Last week, I took part in a little exercise wherein I was asked to cite my favorite albums from each and every year that I've been alive. Predictably, some balked at a few of my choices, but you can't please everyone. Hell, I balked at some of my own choices, but I gave what I thought were honest answers. One comment, however -- from Jill of Blah Blog Blah notoriety -- stuck with me. Jill had this to say:
Oh this is surely a can of worms. I like your list for the most part and of course we each have our own list, but there is only one that really stands out as being not right... Fragile? Really? In 1972 there was Led Zeppelin IV, Eat a Peach (Allman Brothers), Machine Head (Deep Purple), Mott the Hoople, even Exile on Main Street I think all beat out Yes
Well, for a start, Led Zeppelin IV came out in 1971. A fine album to be sure, but its inception date would pit it against Paranoid by Black Sabbath, which will take a giant, runny, Satanic dump all over Zeppelin's meisterwerk every time. Feel free to debate that point, but my mind shan't be changed on the subject. As far as Eat a Peach by the Allman Brothers is concerned, I'm afraid you've got to be kidding me -- I wouldn't even play that insipid bullshit at a dog. Machine Head by Deep Purple, meanwhile, is your first valid contender for the title, not least for its inclusion of "Highway Star" and the ol' warhorse, "Smoke on the Water." I never really cared for Mott the Hoople and the last time I listened to Exile in Main Street I fell asleep -- give me Let It Bleed over that piffle every time.
But this is all academic. To my mind -- and, really, it's my list after all -- Fragile by Yes handily trumps all those selections with ease and grace. I fucking love Fragile, and I'm not afraid to say it. Over on the ILM music discussion boards, I once postulated that Fragile was arguably the most un-"Punk Rock" album ever crafted. Think about it! Ten minute opuses? Check. Fastidious musicianship? Check. Lyrical allusions to Brahms and The March Hare? Check and check. Garish sci-fi cover art by Roger Dean? Oh, indeed check! Meticulously plucked twelve-string guitars rife with baroque stylings, filigree-laden flourishes and rococo intricacies? Check. Oblique, otherworldly lyrical imagery recalling Heinlein, Tolkien and Bradbury? Check, check and thrice check. Perfect, soaring harmonies? Check. Sweeping, cinematic production? Check. Ridiculously pompous keyboard noodlery courtesy of hirsute self-styled Arthurian fanboy Rick Wakeman? Yea verily checketh! This gloriously bloated wedding cake of classic prog is clearly the antithesis of much beloved vinyl slabs by bands like the Ramones and The Damned. Fragile almost singularly embodies that which Punk Rock was purportedly concocted to destroy.
But I don't care about that claptrap, because regardless of my fandom for Punk Rock, Fragile still rocks my world. And I'm not alone. Some noted and avowed Yes fans include Pat Smear of the Germs, Keith Levene of Public Image Ltd., No Wave scenester Vincent Gallo and Big Paul Ferguson of Killing Joke, so I'd say that makes for some pretty damn cool company (if that sorta crap matters). In anticipation of composing this post on my walk home from work, I dialed up Fragile on my iPod and it immediately lifted my spirits and transformed my world into swirly Roger Dean-penned curlicues with big, multicolored pteradactyle wings. Even if you cannot overlook Yes' spiraling excesses, you cannot tell me that this album does not rock.
The record in question is probably most renowned for boasting both "Roundabout" and "Long Distance Runaround," a one-two punch that blows Machine Head by the `Purps right off the map (largely thanks to Chris Squire's giant fuck off bass licks on the former and Steve Howe's spidery riffs on the latter). They may have both since become classic rock radio clichés (although not nearly as much as selections off the afore-cited Led Zeppelin IV), but I never tire of either of them. Getting back to the list, I should point out that I wasn't aware of Yes in 1972 (or much of anything else, probably, given that I was all of six years old). I was invariably more consumed by the works of Sid & Mary Kroft than with rock n' roll. I probably didn't knowingly hear anything off of Fragile until a few years later.
I believe I first would have heard Yes sometime around 1975 or so. I remember driving up to the Berkshires with my family to visit our cousins in a beautiful little town called South Egremont. My cousins lived in this great, massive house set far back from the road up on the lip of a gorgeous valley, surrounded by woods. We'd go up there at least once a winter, and it was always great fun. In any case, I was always enthralled by our trips up to that house, its many rooms and stunning views. My cousin Charlie -- a good five years older than me, at least -- used to hold court in the house's converted basement, which was invariably where all the fun stuff happened. I'd frequently go down there to throw darts or play bumper pool, but Charlie was often down there cranking music. I vividly recall walking down the stairs to the basement one afternoon and being swept up in this amazing wave of sound that came emanating from below. A nightmarish, atmospheric thunderclap was followed by this driving battery of bass, guitars and swirly keyboards. It truly sounded like nothing else, and I remember sitting on the bottom step and drinking it in, not wanting Charlie to discover me. It turns out, the piece I'd been hearing was "South Side of the Sky" off of Fragile, and once Charlie discovered I'd been digging it, he proceeded to play me the rest of the album, converting another to the cause. And I was summarily hooked.
So yes, Fragile is hairy and hoary and rife with indulgence, but it still makes me incredibly happy all these years later. I can even overlook Wakeman's embarrassing filler track, "Cans and Brahms," so long as I get to the sprawling epicry of "Heart of the Sunrise." And again, if you can't appreciate the bass line of "Roundabout" (especially when it kicks in at precisely 00:44 into the proceedings), there's something deeply, deeply wrong with you.
So Yes remains for 1972, dammit.
