, only audio-ically, of course) turns into a mighty, organ based rocker. This is “The Mouse Police Never Sleeps,” which is just about the most perfect song ever written. I’m kidding of course, but I love it. It’s insane, it’s hilarious, and the coda with the repeating “the mouse police never sleepsthemouse police never sleeps” chant is great. Although it does piss off the occasional listener…

Anyway, “Acres Wild” is a jolly jig with a great backing of bass and drums, not to mention fun flautistry and mandolin banging (sounds like a community arts class). The lengthy rocker “No Lullaby” kind of lets me down though; the tune itself is decent enough (I especially love at the end where it speeds up), but it’s just too damn long.

However, “Moths” earns everything back. It’s the best shot at effortless beauty that Jethro Ian has handed us since “Cheap Day Return,” easily, complete with a haunting acoustic guitar line, and equally haunting vocal delivery.

“Journeyman” is just a good old bloozy number, with buzzy fiddle, crunchy guitar and an amazing bassline. “Rover” is a folk rocker, but unlike the stuff from Songs From the Wood, the emphasis is more on the folk than the rock, so it comes off as lighter. Not that that’s a bad thing; the song is really good. I don’t see why everyone thinks it’s about escaped convicts though; I think it’s about misplaced love.

“One Brown Mouse” is not my favorite track, but not for the reason you might be thinking. Some people don’t like it because it’s based on a nursery rhyme, so it’s not the most serious of numbers. I have nothing wrong with the lyrics, I’m just not one hundred percent crazy about the arrangement (it comes off much better live).

Anyway, all this has been good, don’t get me wrong. But “Heavy Horses,” the majestic miniature epic of a title track, is the best thing on the whole album. And I didn’t even like it to start with, so it must be good! The introduction is amazing: it’s this painful, heavy guitar line courtesy of Mr. Barre, that fades into soft piano and Ian singing about the decline of the heavy horse…don’t pay too close attention to the lyrics, it’s the angry, post-apocalyptic melody that lurks underneath it that counts, and when it rears it’s head, you’ll now. And post-apocalyptic it is, as the tune speeds up and becomes a spooky, folksy, jig…of doom! Yep. The horses come back, and they’re pissed. Or something. Still not sure.

Anyway, “Heavy Horses” eventually fades into “Weathercock,” a medieval styled rocker about, well, uh, birds forged from iron that predict weather. Or so we speculate. “Medieval styled rocker” is the best description, as the instrumentation includes the trusty flute ‘n mandolin, as well as extensive portative pipe organ and electric guitar soloing.

So, what makes Heavy Horses so damn great? I don’t know. Maybe it’s guest violinist Darryl Way of Curved Air fame, whose buzzy fiddle is welcome on “Acres Wild” and “Heavy Horses” (and…JOURNEYMAN perhaps? Hmm?!? Thought you’d slip that past me).

Maybe it’s that the band really, I mean REALLY gels here. The songs flow (even “No Lullaby”) perfectly from start to finish, and flow into each other just as well. Martin is perfectly balanced between the heavy and light traits of folk and rock. He even plays some cool, real watery guitar (“Acres Wild,” “Moths”), which we haven’t heard since…I dunno, Benefit? Johnny Glascock never played better (“Acres,” “Journeyman”). Barrie and John Evan play like their lives depend on it, and David Palmer’s personal additions are never intrusive (“Weathercock”). And Ian. The flute and guitar are great, as always, but his voice is amazing. He sings like he’s a kid again (no offense, of minstralic one), with a youthful, energetic, yet knowing and dark tone.

In fact, maybe it is the tone that sets the album; it’s darker than Songs ever was (which is where the Minstrel in the Gallery connection comes in for me). Only something like “Acres Wild” or “Rover” could have really fit on Songs weight-wise, and both of those are kind of dark anyway, lyrics-wise at least (coincidentally, the only song on Songs worthy of Horses is “The Whistler”). Even “Moths,” beautiful as it is, is really cold and sad; it’s about suicide, get it?!? Moths? Flame? Aw, forget it…

But maybe what makes Horses so great is that sad fact that it’s is the last great Tull record. It’s the last true classic Tull record anyway, the last time this lineup would play as a unit. And you can feel the stony chill in the rising introduction to “Heavy Horses,” as if they all knew that this was the last time. Sniff. Kicks the crap outta “Aqualung” even.

Yeah, what the hell. I’ll go out on the proverbial limb here; it would be too easy to declare an Aqualung or a Thick as a Brick to be the greatest of Tull albums. I hand that honor off to Heavy Horses; you see, THIS was the album Ian had to make. We’ve always known he was a folkie, proggy though he may be, and Songs was just training. THIS is the serious record, perhaps the first truly serious record Ian’s ever made. Even with “Mouse Police.” It’s not quite Thick as a Brick, but hey, what is? Get it. Get it now. Why haven’t you gotten it yet?

(Oh yeah, the Horses remaster comes with two bonus tracks. The first one, “Living in These Hard Times” is okay, but kind of dopey. The title suggests something along the lines of what would become Broadsword’s “Fallen on Hard Times,” but it’s more like the Stormwatch outtake “A Stitch in Time.” Oh well, it’s not as good as either of them anyway. But the second track, “Broadford Bazaar,” is a gorgeous folk melody. It’s just Ian overdubbing his ghostly lyrics over pounding acoustic guitar and lifting flute lines (as usual). As only he can, of course. That’s probably a really bad description, but trust me, it’s a nice song. Not nice enough to raise the overall album rating, but still nice.)

Jethro Tull – Minstrel in the Gallery (1975) – DVD 5.1 surround review

From hiresedition.com

Continuing their 40th Anniversary re-issue series, Jethro Tull is releasing their epic 1975 “Minstrel in the Gallery” album featuring 5.1 and Stereo mixes by none other than audio extraordinaire Steven Wilson.

A live recording of the band performing at the Olympia in Paris on July 5, 1975 is included on a second disc and features 5.1 and Stereo mixes by King Crimson’s Jakko Jakszyk. This new La Grande Edition also includes the b-side Summerday Sands, several studio outtakes and session material recorded for the BBC.

Fans will get the original album in both Stereo and 5.1 plus 7 bonus tracks in stereo, 2 of which are also available in 5.1(Summerday Sands and an alternate Requiem). There are also flat transfers of the original LP mix at 24 bit / 96kHz plus the additional track Summerday Sands. Quad fans will also find a flat transfer of the original quad mix of the album which includes the additional track Summerday Sands. Lastly there is an 8–1/2 minute film of the band performing Minstrel In The Gallery in Paris from 1975.

Getting this remixed re-issue is worth it just for the improved sound quality alone. The heaps of muddiness are stripped away, providing listeners with a crisp, clean, and clear version from which it is easy to hear every single sonic detail. Anderson’s acoustic guitar is sparkling and warm, while Barrie Barlow’s percussion is brilliantly distinct. However, Martin Barre’s electric guitar, which was penetrating enough on the original mix, drives an ice pick through your head with razor precision.

I must admit this was never my favorite Jethro Tull album, yet it truly reflects the bands evolution from its blues roots and heavy rock tunes to the acoustic leaning subsequent album “Songs from the Wood” and “Too Old to Rock and Roll.” It is understandably another masterpiece in the bands canon.

