Category: music

Jethro Tull’s Second Album

In which The Ghost of Mick Abrahams is exorcised.

I’m working my way through the Jethro Tull catalogue, one record at a time in chronological order. This Was was a shock to me, because it sounded like a different band entirely. All they changed, on the most physical level, was to switch out their guitar player. On a policy level, Tull became Ian Anderson’s baby. That narrowing and defining of leadership led to a huge expansion of the band’s artistic territory.

I can’t know this for sure, but I suspect that Mick Abrahams left Jethro Tull under a cloud. In the context of the band, he needed to be saged out of the space. Not to keep anyone in suspense or anything, but they 100% accomplished their goal. MA is pretty much a footnote in the Tull story, an early fork in the road. They become Tull as we know them on Stand Up.

In fact, by the third song on side one, the Brubeck-inspired “Bouree,” we’re already so far beyond the blues rock of what’s-‘is-name that the clock can never be turned back, and it becomes completely unfair of me to link everything that happens here to that guy.

But even though a listener who only had This Was as a reference point would feel his absence throughout, one would also hear the future. A great future. This album led to Benefit, and Benefit led to Aqualung, and everything that followed.

And Mick Abrahams could never have been the guitarist for Stand Up or any record that was made by Jethro Tull afterward. Martin Barre blows him out of the water, all while acknowledging that Ian Anderson is the boss. Where Abrahams wrote about half of the previous record, all of the songs here are Anderson’s, and collectively an upgrade from what had come before.

That’s Martin Barre in the middle, making eye contact with you. Hi, Martin! Photo of my copy of Stand Up by me.

While the Ghost of Mick hangs over this record, by the end of it, the listener is only looking forward, not backward. The band virtually never went back to the blues rock well from which This Was sprang.

And that’s what I like most about that time in rock music, bands grew and developed. Each new album was a chapter in the larger story arc. Taking a big chance such as completely redefining a band’s approach could be either a horrible disappointment or a thrilling expansion of what a band could be. It may be true that in most cases it would be the former, but in this case, it’s absolutely the latter.

So many bands went through these changes around that time. Yes booted Peter Banks in favor of Steve Howe. Genesis lost Anthony Phillips but added Steve Hackett and got Phil Collins in the bargain. In the larger context, the music was changing, but this round of changes seems to have codified things in such a way that they began to become stagnant. Less than a decade later, all of these revisions up in quality became an unassailable status quo which necessitated a revolution.

From this decades-later standpoint, one can see that things were both gained and lost amidst all the changes… as they always are.

Here’s to change. We all need it, from time to time.

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Gang of Four at the State Theater in Portland, Maine

A rock show for this time, playing music that sends a message across the decades.

I have to start by saying that the State Theater is one of the worst-sounding music venues I’ve ever been in. Opening band The Downtown Boys, who I really wanted to like (and probably would on any other night) were absolutely unlistenable in that room. Pure sonic mud. They were passionate and political and clearly having fun up there on that stage (their saxaphonist/keyboard player is a hoot!) but if you played me one of their songs today and didn’t tell me who I was listening to, I’m about 90% sure I wouldn’t be able to tell you who they were. It was that bad. I apologize for not having the ability to form more of an opinion about their performance. I suppose I should make an attempt to learn more about them, and I will certainly try to do so at some point.

Regular readers (hah!) of this blog will know that most of the music I write about here fits under the “prog” umbrella, but it should be noted that I have had lots of years of music listening, and my tastes are quite broad. I have both obsessed about and reacted against more different music than most people hear in a lifetime, and in the fullness of time, I have probably both loved and hated almost every sort of music.

Gang of Four at the State Theater in Portland, Maine. Photo by Landi Michaels.

So when I tell you that this first-gen obsessively hard-left post-punk band, Gang of Four, hit the stage the other night, I about lost my mind. I LOVE Gang of Four. I am not rational about it (except, of course, that I have lots of thoughts about them, and have sorted through them at length) and I couldn’t help abandoning everything and just hopping up on to my spindly old pegs and DANCING as soon as they began their set. Their energy did not let up, nor did mine. Start to finish, they were amazing.

I found myself thinking about how, with four albums and a couple of EPs to their name, this band could play a full set that sounded like a high-level greatest hits comp, and they absolutely did! They didn’t play anything from their final album Hard. Frankly, that was no great loss. Give me those first three albums and the interstitial EPs and I’m all set.

And speaking of greatest hits: I know it’s a standard set piece, but Jon’s very rhythmic whacking of a microwave oven with a baseball bat was extremely satisfying. In fact, that was one of the many moments of cultural resonance that came with the set in general. There was a feeling in the air that what Gang of Four was offering from the stage was medicine, that every note and nuance was there to counteract the effects of fascist evil. It was a utopian moment in time for that very reason.

