Thick As A Brick

Jethro Tull/1972

When is a concept album not really a concept album? Well, you’d think if the artist who created it says it’s not a concept album, then that should pretty much resolve the issue. Yet, to this very day, there are critics and fans alike who still maintain the 1971 Jethro Tull album Aqualung is a concept album. Even after head maestro Ian Anderson set the record straight, referring to it as simply “a collection of songs.” So it was, when embarking upon the follow-up album, that a mischievous gleam appeared in they eye of merry prankster Anderson. “It’s a concept album you want? I GOT YOUR CONCEPT ALBUM!” Thus, Jethro Tull hunkered down in the studio, stitching together a few song fragments here, some chord progressions there, another motif or two in the middle for good measure, etc. The grand result? Thick as a Brick, consisting of two album-side epics with the minimalistic titles “Part I” and “Part II.” The concept and lyrics, deliberately vague with tongue firmly planted in cheek, revolved around the absurd adventures of fictitious little tyke “Gerald Bostock” and were strongly inspired by the then-exploding popularity of TV British comedy troupe Monty Python’s Flying Circus. In other words, it was all in good fun. If the concept itself was unfathomable and over the top, the music was unlike anything heard on a previous Tull album. For starters, the familiar bluesy, guitar-dominated riffs of Martin Barre were now replaced by the churning Hammond organ of John Evan. Now, Barre’s searing guitar lines would be used to simply orchestrate and punctuate the ever-twiddling keyboard parts. Things start out innocently enough with a quaint acoustic guitar and flute passage, creating a pleasant folky English vibe – although Anderson’s opening lyrics immediately throw down the gauntlet:

“Really don't mind if you sit this one out.
My words but a whisper -- your deafness a SHOUT.
I may make you feel but I can't make you think.
Your sperm's in the gutter -- your love's in the sink.”

Okay. This could get interesting. The folky atmosphere soon gives way to a typically heavy Tull guitar line, which is quickly jettisoned in favor of the now dominate, ever-present organ (sometimes doubled with piano). Musical passages segue and morph from one stately organ march to another – all topped off with Andersons jaunty, mad Pied Piper flute lines expertly laid over the top. If anything, this stuff sounded more like the prog chamber-rock workouts of early Genesis than it did a proper Jethro Tull album – complete with difficult time signatures and the melody shuffling of a typical prog piece. “Part II” tends to stumble out of the gate a bit, with a succession of herky-jerky, stop-and-start passages that don’t quite to catch on or establish any solid footing. These inconsistent meanderings are followed by an uncharacteristically (for this album) somber, minor-key dirge that tends to overstay its welcome. But fear not, for keyboard man Evan soon kick-starts it back up with the return of his growling Hammond, now churning and galloping its way to this epic album’s climactic conclusion – with many of the previous motifs from “Part I” briefly and frantically reappearing, before all this madness finally settles back down to the acoustic guitar picking that began the album, as Anderson sings:

“So you ride yourselves over the fields and
you make all your animal deals and
your wise men don't know how it feels to be thick as a brick.”

How does it feel to be thick as a brick? Don’t even try to decipher these lyrics or apply any logic. It’s best to just go along with the joke – which was reinforced with an insanely creative album cover that unfolded into “Gerald Bostock’s” imaginary hometown newspaper, complete with fully written articles, photos, puzzles, horoscopes, etc. Legend has it that it took the group longer to create the newspaper than it did the music. Thick as a Brick was a huge hit in its day, even as it alienated part of the band’s fan base that preferred the less cluttered, blues-rock/guitar-oriented music of earlier outings. It’s considered a Progressive Rock masterpiece, even as it skewers (albeit good-naturedly) the prog concept albums of the era. Jethro Tull/Ian Anderson would soon unleash yet another “concept album” in 1973 with the follow-up, A Passion Play. Unfortunately, nobody got the joke that time around. (For a lively discussion on the pros and cons of the much loved/much despised concept album, see my previous post.)