Steven Wilson uses his typical parlor tricks for the creation of the 5.1 mix. Naturally much of the energy emanates from the front channels, with secondary parts placed behind the listener. It has become an easy to recognize fingerprint of Wilson’s style to add reflections from the rear channels, open up the sound stage, and develop a spectrum that is both resonant and vibrant. I expect nothing less, and once again he has made it all happen.

As one would anticipate, the original Quad mix takes a substantially different approach, with instrument placement unique to the Wilson 2015 5.1 remix. It is a delightful listen, although sonically not as clear, nor as dynamically balanced as the new mix. Wilson has taken the multi-tracks and undeniably added his mixing artistry to this classic progressive rock album. There are even a few aural candy surprises to discover for those seeking movement of parts around the soundstage.

The second DVD includes concert mixes by Jakko Jakszyk in both LPCM 24/96 and DTS 5.1 24/96 surround sound, and backwards compatible Dolby AC3 5.1 audio. There also is a lively video of “Minstrel in the Gallery” from the Paris concert, leaving fans only wishing for more film footage of this rock and roll flamboyance. But thre are tons of stills that slowly change as the concert plays.

On this disc fans will find a bunch of material from Tull’s Aqualung album, along with “Bungle in the Jungle,” “Skating Away on the Thin Ice of the New Day,” and “Critique Oblique” all among these concert recordings. Both “My God” and “Locomotive Breath” appear as ambitious mini-suites, plus “Minstrel in the Gallery” was previewed for the audience.

There is absolutely no question, the La Grande box set includes a wealth of very good extras well suited for Tull fans. While hi-res enthusiasts like myself are after the multi-channel remix of the album, we get a pretty darn good package with ample bonuses. Recommended for progressive rock fans, surround sound enthusiasts, and Tull completests.

Jethro Tull – Too Old to Rock ‘n’ Roll: Too Young to Die (1976)

From rockonvinyl.blogspot.com

Jethro Tull isn’t his name, of course, but it might as well be. At the mere mention of this venerable British art-rock outfit, most people flash on the image of flute-wielding Tull front man Ian Anderson. The LP’s ‘This Was’ and ‘Stand Up’, both from 1969, present the group as jazz-and folk-influenced progressives; Anderson’s rasping, melodramatic style of play takes off from Rahsaan Roland Kirk’s multi-reed explorations. Guitarist Martin Barre contributes heavy, hooky riffs to accompany Anderson’s burgeoning songwriting voice on Stand Up. And then, Tull clicked with young American audiences.

Aqualung combines heaving melodies and moralistic liberal diatribes against church and state: You know the rest. Thanks to 20 years of radio rotation, heavy handed manifestos like “Aqualung” and “Wind Up” rank right up there with “Stairway to Heaven” on the over familiarity meter. Living in the Past, which ably documents Tull to this point, is recommended over the later compilations.

The immediate success of Aqualung spurred Anderson to indulge his artistic whims, resulting in two challenging, wildly experimental, and occasionally obtuse theatrical concept albums: ‘Thick as a Brick’ and ‘Passion Play’. After that strategy backfired, Jethro Tull returned to traditional song structure on War Child and the acoustic-flavoured Minstrel in the Gallery.

Things were never quite the same again, though. After the excessively snide 1976 hit “Too Old to Rock ‘n’ Roll, Too Young to Die!,” Tull retreated into a sylvan glade of arty Elizabethan folk-rock. This latter-day approach is best captured on the lovely, smoke-flavoured Songs From the Wood and A. on which former members of Fairport Convention and Roxy Music add crucial support. 

After releasing a pair of electronic stinkers (Walk Into Light and Under Wraps) in the ’80s, Anderson retired the Tull moniker for several years. The 1988 box-set retrospective (20 Years of Jethro Tull) is representative, but mighty tough for the average listener to wade through, Jethro Tull released the folkish Crest of a Knave in 1987; from then on, Anderson retreated into a prosaic formula that obliterated most of the pastoral passages and tricky time signatures in favour of shorter songs that rocked in surprisingly conventional ways. 

Anderson’s darkly sarcastic sense of humour and the band’s tight instrumental combustion has made Tull an exhilarating live experience to this day—long after its records ceased to hold much interest for anyone but hard-core fans. [extract from the New Rolling Stone Album Guide, 4th Edition, 2013]

Album Background
First, a bit of back story: after 1975’s Minstrel in the Gallery, Jethro Tull had intended to not only record a new album but also put together a stage musical about an ageing rock star. Somewhere along the line, however, they walked away from the musical idea and instead utilised the material they’d written for it as the basis for their new album, Too Old to Rock ‘n’ Roll: Too Young to Die!

Like ‘Benefit’ before it, ‘Too Old To Rock ‘N’ Roll’ has never got the credit it’s due.

A Rock Opera containing some of the band’s most anthemic Rock songs (the title track being the most famous example) and some of its most poignant and delicate acoustic ballads (‘From A Dead Beat To An Old Greaser’, ‘Salamander’, ‘Bad-Eyed And Loveless’), ‘Too Old’ is one of the unsung gems of Jethro Tull’s remarkable catalogue.

However, Ian Anderson should stick to music, because he most definitely is not a storyteller. This is the muddled story of one Ray Lomas, “the last of the old rockers,” whose long hair and tight jeans mark him as a person whom time has passed by. After a series of events remarkable only for their lack of humor and originality, we leave the “hero” as he is about to become a pop star in his own right.

We can take comfort, though, in knowing that Anderson’s technical prowess as a composer remains undiminished. The album abounds in breathtaking musical passages. The title cut, for one, is a textbook example of the use of dynamics and nuance in a rock song: instruments subtly creep in during the verses, with the slightest of musical nods to let us know they’re there. The music builds with a tension that heightens a desperate theme, then erupts in the chorus. “Quizz Kid” features, in addition to numerous startling changes in texture, several brief but pungent solos by guitarist Martin Barre, whose playing is exemplary throughout.

Album Review
Jethro Tull’s Too Old to Rock ‘N’ Roll: Too Young to Die! remains one of the minor efforts in its catalogue. Though the group was never a critical favourite, this 1976 album was particularly dismissed, and it didn’t find as much favour as usual from fans, either.

This LP remains the group’s only release of the 1970’s not to have at least gone gold in the U.S. In his liner notes to the reissue, bandleader Ian Anderson claims that the collection was intended to support a stage musical “based on a late-’50s motor cycle rocker and his living-in-the-past nostalgia for youthful years. Not me, guv, honest,” he added. “Why do people always think it has to be autobiographical?” Perhaps because the main character, Ray Lomas, bears a striking resemblance to Anderson in the cartoon strip included with the album and because the sentiments expressed in the songs revealed a curmudgeonly attitude familiar from past Jethro Tull efforts penned by Anderson.

The songs don’t conform to the story line developed in the strip, nor do they tell a coherent story on their own, though they do have their own separate stories to tell. For example, “Crazed Institution,” in the strip, has something to do with Lomas’ revulsion at a department store called “Horrids” (ie. Harrod’s), but the song sounds like a put down of glam rockers who “live and die upon [their] cross of platinum.” The title track, which went on to become a classic rock and concert favourite, remains the most striking tune [extract from vinylpussycat.com].