And it was also the band saying goodbye. Original band members Jon King and Hugo Burnham have said that they won’t be bringing the band out on tour again, that they’re closing the book on headlining tours. I’m grateful that I got to see them. I haven’t been able to get to any of their shows before, no matter how much I love them, but this moment seems like the most impactful time to have come to their positive, warm, anti-fascist performance. It is fuel, which I suspect is what they want their music to be.

Finally, I want to shout out Ted Leo and especially Gale Greenwood who did a great job of filling giant shoes. Gale especially was having a great time on that stage, bouncing around and clowning and holding down that very heavy beat along with Hugo. She was a great addition to the show. (I just learned that my friend Linda Bean Pardee played bass with Gang of Four before Gale! Hey, Mikey!)

Also, Hugo took a few moments at the end of the night to shill for Graham Platner, which I greatly appreciated.

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Vol. I & Vol. II

I finally acquired these two beauties…

Photo by me, art design by Fabien Peterson (Vol.I) and Arielle Corbeau (Vol. II)

Like many other fans of this band, I’ve been waiting for MONTHS to get my hot little hands on these two beauties. I’ve seen many pictures of these records on my social media feeds, and it makes me happy that we all have our little grails. But what of the actual objects? Were they worth the wait?

It’s worth noting that both albums have been available to us online. We have been able to turn on the interwaves and find all 12 of these tracks (6 per disc, 3 per side) any time we wanted, for the price of whatever we’re paying for our internet hookup anyway. Then we can stream them for “free,” meaning you might have to deal with ads or perhaps a subscription price. Youtube also has many audience recordings of their current ongoing tour, so any of these tracks that they’ve brought to the stage, you can most likely see a shaky hand-held cam video of with muddy-ass sound as an added bonus.

And yeah, I’ve done that a bunch. Short of turning this exercise into a defense of buying physical media in an age when all of this stuff is RIGHT THERE IN FRONT OF YOU ON THE CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER, I can only tell you that I’m happy to have these particular objects in my posession, in the context intended by the makers of this music. YMMV.

I can also tell you that I have seen these 2 albums listed on eBay for a grand.

Vol. I includes two songs titled after foods the band has been known to throw into the crowd at shows. In each case, I find them to be the weaker tunes on the album. Tohogd (hot dog) sounds like an early effort, something the brothers made when figuring out how to do this act. Sahardnieh (sardines) sounds a bit more fully realized, but sits between two tracks I find more interesting and more complete. Side one has what I think is the best song on the record — Sherpa — but overall, side two is the stronger set. By overreaching extension, I derive the impression that this band has far more to offer us than its baser, more novety-ish impulses.

But then, I feel a little presumptuous in trying to separate out intentions I’m not privy to. And I will remind that the first thing that made me perk up and listen was their stage presentation — the very gimmickiness that I set at the base of their approach. Still, between Ababa Hotel and Sahardnieh, I’m absolutely going to point you to the former as a fine demonstration of what this band can do, and Sahardnieh as a slightly lesser, but still vital representation of what the band identity.

Side 1 of Vol. II is the high point of their recorded work, in my opinion. It’s like a combination of Eno and “Pleasant Valley Sunday” with a bit of krautrock flavor mixed in. It’s also very precise and funky af. Again, and not for the last time… AdP are very good players. These songs are structured brilliantly, the humor is fully present. As I listen through these three songs — “Fabienk,” “Mata Zyklek” (My favorite Angine de Poitrine song,) and “Sarniezz” — I feel a thrill at brilliant new music that I haven’t felt in a good long while. Each new track makes me want to dance, makes me smile, makes me glad I’m here to experience this young band who have found new ways to bring out these responses in me.

And the music holds up without the costumes. That may be the best thing that comes from listening to the vinyl. Without the extra stimulus of those whacked-out (but very cleverly designed) outfits, the experience is just the players — Khn and Klek — and the aural environment they create. Khn uses the microtonality of his instrument(s) in an absolutely tasteful way. The “extra” notes are never just extra — they are an augmentation, an extension of the possibilities available.

One of the most impressive passages here, the end of the first section of “Utzp,” the side 2 opener, is a layering of harmonies, each new layer incorporating microtonality as each new part comes in and keeping things consonant and propulsive as Khn surprises us each time things come around again.

And side 2 of this album doesn’t disappoint, even though I think they rightly chose side 1 as the bulk of that KEXP live set that everybody saw (myself included) and turned them into the most exciting thing in rock music in 2026. The ideas keep flowing, the execution is in all cases flawless and fun.