Essential tracks: This album should be heard in its entirety.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dO-YHPiMWf4

Close To The Edge

Yes/1972

Just how close can one safely crawl out to the edge…before falling over and plunging headlong into the dark abyss? Such was the precarious perch on which Yes found themselves when it came time to record their fifth album in the spring of ‘72. Having finally achieved high artistic and commercial success with their previous breakthrough album, Fragile – the one that cemented the classic Yes sound of mind-tripping time changes, extended multi-part arrangements, maestro-like musicianship and chirping, high-pitched vocal harmonies – it was now time to flex their newfound creative muscles and take it to another level altogether. Mind you, this was an era when the root of the word “progressive” (progress) actually meant something, inspiring bands to ignore commercial considerations, push the musical envelope to the max and milk the refreshing lack of creative restraints that had previously existed in rock music. So, what the hell, for starters let’s make the title track 20-minutes long, taking up an entire side of the (vinyl) album! Kicking off with a gradually fading-in trickle of burbling, tweeting synthesizer arpeggios, “Close to the Edge” explodes into a harsh, almost freeform dissonant attack, before settling down and morphing into a classic Yes pattern of segueing movements (many recorded separately and connected via tape splicing in the studio) and beautiful melodies. It’s all held together by soaring, recurring musical themes and Jon Anderson’s journey-up-the-spiritual-creek lyrics that generally made no sense to anyone but himself:

“A seasoned witch could call you from the depths of your disgrace,
And rearrange your liver to the solid mental grace,
And achieve it all with music that came quickly from afar,
Then taste the fruit of man recorded losing all against the hour.”

Got that? Good. Now, in Anderson’s defense, it couldn’t have been easy to write lyrics for this high level of intelligent, sophisticated, head-scratchingly arranged music. Or even sing the lyrics, for that matter, at times being forced to spit out some real tongue-twisters at light speed:

“My eyes convinced, eclipsed with the younger moon attained with love.
It changed as almost strained amidst clear manna from above.
I crucified my hate and held the word within my hand.
There's you, the time, the logic, or the reasons we don't understand.“

Try saying that three times fast. Yet, surrounded by Steve Howe’s mind-bending fret work, Chris Squire’s metallic Rickenbacker bass thumping, Rick Wakeman’s organ/synth/mellotron arsenal and Bill Bruford’s busy-bee drumming…it all made perfect sense. Easing up on the intensity a bit for what was Side 2 of the vinyl album, Yes would devote this space to a whopping two tracks – the lush, shimmering “And You And I” with it’s sweet, crystalline vocal melody and the gorgeously symphonic-orgasmic mellotron-laden middle section; followed by the intensely aggressive, weirdest-song-title-on-the-planet “Siberian Khatru” based around Howe’s stuttering, woodpecker-on-acid guitar riffs and Wakeman’s galloping mellotron lines. In a sense, the heady Close to the Edge could be considered the first “green” album. Its Roger Dean-designed cover is, after all, literally green. And the water-world graphics inside its gatefold sleeve visually imply an environment of naturally flowing beauty while augmenting Anderson’s river-of-life lyrical/spiritual meanderings. The album has assumed legendary status over the years, topping many polls as The Best Progressive Rock Album of All Time. That would be a tough one to prove, but there’s no denying Close to the Edge remains an iconic testament to an era when rock musicians truly thought anything was possible (although it didn’t hurt to sell a few million albums while you were at it, just to keep those record label masters happy). There is an amazing freshness that continues to emanate from this music, almost as if it was still 1972 – if only you close your eyes, crank up the headphones, and put the last 38 years right out of your head. For this one, brief shining moment, though, Yes had taken their musical and philosophical pilgrimage to brave new heights, to the very edge of limitless possibilities – blissfully unaware of the murky Topographic waters in which they’d soon find themselves adrift.

Essential Tracks: “Close to the Edge” “And You And I” “Siberian Khatru”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9RNKGcY35Qw