Jethro Tull: how loneliness and cold war spy thrillers shaped Minstrel In The Gallery (1975)

From loudersound.com

Jethro Tull swapped their West London studio for glamorous Monaco, but it was Ian Anderson’s ‘loner’ status and outsider observations that really informed Minstrel In The Gallery

The first thing Ian Anderson did when he woke up this morning was stand in the window completely naked – “there’s no one around at that time to see me” – and look out across the fields

“I saw the sheep gently moving a few hundred metres away, and got that wonderful feeling of, y’know, thanks for all the good fortune.” 

He’s thinking like this because he’s remembering Grace, the simple snippet which closes the far-from-simple album Minstrel In The Gallery, Jethro Tull’s 1975 near-classic. 

“That song was just paying homage to the world around,” he says. “It was a musical afterthought, a postscript, just thanking whatever power or spirit for the blessings that have been bestowed upon you that day. Then it asks: ‘May I buy you again tomorrow?’ Because in a way you pay through the nose for that good luck. So it’s just saying grace, although… I tend not to have these thoughts about me when I sit down to gorge myself on King Prawn vindaloo, a saag aloo, pilau rice and a plate full of poppadoms. I’m not that spiritually minded all the time. But there are moments.” 

There are moments of spoken-word theatre, acoustic folk, heavy electric rock, string quartets and (of course) flute on the busy, bustling, bursting-at-the-banks Minstrel In The Gallery, one of the peak Tull statements. 

Some go as far as to call it the quintessential Tull album, but Anderson himself reckons it’s not quite Premier League. “In terms of the Jethro Tull canon, Aqualung has to sit right at the top of the tree,” he says, “not only regarding the quality of songs but as being ‘iconic’ to an audience the world over. Well, particularly back in the seventies. 

“Then if you were to divide all the work including my solo stuff into three blocks of a) great, b) okay and c) perhaps not, then Minstrel In The Gallery would be in the second group and probably near the top of it. But, you know, it might be somebody else’s favourite. For some that’s even [the much-criticised] A Passion Play. Luckily everyone has different opinions, and that’s what makes us all more interesting than otherwise we might be.”

Anderson is both interesting and opinionated. His articulate early morning monologues are delivered in warm, witty, stentorian tones, often impossible for the interviewer to break into with anything so distracting as questions. 

Today he digresses on to Brexit, Frank Zappa, Beefheart, Jimmy Page and David Bowie, but can at times be guided gently back on to the topic at hand: the Tull album which arrived in a year when the band had played five sold-out nights at the LA Forum and were described as “the world’s biggest band?” (albeit with a question mark) by Melody Maker. 

“I’d learned long before to recognise that you can have everybody reckoning you’re the Next Great Thing,” he says. “Then within a year or two get some poisonously negative stuff. And this was in the days before social media! Imagine the vitriol and condemnation and abuse now if I’d come out with A Passion Play. But yes, it was up and down, up and down, all the time.” 

Even the lyrics (on Minstrel track Baker St. Muse) – ‘I have no time for Time Magazine or Rolling Stone’ – note the impact of the press in that era. 

“Having been on the cover of both, these were hugely important back then,” says Anderson. “As was being fortunate enough to get the attention of John Peel. But of course they’d fall out of love with you as quickly as they’d fallen in. Rolling Stone swiftly decided we were the spawn of the devil because we weren’t Americana. And eventually John Peel decreed we were off his Christmas card list and never spoke to me again. I was mortified, really. It was painful to feel suddenly cut off.”

Punk wasn’t quite gobbing at the rock gods just yet, but you were in the firing line when the new orthodoxy declared progressive rock to be out of fashion and infra dig. 

“And I’m well aware of the pomposity and arrogance that some see in a progressive approach, in a concept album”, says 71-year-old Anderson, still recording and touring (a new album is in the making) and now an MBE, erstwhile salmon farmer and director of four companies who hasn’t worn a codpiece or dirty raincoat in many years. 

“I fully understand all that, I get it,” he says. “On the other hand, to constrain myself to only working within the bounds of obvious, conventional, catchy music would frustrate and thwart me. You have to let loose. For some that might be just turning it up to eleven, one louder. A bit more welly. 

“For others it might be a change of direction. Or it could be an escape into the destructive world of alcohol and drugs. For me I suppose it’s an unapologetic and occasionally slightly intellectual urge to push beyond the accepted norms of rock music. I’m well aware how it might come over, the reputation you might get, but you just have to bear that particular cross.”

Tull’s eighth album, Minstrel was recorded in Monte Carlo in the Maison Rouge studio, not long after Anderson’s divorce from his first wife, photographer and actress Jennie Franks, who’d written half the lyrics for Aqualung. 

While some of the songs on this album reference break-ups and lost love, more of them catalogue the observations of an outsider, holding up an unreliable mirror to society’s freaks and misfits. The minstrel, Anderson sings, ‘brewed a song of love and hatred’.

“I suppose I was feeling a little isolated,” he says. “I felt you were in the public domain, but cut off, like entertainers, minstrels, in the gallery. Separated from the people you were performing to. You were of a different caste. You were travelling salesmen, carnival people. 

“So they found you seductive and interesting, and wanted to receive your entertainment, but you didn’t belong with them. Some enjoyed living in the rock’n’roll world, whatever that meant, having their own separate identity. But for me it was…not lonely, exactly, but… I belonged nowhere. 

“You had Mick Jagger trying to move among the good and the great back then, liking being fêted by royalty and the intelligentsia of the time. He flirted with that world, wanted to be accepted as an equal. I think his bandmates found it quite absurd and laughed and joked about it. The rest of us just thought he was a bit of a ponce for trying to rise above his social station. And that had an impact on me. I didn’t want to mix in circles like that. 

“At the same time, I wasn’t particularly drawn to the circles of my musical peers; I didn’t do the clubs and the drugs and the booze, that just wasn’t in me. I had great respect for fellow musicians, I just wasn’t into the social side. So I felt dislocated.” 

The themes of Minstrel whirl around an almost Dickensian or Hogarthian depiction of city life and the Halloween parade of its inhabitants; the ne’er-do-wells and wannabes, including sleazy office workers, dodgy coppers, homeless strugglers, prostitutes and randy pygmies. 

Somehow the music, while occasionally getting too frantic, full, overambitious and overlapping for its own good, evokes these mean streets of seventies London, as perceived through the eyes of a young man who may have been pissed-off but wasn’t too jaded to see the jewels therein. 

“Feeling cut off isn’t necessarily a bad thing,” says Anderson. “Because it makes you resilient. It gives you a point of difference. Your goods, on the shelf, are not the same as everybody else’s. And in terms of both material and musical styles, we dipped our toes in folk, classical, jazz etcetera. 

“It’s an unholy mess of clashes if you get it wrong, but if you get it right it’s a delicate broth, a heady brew of flavours and tastes. You’ve got to believe you’re getting it right. Because when you think you’ve got it right, you probably have”. 

It’s on the second side’s ‘prog suite’ Baker St. Muse that the singer casts his coldest eye over the urban sprawl, leaping between misanthropy and a sense of wonder at all the colourful characters he witnesses. Anderson was at the time staying in a rented mews (geddit?) cottage just off Baker Street in central London.