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Yes I Said Yes I Will Yes
Last week, I took part in a little exercise wherein I was asked to cite my favorite albums from each and every year that I've been alive. Predictably, some balked at a few of my choices, but you can't please everyone. Hell, I balked at some of my own choices, but I gave what I thought were honest answers. One comment, however -- from Jill of Blah Blog Blah notoriety -- stuck with me. Jill had this to say:
Oh this is surely a can of worms. I like your list for the most part and of course we each have our own list, but there is only one that really stands out as being not right... Fragile? Really? In 1972 there was Led Zeppelin IV, Eat a Peach (Allman Brothers), Machine Head (Deep Purple), Mott the Hoople, even Exile on Main Street I think all beat out Yes
Well, for a start, Led Zeppelin IV came out in 1971. A fine album to be sure, but its inception date would pit it against Paranoid by Black Sabbath, which will take a giant, runny, Satanic dump all over Zeppelin's meisterwerk every time. Feel free to debate that point, but my mind shan't be changed on the subject. As far as Eat a Peach by the Allman Brothers is concerned, I'm afraid you've got to be kidding me -- I wouldn't even play that insipid bullshit at a dog. Machine Head by Deep Purple, meanwhile, is your first valid contender for the title, not least for its inclusion of "Highway Star" and the ol' warhorse, "Smoke on the Water." I never really cared for Mott the Hoople and the last time I listened to Exile in Main Street I fell asleep -- give me Let It Bleed over that piffle every time.
But this is all academic. To my mind -- and, really, it's my list after all -- Fragile by Yes handily trumps all those selections with ease and grace. I fucking love Fragile, and I'm not afraid to say it. Over on the ILM music discussion boards, I once postulated that Fragile was arguably the most un-"Punk Rock" album ever crafted. Think about it! Ten minute opuses? Check. Fastidious musicianship? Check. Lyrical allusions to Brahms and The March Hare? Check and check. Garish sci-fi cover art by Roger Dean? Oh, indeed check! Meticulously plucked twelve-string guitars rife with baroque stylings, filigree-laden flourishes and rococo intricacies? Check. Oblique, otherworldly lyrical imagery recalling Heinlein, Tolkien and Bradbury? Check, check and thrice check. Perfect, soaring harmonies? Check. Sweeping, cinematic production? Check. Ridiculously pompous keyboard noodlery courtesy of hirsute self-styled Arthurian fanboy Rick Wakeman? Yea verily checketh! This gloriously bloated wedding cake of classic prog is clearly the antithesis of much beloved vinyl slabs by bands like the Ramones and The Damned. Fragile almost singularly embodies that which Punk Rock was purportedly concocted to destroy.
But I don't care about that claptrap, because regardless of my fandom for Punk Rock, Fragile still rocks my world. And I'm not alone. Some noted and avowed Yes fans include Pat Smear of the Germs, Keith Levene of Public Image Ltd., No Wave scenester Vincent Gallo and Big Paul Ferguson of Killing Joke, so I'd say that makes for some pretty damn cool company (if that sorta crap matters). In anticipation of composing this post on my walk home from work, I dialed up Fragile on my iPod and it immediately lifted my spirits and transformed my world into swirly Roger Dean-penned curlicues with big, multicolored pteradactyle wings. Even if you cannot overlook Yes' spiraling excesses, you cannot tell me that this album does not rock.
The record in question is probably most renowned for boasting both "Roundabout" and "Long Distance Runaround," a one-two punch that blows Machine Head by the `Purps right off the map (largely thanks to Chris Squire's giant fuck off bass licks on the former and Steve Howe's spidery riffs on the latter). They may have both since become classic rock radio clichés (although not nearly as much as selections off the afore-cited Led Zeppelin IV), but I never tire of either of them. Getting back to the list, I should point out that I wasn't aware of Yes in 1972 (or much of anything else, probably, given that I was all of six years old). I was invariably more consumed by the works of Sid & Mary Kroft than with rock n' roll. I probably didn't knowingly hear anything off of Fragile until a few years later.
I believe I first would have heard Yes sometime around 1975 or so. I remember driving up to the Berkshires with my family to visit our cousins in a beautiful little town called South Egremont. My cousins lived in this great, massive house set far back from the road up on the lip of a gorgeous valley, surrounded by woods. We'd go up there at least once a winter, and it was always great fun. In any case, I was always enthralled by our trips up to that house, its many rooms and stunning views. My cousin Charlie -- a good five years older than me, at least -- used to hold court in the house's converted basement, which was invariably where all the fun stuff happened. I'd frequently go down there to throw darts or play bumper pool, but Charlie was often down there cranking music. I vividly recall walking down the stairs to the basement one afternoon and being swept up in this amazing wave of sound that came emanating from below. A nightmarish, atmospheric thunderclap was followed by this driving battery of bass, guitars and swirly keyboards. It truly sounded like nothing else, and I remember sitting on the bottom step and drinking it in, not wanting Charlie to discover me. It turns out, the piece I'd been hearing was "South Side of the Sky" off of Fragile, and once Charlie discovered I'd been digging it, he proceeded to play me the rest of the album, converting another to the cause. And I was summarily hooked.
So yes, Fragile is hairy and hoary and rife with indulgence, but it still makes me incredibly happy all these years later. I can even overlook Wakeman's embarrassing filler track, "Cans and Brahms," so long as I get to the sprawling epicry of "Heart of the Sunrise." And again, if you can't appreciate the bass line of "Roundabout" (especially when it kicks in at precisely 00:44 into the proceedings), there's something deeply, deeply wrong with you.
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