Pyramid

Alan Parsons Project/1978

How many Pet Rocks does it take to build a pyramid? Such were the heavy philosophical questions being contemplated by those with expanded consciousness back in the 1970s – a time when pyramids, Pet Rocks, Rubik's Cubes and healing crystals were all the rage. While Steve Martin sang about King Tut, the Alan Parsons Project delved into the intrigue and mystery of ancient Egypt on their third concept album, Pyramid. Basically more of a partnership than a project, APP was built around the songwriting/production duo of Alan Parsons and Eric Woolfson. The twosome would enlist an ever-changing lineup of guest vocalists and musicians to execute their progressive-leaning musical visions. Parsons was no stranger to success, having cut his teeth as an engineer on several albums you may be vaguely familiar with – Abbey Road and The Dark Side of the Moon – graduating to full-blown producer on a few others. Scotsman Woolfson on the other hand, introduced the world to that iconic generational anthem, “Kung Fu Fighting,” by Carl Douglas. However, it would soon become clear that Woolfson was no slouch in the songwriting/arranging/orchestrating department. After securing a huge hit with previous album I Robot, APP set their musical sights on I Mummy. Not really progressive in the grand style of, say, a Genesis or a Yes album, tracks on an APP album tended to be shorter, with ample pop hooks surrounded by smart, sophisticated arrangements and orchestrations. Pyramid is, not surprisingly, heavily influenced by the Beatles ­– it’s not hard to imagine Paul McCartney singing lead vocals on melodic tracks like "What Goes Up" or the gorgeous closing ballad "Shadow of a Lonely Man." John Lennon's more acerbic vocal take would fit quite nicely (and ironically) on "Can't Take It With You." Unfortunately, at that particular time Paul was flying high with Wings and John was preoccupied with baking bread. So, APP drafted a different cast of supporting characters, including Colin Blunestone (whose sweet voice you’ll recall singing “She’s Not There” and “Tell Her No” by the Zombies in the previous decade). His soft, spooky vocal performance on "The Eagle Will Rise Again," is one of the highlights of the album. Sprinkled throughout this elegantly produced prog/pop landscape are several keyboard-based instrumentals to help round out the “progressive” side of things (the MO of most APP albums). Not quite the commercial (or some might argue artistic) success of I Robot or subsequent hit-laden albums like Eye in the Sky and Turn of a Friendly Card, Pyramid lacked the heavy radio airplay of those albums and might well be considered the “lost” APP album. But for inquiring minds seeking to excavate ancient ‘70s musical artifacts, this particular Pyramid is well worth exploring. (Ed. Note: Review dedicated to the memory of Eric Woolfson, 1945-2009.)

Essential Tracks: “What Goes Up” “The Eagle Will Rise Again” “Can’t Take It With You” “Shadow of a Lonely Man”

The Concept Album

Good, Bad or Ugly?

A long time ago, in a musical universe far, far away, there lumbered a dinosaur (band) that strove to achieve artistic greatness and immortality. One way to attempt this glorious feat was to create a “concept album.” Basically, this meant wrapping the music and lyrics around an overall theme, connecting the various parts and movements within a whole framework consisting of a beginning, a middle and an ending. Back in the heady days of the late ‘60s and early ‘70s, it all made perfect sense. Whether you consider the very first concept album S. F. Sorrow by the Pretty Things, Tommy by the Who or Days of Future Passed by the Moody Blues, this lofty endeavor ultimately fell upon the earnest and enthusiastic Progressive Rock bands to pull off. Let’s face it, some concept albums worked and some didn't. A concept is merely a technique and doesn’t necessarily ensure artistic or commercial success. Some bands buckled under the heavy conceptual strain (Yes with Tales from Topographic Oceans; Genesis with The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway) while others reaped huge rewards and acclaim (the Who with Quadrophenia; Pink Floyd with The Wall). But whether or not you like the concept of a concept album, it still all comes down to the music. Great music can (and definitely has) existed within a bad concept (see Yes and Genesis above). Unfortunately, this grand approach opened up certain bands to the accusation of being “pompous” and “snooty” – words commonly leveled at Progressive Rock bands by their critics. Never mind that most of the musicians never considered themselves superior to the rest of humanity. Nor that their music was inherently better or smarter or deeper. In their minds, they were simply being creative and playing at their peak. The Prog guys just wanna have fun! And to be realistic, no specific musical genre has ever had exclusive rights to pomposity. Unless you're one of the few who have never experienced a pompous pop star, punk rocker, jazz musician, folk singer, etc. This misperception was created in large part by those who labeled the bands "progressive" in the first place. The word implies a superior attitude that was never really there. Unfortunately, once it became a label (and a genre), many misguided bands figured all they had to do was adopt a certain sound, use certain instruments, arrange music in a certain way, wear glittery capes...and voila! They would magically be transformed into a "progressive rock" band. Thus, many hacks came along and resorted to out-and-out mimicry. Which, in and of itself, is very unprogressive. Looking back, the glory days of the concept album now seem a quaint and distant echo of a time long passed. As does the very concept of an album itself – soon to be relegated to extinction in today’s iTunes digital download reality.