“Oh, look, sometimes you look back over your old lyrics and some of it is just toe-curlingly awful!” Anderson says. “But there are other little moments where you think: ‘Oh wow. Did I write that? It’s quite simple, but … perceptive. For a twenty-something!’ I never feel smug satisfaction, I just go: ‘Phew, that was a lucky idea that came to me!’ Sometimes you sit there scratching your head and not a lot comes.”

It comes in floods on Baker St. Muse, of which Anderson admits he is fond. On many days at that time, he’d walk down the famed thoroughfare to Oxford Street where the record companies were at the time, and at night stroll in the opposite direction to the Indian restaurant. 

“I’d go and pick up a takeaway while reading some Cold War spy thriller,” he says. “This was a little ritual I had after returning from a long tour to London, then writing songs for a new album. Much of it was written in that little rented cottage and on my meanderings and wanderings. Again I suppose some of the characters are not unlike some of those on Aqualung. 

“You have to remember that I, like many of my peers, went to art school. So my background was in the painterly arts more than the musical ones. And the way I enjoyed pictorial art was not portraiture, and not landscapes, but people in a landscape. Almost like the cast of a play on a stage. And here the stage is a cityscape; think of LS Lowry, or the underrated, misunderstood Sir William Russell Flint. 

“I’d have these characters where you leave a slight sense of incompleteness so that the audience can use their own creative powers to elaborate on your sketch. They can join the dots, put the colours in. That’s what I find attractive about music: people can listen and introduce their own exploration or amplification.”

The album is a classic of Anderson’s people-watching period. As a morning person, he felt equally detached, at times, within the band set-up. 

“[Guitarist] Martin Barre and I were the loners, really, within the social infrastructure,” says Anderson. “He liked to get up early and go for a run; I liked to get up early and strum my guitar and watch the news. After a show, both of us would be tucked up and fast asleep within forty-five minutes of coming off stage! 

“The world would be boring if everybody lived in the stereotypical rock’n’roll way we’re encouraged to believe they do. I’m sure even Jimmy Page woke up early sometimes and had a creative moment. Or it could have been a procreative moment, remembering the Polaroid photos that Jimmy used to show us the morning after the night before.” 

Didn’t you upset Led Zeppelin by saying words to the effect that your song Black Satin Dancer was like Zeppelin but with better lyrics? 

“Ah. That was the kind of thing I unfortunately used to say,” says Anderson. “Opening my mouth without stopping to think. Of course it was offensive. In that moment I forgot that Robert [Plant] wrote the lyrics. He was probably hurt. It sounded like I was claiming some kind of superiority. I was probably trying to pay a compliment to Zeppelin but it ended up not as I intended.” 

What part was played by the location for the recording? The luxuriance of Monte Carlo seems not to have filtered into this album one iota. And is it true that the other band members mostly lazed around while you did the work?

“Oh, it wasn’t a bad atmosphere,” he replies, “it was just odd being away from the UK, where we’d made previous records. The idea was to cut ourselves off from the distractions of home and family and friends, of day-today life. Being in a residential context it would be more of a dedicated, concentrated effort. 

“But in some ways the reverse occurred. I’d written much of the material beforehand, so many sessions didn’t require the others’ input, at least in the early stages. 

“So they ended up with time on their hands, doing day trips into Switzerland or Italy. John Evan and Martin had cars and would visit ski resorts. They were the playboys of Monaco. It was okay, but Monte Carlo is a soulless, meaningless place. We were resident while we were there, for tax purposes, but what had seemed like a good idea wasn’t a great one. 

“In fact our first time there coincided with the Monaco Grand Prix, so that was tortuous – all the roads were closed off, which meant getting to the studio was tricky. I’m a fast worker, I like to get things done while I’m consumed by the energy and emotion. I don’t want to hang about, I like to crack on. 

“So while I wouldn’t over-egg it, because it is still a band record, this one has a bit more of me being private, reflective, whimsical.”

And so he raced on to the next project, an idea for a musical, but he couldn’t hang around waiting for the practicalities of the theatre world to catch up with his imagination, and remodelled Too Old To Rock’n’Roll: Too Young To Die as a Jethro Tull album. 

Today Anderson is flush with tangential anecdotes, spinning off on to his admiration for Peter Green, his enjoyment of ZZ Top and Motörhead “in small doses” (“though I’m probably more likely to find solace in Handel”), his touring days with Captain Beefheart, and his regret at not phoning the terminally ill Frank Zappa, who he’d never met, when told Zappa would like him to. 

“Three times I dialled the number then hung up before he answered…” he says. “I didn’t know what to say to a dying man. I didn’t have the balls. What a shit story. Who knows what he wanted to say to me? Perhaps he wanted to say: ‘I just wanted you to know I hated all your albums – especially Minstrel In The Gallery!’ Ha ha ha…” 

With all due respect to the late American avant-gardist, he would have been wrong on that one.

Jethro Tull Stand Up (1969)

From classicrockreview.com

1969’s Stand Up is an early classic by Jethro Tull. The album was produced in the wake of a splitting of musical directions, as the band’s original guitarist Mick Abrahams left the group due to differing musical philosophies with Jethro Tull’s lead vocalist and primary composer Ian Anderson. The band’s 1968 debut album, This Was, was primarily blues-rock based, which Abrahams wanted to continue but Anderson was moving towards folk, jazz, and classical fusions of rock and roll. Stand Up would strike a nice balance of both musical directions as well as strike a chord with music fans, as it went all the way to #1 on the UK album charts.

The origin of the band dates back to the early 1960s in Blackpool, England, when several future members of Jethro Tull were involved in a a seven-piece Blue-eyed soul band. In 1967 Anderson and bassist Glenn Cornick migrated to London and joined forces with Abrahams and drummer Clive Bunker to form the group which named itself after an 18th-century agriculturist. A long time guitarist, Anderson reportedly pursued the flute as a rock instrument out of frustration that he couldn’t play as well as Eric Clapton. After a single album where Anderson and Abrahams were co-equal musical visionaries, Anderson found himself in full control of the music and lyrics on Stand Up.

To replace Abrahams, the group first turned to guitarist Tony Iommi, then from a group called Earth, which would later rename themselves Black Sabbath. Iommi performed with Jethro Tull during The Rolling Stones Rock and Roll Circus television show in late 1968, but soon returned to his former band. After auditioning several more guitarists (including future Yes guitarist Steve Howe, who failed his audition), Anderson eventually chose Martin Barre as Abrahams’ permanent replacement on guitar. While Jethro Tull has had over 20 band members through their long career, Barre has remained with the group consistently (as of 2014), making him the second longest-standing member of the band after Anderson.

Prior to releasing Stand Up, the group recorded “Living In the Past”, which was Barre’s first recording with the band. This became one of Jethro Tull’s best known songs while originally issued only as a single. Notable for it’s 5/4 time signature, this melodic tune driven by a catchy melody became the band’s first Top 20 hit, peaking at #11 in the US and #3 in the UK.

A doomy blues rocker, with an almost psychedelic vibe, “A New Day Yesterday” works the same riff over and over. Anderson adds harmonica licks through the verse sections and a flute lead later on, but the song is dominated by the rock rhythms provided by the other players along with reverb and panning effects throughout. Probably influenced by Cream, this song is atypical for Jethro Tull and fresh–sounding. “Jeffrey Goes to Leicester Square” is the second in a series of songs which play tribute to Jeffrey Hammond-Hammond, a once and future band mate of Anderson’s who would become Jethro Tull’s future bassist. The song features guitar and bass riff leads to folk-style verse melody in an odd and asymmetrical song.

The lone instrumental on the album, “Bourée” is also the only track not composed by Anderson. Composed by Johann Sebastian Bach centuries earlier, the piece influenced a popular French folk dance called a bourrée. While the flute takes the lead throughout, the bass by Cornick is the real highlight of the track, which breaks into a jazzy rock jam near the middle before two overdubbed flutes in final section make for great effect to close the song.

With a slight and slow intro and more great bass riffs, “Back to the Family” contains laid back verses which are sub-divided by more straight-forward rock in the bridge sections that each conclude with flamboyant flute leads by Anderson, with Barre joining in on guitar later in the second one. The fantastic first side concludes with the acoustic ballad “Look into the Sun”. A true folk ballad with fine guitars throughout by Anderson and instrumentation added throughout, such as electric blues riffs and bass guitar spurts.

“Nothing Is Easy” is a big time rock jam, especially towards the end. Bunker’s drumming burns with rudiments between jamming verses and solos. A lead by Barre in the middle is soon interrupted by Anderson’s flute, as the group may have tried a little too hard to be progressive with multiple parts, but nonetheless a great jam song. “Fat Man” contains Indian musical elements with sitar and hand percussion, while “We Used to Know” is another great acoustic ballad by Anderson. This latter song builds on repetitive chord pattern sections for lead instruments, including a couple of great leads by Barre where he chops out some great sonic motifs.

While certainly not as strong as the first side, side two does have its share of brilliant moments. “Reasons for Waiting” may be the best overall song on the album, with a fantastic melody and tone. Pretty much a ballad throughout with slight sections of rock tension thrown in after the choruses, Anderson’s dual flute lead is accompanied by strings provided by David Palmer, which persist throughout the second half of the song. “For a Thousand Mothers” starts with a slight drum intro by Bunker before the song kicks in with much the same style and sonic intensity as the opener “New Day Yesterday”, together paving way for emerging “heavy metal” music which would proliferate in the 1970s. After a grandiose false stop, Bunker restarts the tune for a closing instrumental section laced with about 30 seconds more of intense jamming to close the album.

Jethro Tull Aqualung (1971)

From loudersound.com

In April 2015, Sex Pistols’ frontman John Lydon took to the stage at London’s 100 Club for a Q&A session with fans. Asked about his music taste, he said, “I love anything made by anyone… Just don’t play the fucking flute.”

When someone in the audience shouted out Jethro Tull’s name in response, he changed tack. “I like Jethro Tull!” he said. “I do! No, you gotta get this: this is the nonsense, thinking ‘what’s punk and what’s not’. Fuckin’ hell, Aqualung, that’s a fuckin’ stunning record, you know? It is!”

You can see draw parallels between Lydon’s snotty onstage persona and the leering, sneering Aqualung character who inhabited the album of the same name. And both Lyon and Anderson share a loathing for organised religion. But such was the strength of Anderson’s character that many assume Aqualung to actually be a big issue concept album.

“It had two or three songs that were kind of about difficult topics, about organised religion, about homelessness, prostitution, whatever it might be,” Anderson told Newsweek. “But also there were whimsical, fun, upbeat songs that I felt quite deliberately should be there in order to balance the album up so there wasn’t just too much of the same thing.”

Here’s what we learned about Aqualung…

Background

In 1970 Jethro Tull released Benefit. It just failed to make the US Top 10, and Ian Anderson knew the band had to push themselves to reach a mainstream American audience. Aqualung did that: it was a deft mix a folk, prog and hard rock, with at least a couple of proto-metal riffs thrown into an already bubbling stew. At first, Anderson wasn’t sure if they’d got the balance right.

“We were getting quite esoteric on the album, and I felt that we might have pushed things too far in that regard,” he told Music Aficionado. “What gets you noticed in one territory might not have the same appeal elsewhere. The record had a lot of more acoustic singer-songwriter material on it, and Jethro Tull had become thought of as more of a rock band. The riffy rock material had a pretty immediate appeal to live audiences, so I felt reasonably confident and gratified. But you never know until you put it out, and then the record did very well, so it all worked.”

It really was. The definitive Jethro Tull album, it was evidence of the band’s constant musical evolution, aided and abetted by a bewildering, ever-changing cast of musicians alongside leader Ian Anderson and his long-time lieutenant guitarist Martin Barre. The title track and Locomotive Breath are among the most celebrated and heavy tracks in Tull’s enormous repertoire, with acoustic tracks like Mother Goose providing the light relief.

What they said

“From the packaging to the music it contains, this album is a complete work and this is from a group who were considered basically a live act. They improve every time out.” (Sounds)

“While Anderson is adept at conceiving a musical approximation of an idea, his lyrics are overly intentional, ponderous, and didactic. It would be possible to ignore the lyrics, as lyrics can usually be ignored, except that Anderson sings them so melodramatically. Nor is his theatricality appropriate to the ideas or words. The over-enthusiastic delivery is probably meant to compensate for his inherent vocal limitations, but the original problem is Anderson’s choice of subject. At a time when the more arcane varieties of religious experiences are trumpeted far and wide, and atheism and agnosticism still more than hold their own, it is difficult for the modern temper to get worked up over good old-fashioned Christian hypocrisy” (Rolling Stone)

“More than anything else, Ian Anderson’s lyrics are many degrees better than those of his prog brethren. More to the point, his lyrics are many degrees better than rock songwriters in any era. The list of rock musicians whose lyrics can be considered apart from the music and appraised as poetry is small, but Anderson is at the top of the list. In terms of output alone, his work necessarily ranks about Roger Waters and Peter Gabriel, two of rock’s better wordsmiths. The fact that he was only 23 when Aqualung was recorded is remarkable enough; the fact that the themes and words in many ways remain relevant today is sufficient evidence of his genius. (Pop Matters)

“Ian Anderson is like the town free thinker. As long as you’re stuck in the same town yourself, his inchoate cultural interests and skeptical views on religion and human behaviour are refreshing, but meet up with him in the city and he can turn out to be a real bore. Of course, he can also turn out to be Bob Dylan–it all depends on whether he rejected provincial values out of a thirst for more or out of a reflexive (maybe even somatic) negativism. And on whether he was pretentious only because he didn’t know any better. (Robert Christgau)

“The leap from 1970’s Benefit to the following year’s Aqualung is one of the most astonishing progressions in rock history. In the space of one album, Tull went from relatively unassuming electrified folk-rock to larger-than-life conceptual rock full of sophisticated compositions and complex, intellectual, lyrical constructs. While the leap to full-blown prog rock wouldn’t be taken until a year later on Thick as a Brick, the degree to which Tull upped the ante here is remarkable.” (AllMusic)

What you said

Shane Hall: This album, like Beggars Banquet the week before, puts the “classic” in classic rock. With Aqualung and its preceding album, Benefit, the classic Jethro Tull sound solidified. After the blues influences of This Was, Tull began to integrate English folk and create its own brand of progressive rock. Forget the endless debates of “concept album” or not; Aqualung and much of Jethro Tull’s recordings for the remainder of the 70s are just essential classic rock.

Maxwell Martello: A huge influence on heavy metal. I love some of the songs, but I could never get into the whole vibe. I put it on sometimes and I find myself either pushing the repeat or the skip button far too often.

Vinnie Evanko: Great, great album. It’s one of the best rock albums of the 70s (if not ever). The Steven Wilson remix and bonus tracks are great. This is one of those albums I played to death (with the help of FM radio at the time) so it doesn’t get as much playing time for me as other Tull albums but it is undoubtedly a classic and one of their best.

Pete Mineau: A true Classic Rock classic! Coming out in a year (1971) that produced a multitude of time-honored albums, Aqualung easily places in the top ten LPs of that era and is still, to this day, a great listen straight through! Martin Barre is one of the most underrated guitarist in rock. This album proves he has the chops to be compared with the greats of AOR.

Jacob Carman: There’s a lot of focus lyrically on this album about people who have had or are having a string of bad luck. Aqualung is a homeless tramp with impure thoughts, Cross-Eyed Mary is uglier than sin and Locomotive Breath’s life is completely falling apart like a train wreck. The lyrics are as brilliant as the music.

Lisa Lodsun Vanden Heuvel: This reminds me of sitting on the beach at night in Ocean City, Maryland, listening to it play from the pier. Great album!

Kaine Smith: It seems to be rooted in Folk music rather than Progressive Rock, which isn’t a bad thing at all, quite a welcome change for me in fact! I like the lyrics too, they definitely paint a picture and create great detailed imagery in your mind. The musical accompaniment is of a good standard, though a little flat in timbre in a couple of spots. Whether this is down to mixing and production limitations at the time, or just how Jethro Tull were, I’m not sure… Though on the contrary, none of the album seems forced and it is a particularly organic and natural listening experience that never outstays it’s welcome and is the perfect length for an album.

Jeff Tweeter: Hate to be the dick here, but I think this is an okay album. Much prefer Stand Up, Benefit, Minstrel In The Gallery – and even Crest Of A Knave and Roots To Branches.

Alistair Gordon: The Steven Wilson remaster of this is stunning thoroughly recommend listening to it rather than the original the remaster really brings it to life.

Mike Knoop: The Classic Rock Album of the Week Club is reinforcing my belief that the older I get, the more I like my music mean, loud, and HEAVY. Jethro Tull scores the hat trick with Aqualung. Ian Anderson’s vocals and lyrics spit venom as Martin Barre’s guitar matches the nasty tone with searing solos and raunchy riffs. While there are plenty of folksy acoustic bits, it serves as counterpoint to the crunchy stuff. And, man, do Aqualung, Cross-Eyed Mary and Locomotive Breath still crunch. Album tracks like Up to Me, Dear God, Hymn 43 and Wind Up might be less known but they keep the heavy groove going. I have long been a Tull fan at the “greatest hits” level but this makes me want to seek out more of their albums.

Harrison Wells: Overall a brilliant album with no especially weak songs in my opinion, while for me Aqualung, Mother Goose and My God are particularly excellent. This paved the way for my favourite Tull album – Thick As A Brick – perfectly.

Edward Victor: Edward Viator I’ve never been Jethro Tull fan. So, I was pleasantly surprised when I hit play and heard the opening song. Holy shit, it was actually good. The next song, Cross-Eyed Mary, blew me away. And I was beginning to think that maybe I had gotten it wrong. Then I heard the rest of the album. Nah, they still suck. I mean, am I at a renaissance fair or something? I just can’t get into the flutes and stuff. And I’m not a fan of the vocals. I was digging the intro to My God, and then the vocals kicked in and that was that. The whole album is like that; great moments interrupted by something lame. I can’t dismiss the album completely, because there’s clearly a lot of talent there, and I can see where some people may enjoy it. But it’s just not my style.

Jacob Carman: OK, so I sat down and spun this album in its entirety for the first time. Side A seems to have less of a focus on religion and more of a focus on life and people whereas Side B focuses more on religion. Ian Anderson insists that Aqualung isn’t a concept album and it isn’t really. Each side seems more like its own miniature concept album but only because of the shared themes.

NE MO: We had a party one night, all nighter, background music Aqualung. We forgot that most of us were working at the factory at 7.00am. We all stumbled in. Four got sacked and the rest had sympathetic supervisors. Hangovers all round but what a soundtrack.

Mike Bruce: Really enjoying getting to know this album better. In the past I’ve just cherry picked the title track, Cross-eyed Mary and Locomotive Breath so the rest of the album was almost an unexpected pleasure especially My God and Wind Up. Love the light and shade and yes, the flute. Although at times it gets a bit like the SNL cowbell sketch: We need more flute!!

Jethro Tull Thick As A Brick (1972)

From ultimateclassicrock.com

Ian Anderson had a point to make when he turned his thoughts to Jethro Tull’s fifth album. He wanted the work to act as a response to reviews of 1971’s Aqualung, which had been generally positive but was called a concept album.

“Concept album? No,” the band’s frontman and multi-instrumentalist tells Ultimate Classic Rock. “It was just a bunch of songs, and two or three of them happened to have a link. When I came to do the running order and work on the cover text, as you do when you wrap a Christmas present, you choose nice paper and put a nice bow on it. That process in presenting the album gave it some cohesion. But it was whimsical individual oddities, written in hotel rooms, very often in the U.S.”

Anderson decided to prove his point by giving the world what it thought it already had – a genuine Jethro Tull concept album. The result was Thick as a Brick, a milestone in the progressive genre, which arrived on March 10, 1972.

The problem was that a lot of people weren’t likely to get the joke. “It was a spoof of what was happening in the world, with particularly British bands like Yes, ELP and Genesis and so on,” Anderson says. Describing his approach as “competitive,” he adds, “I was going to out-prog them, really.”

So he was aware he was taking a risk; but instead of shying away, Anderson decided to charge forward. Thick as a Brick featured just one track, split into “Part I” and “Part 2” on the vinyl release, and cut into eight separate titles for the 40th-anniversary edition of the album released in 2012. But that wasn’t far enough. Anderson pretended that the lyrics on the LP had all been written by an 8-year-old boy named Gerald Bostock, who’d become notorious after using a swear word on TV, leading to a poetry award being revoked.

Anderson admits that Bostock’s writing had an element of autobiography about it, in parodying the Boys’ Own-type of publications that portrayed Germans as “Jerries” and fell alarmingly short in providing heroes that weren’t part of the British establishment. “I was subjected as a schoolboy to the nationalistic and unpleasant boys’ magazines, which were not the best way of grooming young minds for the ‘60s and ‘70s,” he notes. “There was a radical change in society, most notable in the U.S. We weren’t prepared for that in schoolboy literature.

“It was that stereotyping that I was lampooning, pretending the album had been written by someone writing adult themes through the distorted mind of a schoolboy,” he continues. “It was relatively easy to do. It was a tall order to have it accepted.”

His approach had been inspired by a British brand of humor, known mainly in the rest of the world through Monty Python, but remembered as much in the U.K. for the genius of Spike Milligan and the Goons, Round the Horn and many others.

“That humor works, but it’s not just about rib-tickling, wisecracking humor. It’s got to have some substance. It’s got to be making a point,” Anderson says. “Monty Python, at its best, made those points. Sometimes it degenerated and it wasn’t always good, which I’m sure the Pythons themselves would be second to recognize. Sometimes, there were a lot of duds in there.”

To hammer his point home, Anderson created a 12-page provincial newspaper named the St. Cleve Chronicle, which served as the album cover. “It was very carefully studied,” Anderson says. “I amassed a pile of papers and drew inspiration from the really silly stories that people would write about because there wasn’t anything else to write about. That was part of the fun, and definitely made it a concept album.”

That was unfortunate for John Lennon. “He had his album Some Time in New York City in the works. He’d used the The New York Times as the cover. Thick as a Brick came out a few weeks before his – he had a single page, whereas the St. Cleve Chronicle was an altogether more ambitious affair, which luckily made it to the record store before his.”

A one-track record; a fictional lyricist; a spoof newspaper and a very British approach to art. How could it possibly succeed – especially when Jethro Tull’s live set included elements of live comedy cut into the performance? “I had a rule of thumb when we went out and did concerts,” Anderson recalls. “My assumption was that 50 percent of them got it, 50 percent of them didn’t. But 100 percent of them didn’t ask for their money back.

“I think it worked as a musical package,” he adds. “Whether people got what was going on was a moot point when you got to countries where English wasn’t even a second language. It wasn’t the international language it is today. People didn’t understand what was going on, but that didn’t stop us from doing well.”

Two territories stand out for him. “The Japanese just stared at us blankly, despite our manager Terry Ellis going out on stage with huge signs written in Japanese, explaining the quirky oddities – and apparently naked, although he had underpants on that couldn’t be seen behind the placards,” Anderson says. “It was a surprise that it got across in Scotland. My Edinburgh tones had long gone, and as a Scot going back to play something that seemed worryingly English, I felt a little self-conscious. It was a welcome relief that it didn’t antagonize the Scots.”

He was also surprised how well the U.S. accepted the work. “It was a blessed bit of luck that it did okay,” Anderson said. “It spent a number of weeks at No. 1 in the Billboard chart, which came as a surprise to everybody – including Mr. Bill Board.”

Nearly half a century on, Thick as a Brick has inspired two follow-up solo efforts: 2010’s Thick as Brick 2: Whatever Happened to Gerald Bostock? (which came complete with an online edition of the St. Cleve Chronicle and 2014’s Homo Erraticus (which credits Bostock as co-writer).

The original LP remains one of the Tull albums that, for Anderson, “would rise to the surface like the scum on a cold cup of tea.” “Stand Up was the first album that wasn’t just pastiche 12-bar blues, so it’s always going to be close to my heart,” he says. “Aqualung was a singer-songwriter album, and it marked a difference for me because I was in the studio with an acoustic guitar, performing songs on which the other band members would join in.

“Thick as a Brick was a landmark, then we jump ahead to Songs From the Wood, being more of a folk-rock album; then Crest of a Knave, which did really well in America but not so well elsewhere. You can toss heavy Horses into that, and I’d guess most people would agree with four or five of my choices.”

Jethro Tull Stand Up (1969)

From starling.rinet.ru

As I said, Abrahams quit right after cutting This Was and was replaced by… Martin Barre? Nope, by Tony Iommi; and that’s not a stupid joke. Tony even played a couple of gigs with them, you can even see him on the Stones’ Rock And Roll Circus. Imagine what could happen if he’d decide to stay! Jethro Tull embracing heavy metal and Satanism? At least, there would be no Black Sabbath, that’s for sure… (Mind you, I’m nor saying that would be a good possibility. I’m trying to be careful in order not to offend any Black Sabbath fan. I just have a bone against evil music, that’s all…)

However, history can’t be re-written, so we have to digest the fact that Tony didn’t really get along with Ian. So Martin Barre came along – forgetting his amplifiers and spilling coffee on his guitars. He also played them – and did it much better than Mick Abrahams and maybe even better than Tony Iommi; at least, in the early days he had some incredible guitar tones, a good knack for mighty riffage and a heavy fuzzy lead attack that could have easily rivalled Jimmy Page’s and sometimes even beat it. Before he switched over to generic crappy metal in the late Eighties, that is.

Meanwhile, Ian got some more flute practice, wrote some more songs and finally decided they just had to develop a style – it was 1969, by gum, and if you didn’t have a style back then, you pretty much sucked. Those were the days, eh? To that end, there’s just one blues number on the entire record, and even so it is an absolute Tull classic. And why? Because of the great ‘double-descending’ riff which you don’t hear that much on a generic blues number.

Of course, I’m speaking of ‘A New Day Yesterday’ – what else could I possibly be speaking about? And you just don’t know how I love an original and memorable guitar riff every now and then – helps me more than aspirin. The leap from ‘My Sunday Feeling’, the ‘blues groove’ that opens This Was, to ‘A New Day Yesterday’, the ‘blues groove’ that opens Stand Up, is indeed astonishing: the band now sounds like a rip-roarin’ blues tank, with a skillfull mastery of overdubs, a steady twin-guitar-flute attack and Clive Bunker’s perfected drumming style.

And the other numbers? Hard to believe it, but they’re all absolute rippers. For starters, there’s a couple of resplendent ballads in a glossy pop style which Ian has never been able to reproduce again: even though ‘Look Into The Sun’ and ‘Reasons For Waiting’ sound rather alike, they are just beautiful oh so beautiful, with some strings popping out now and then in the right moments and Barre’s acoustic guitar shining through, with subtle shift of dynamics (watch, for instance, the solemn and tender verses of ‘Reasons’ seamlessly flow into the ominous, strangely menacing flute refrain, then just as seamlessly flow back into the main guitar melody – that’s what perfection is).

And the album’s main highlight is Anderson’s flute arrangement on Bach’s ‘Bouree’, one of the most stunning rock-classic fusions ever. The flute, bass and guitar mingle together to incredible effect on here; the song is thus like an ‘elder brother’ to ‘Serenade For A Cuckoo’, but it’s a trillion times more effective, catchy and beautiful.

Taken on the album scale, however, it’s the hard numbers that really make this record. People might rave on about Aqualung, but it’s Stand Up which is doubtlessly their most hard-rockin’ album before the infamous metal period in the late ’80-s, and they really could play ‘hard rock’ (as opposed to ‘heavy metal’) better than almost any of their contemporaries – better than Beck, better than Led Zep! In order to be convinced, just take a listen to the gargantuan coda on ‘Nothing Is Easy’, with that bitchin’ aggressive interplay between Barre’s guitar and Ian’s flute (another trademark, that one), and to the accelerating drum pattern in the end (the one that goes ‘bang – bangbang – bangbangbang – bangbangbangbang’, and the ‘stone-rolling-down-a-hill’ conclusion).

Nobody made music that rocked so bleedin’ hard in mid-1969! ‘Back To The Family’ is another fearless rocker with Ian spitting out satirical lines about how he’s being neglected in the forkin’ suckin’ society before the final frantic battlecharge of all the instruments; ‘We Used To Know’, whose eerie melodical connection with ‘Hotel California’ has often raised many weird hypotheses, features breath-taking, cathartic wah-wah solos; and ‘For A Thousand Mothers’ closes the album on another hard note, even though I don’t like it quite as much as the other numbers, maybe because of the fact that Ian’s vocals are unexpectedly buried down deep in the general chaos.

And finally, I nearly forgot to mention the Indian-flavoured ‘Fat Man’ with Ian complaining about his gaining weight. It is certainly to be considered the ‘groove’ of the record: some jolly sitar-imitating lines contribute to the funny atmosphere, while the lines ‘Don’t want to be a fat man/People would think I’m just good fun/Would rather be a thin man/I’m so glad to go on being one/Too much to carry around with you/No chance of finding a woman who/Will love you in the morning and the night time, too’ are probably among Ian’s best lines of all time.

I’ll admit right here and now that I do not consider him a great poet (all the prog-rockers liked to think of themselves as tremendous lyricists when in reality they were just overbloated humbugs), but for the time being he was no prog-rocker ‘cos prog-rock didn’t exist as yet which meant he actually had to take pains to think over his lyrics instead of committing to paper all the nonsense that came into his head.

In fact, this is certainly the best advantage of this album, and the reason I prefer it to Aqualung: this is no prog rock, just a great collection of rock’n’roll songs. Buy it now, if you haven’t heard it you’ve no idea of how great they once were. Hell, Melody Maker nominated them second best of 1969, right after the Beatles but even before the Rolling Stones. I wouldn’t go as far, but it’s definitely a fabulous album all the same, and certainly the best ‘hard-rock’ record of the year, if not all time. Prog-rock? Forget it!

Jethro Tull Thick As A Brick (1972)

From starling.rinet.ru

1972 was, without a doubt, The year of prog-rock: the year when prog had finally conquered its rightful niche and ruled supreme in the minds of the critics and among the musical preferences of the rock-oriented public.

Having consolidated its positions, having provided most of the groundbreaking ideas in the previous two or three years, but never wishing to reside in peace upon their laurels, mature proggers went on forward to conquer new heights – to blow their resplendent bubbles further and further, pumping out mastodontic epics and endless suites with no seeming end to the process. The world was not yet beginning to see prog-rock as its worst enemy, and it’s no surprise that many people still regard many of 1972’s anthemic prog albums as all-time masterpieces.

Just see here: Yes’s Fragile and Close To The Edge, Genesis’s Foxtrot, ELP’s Trilogy, Gentle Giant’s Octopus, King Crimson’s Islands all came out in 1972 (well, Islands appeared in Dec. 1971, but I think I can still judge it as a 1972 album)! And all of these albums are something and anything (despite my preference of, say, Fragile and Foxtrot over most others).

But, more than anything, it was this incredible album that said it all about prog-rock. Blowing away all competition, Ian had occupied the entire album with only one song on this album (well, ‘Thick As A Brick’, naturally) – quite an innovative move at the time, since, while sidelong compositions were slowly becoming the norm of day, nobody had yet dreamed of dividing one single tune over two sides of one record.

And it is divided: you might not have noticed it, but the second side of the record begins with the fading in of the winter winds and the thump-thump-thump melody that end the first side, so the continuity is never really broken. Not to mention, of course, the bits of melodies and themes that keep being resurrected; this also adds to the impression of the record all being one lengthy suite as opposed to a bunch of unconnected songs.

So what is Thick As A Brick all about, actually? Essentially, it is a masterful epic poem (and a hoot: Ian credited the lyrics to a certain Gerald Bostock, a fictitious 8-year old kid who won a prize for it but was disqualified after numerous protests from the audiences. I wonder who got the royalties?) that is destined to serve as some kind of ‘Bible According To Ian Anderson’; only if Aqualung was its clumsy Old Testament, Thick As A Brick is definitely the New One (followed by the Apocalypse of Passion Play, by the way), with a far more complex concept and more fully thought-out lyrics.

It was even provided with a really bombastic album cover, disguised as the “St Cleve Chronicle” newspaper with about twenty pages of partly fictititious, partly real news material, that among other things told in details the story of the poor Gerald Bostock. As for the actual lyrics, they mostly continue Ian’s society-bashing line, only this time around they are more subtle and far less straightforward, mixed with vague medieval imagery and a potload of romantic and psychedelic visions that are hard to decipher, but still, ten times less hard than whatever followed on A Passion Play.

Most of these lyrics are really cute – passages like ‘See there! A son is born and we pronounce him fit to fight/There are black heads on his shoulders, and he pees himself in the night/We’ll make a man of him, put him to a trade/Teach him to play Monopoly and how to sing in the rain’ are obviously inspired.

But then again, I don’t really give a damn about the concept – it suffices for me to know that it does have some actual meaning. I just enjoy the music. Again, that’s what prog rock was all about, wasn’t it? Meaningless lyrics and bombastic melodies.

Speaking of the music, this album could have easily worked at a short-song level, as well: it’s easy to pluck out a lot of separate sections and listen to each one separately (although, unfortunately, the CD does not index them as different). While all the sections are linked to each other with short, sparing instrumental passages, they are quite different by themselves and never become boring. It’s like a true encyclopaedia of various musical genres: these beautiful, ultra-catchy melodies range from quiet acoustic folkish shuffles (the sly, charming introduction section) to painfully complex but gorgeous ballads (‘do you believe in the day?’), organ-driven fast’n’furious rockers (‘see there! a son is born…’), Elizabethan ‘pedestrian’ war marches (‘I’ve come down from the upper class…’), nice guitar/keyboard shuffles (‘so where the hell was Biggles?’), nursery rhymes (‘you curl your toes in fun…’), Zappa-type noises (beginning of Side 2), and many more passages that avoid direct definition. Zillions of instruments, clever use of sound effects (the Benefit legacy is fading away), crystal clear production – wow!

Yes, I admit it might be hard to get into, you simplicity-loving music addicts, but I got into it at about the third listen, and I still can’t dig that Lizard thing by King Crimson! Can you? Just goes to show that some “prog” is “proggier” than other… Even the instrumental breaks and links are often breathtaking: listen, for instance, to Martin Barre’s insane solo in between the two verses of ‘the poet and the painter…’ – the triumph of minimalistic technique over soulless class at its most evident.

No wonder the public was so eager to send this sucker to No. 1: never again did any band achieve such a perfect, never breaking balance between the complex/serious/intellectual and the catchy/accessible/radio-friendly. Thick As A Brick is one of those rare records that can function equally well as great party music and a deeply personal, intimate experience. It’s hardly danceable, of course (although you can certainly march a lot to it), but that’s about the only general flaw, and not a deeply lamented one.

Anyway, where was I? As you can see, I hold the opinion that this record presents us with a hodgepodge of wonderful musical ideas which the Tullers couldn’t keep up any further than that. Indeed, this is the last record to feature some uncompromisedly great Tull music throughout all of its duration, and in that respect it is totally idiosyncratic, whatever that may mean in the case.

If not for a couple more reprises than necessary and the ugly avantgarde noise section on the beginning of Side Two that nearly ruins all the previously amassed “cathartic energy”, this would be one of the easiest tens I’ve ever given out – as it is, a very, very solid nine, and one of the Top Five albums of 1972, together with such masterpieces as Ziggy Stardust, Exile On Main St., Foxtrot, and… and… whatever