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Two Albums By The Nice and Pictures at an Exhibition, part 6

Whatever else I might have to say about ELP’s Pictures at an Exhibition and this exploration of ELP versus The Nice.

Sooo… look. Did I come to a better understanding of what Keith Emerson was all about? Eeehhhh… maybe. I guess I’d say that the most perfect encapsulation of what Keith Emerson’s approach to music is in my opinion quite well represented by the final track on Pictures at an Exhibition, a boogie retelling of bits of the Nutcracker Suite called “Nutrocker,” which was devised by Kim Fowley. It’s what I’ve always thought he was about, to be honest.

It’s that fusion of rock n classical that Emerson seems to have been after. He really never dives all that deeply into either rock or classical music, although it’s clear that he sees that his bread is better buttered in rock n roll grease, and so he puts everything under that umbrella. Across these three records we see snippets of just about every section of the record store — jazz, show tunes, blues, rock, classical, even a little dusting of country music, and across all of it, the unifying element is Emerson’s fingers and the feeling he had that some of what he could do with his fingers on a keyboard was dangerous or even subversive (meh).

What he did with The Nice sometimes transcended that need to push the boundaries of outré attention grabbing. I especially felt that on Elegy which showed a band that might have had some technical limitations, but had all of the ability to think and feel and attempt to make something beautiful. With ELP, it was all about the flash-bang.

So, ELP could be bigger, louder, more exciting, but somehow I think they were slighter on an artistic level.

This is a minority opinion, I’m aware of that. I’m also entirely capable of changing my mind, given a better argument about what’s happening in the grooves of the records or on stage in the video above. The guy who thought he’d made an “instrumental protest song” is clearly operating on the same assumptions in that “I’m stabbing my organ!” bit. I just don’t know what it’s about beyond the prurience of it. Maybe he had a bad piano teacher?

I’m a Yes fan. I will be upfront about thinking that Yes had terrible lyrics, but they had great lyricism. They made some of the most beautiful music I can think of within the rock context. ELP could play anything (they did, they played every style of music, sometimes within the bounds of a single track) but all they ever made me feel was admiration for their musicianship, and a bit of cynicism-tinged excitement over all of the flashiness.

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Two Albums By The Nice and Pictures at an Exhibition, part 5

The cliffhanger is answered: Did Keith make the right choice? Side 1

So we arrive at the final volume of our little trilogy, the most The Nice-like album that ELP ever did, thus inviting a direct comparison. Let’s talk about what I get from the grooves of 3 (at least mostly) live albums recorded as Keith Emerson left The Nice and joined ELP. It’s an interesting journey. I’ll offer the spoiler right now that he really did find a better bassist and singer in Greg Lake. but in my opinion, whether Carl Palmer is a better drummer than Brian Davison is debatable.

I give the nod to Lake here with all due respect to Lee Jackson, who is a fabulous musician. He’s still with us at 83, and is still out there playing music.

And I prefer Brian Davison to Carl Palmer on the issue of pocket. If you haven’t heard that term before, it means finding the place in the rhythm of the music where there’s a gravitic center to the beat. If you can find the pocket, you unlock a feeling of being meshed in with your bandmates in such a way that the feeling of the music gets deeper. In that situation, the synchronicity of the players together feels transcendent. It’s hard to describe if you haven’t been inside it, but it will affect any music you hear. It can draw you in, settle you inside the beat in such a way that your whole body feels like it’s swaddled in groove.

There are microdivisions of the beat, and a range of time within the beat — either slightly forward of it, right on it, or slightly behind — where the feeling of “locking in” can be all-encompassing or it can make you anxious, or it can make the music feel almost robotic. That anxious feeling can be useful to convey a sense of aggression or danger, which some find attractive, but if you’re looking for an expansive, powerful groove, you’ll find that locked-in feeling so much more unifying. The anxious feeling is at the leading edge of that groove, the locked-in feeling comes more from being just the slightest bit past the middle of that range of being “in rhythm.” Brian Davison could find the pocket with ease. Carl Palmer was always at the anxious edge of the beat, anticipating slightly and pushing. So while Palmer would typically pack more strokes into a beat than Davison would, Palmer always felt like he was pushing things, and there’s plenty of evidence of that on Pictures at an Exhibition.

Cover by William Neal, photography by Keith Morris and Nigel Harlow.

On paper, this could almost be an album by The Nice, with the caveat that strong compositional elements come from both Lake and Palmer, as well as Emerson. There’s a song on side one that is a solo acoustic piece from Greg Lake. There wasn’t a piece that was untouched by Keith Emerson as an arranger/composer since the days of Davy O’List, back on the very first album by The Nice. Honestly, Greg Lake is the best singer and songwriter Emerson ever worked with in a band. Still, it’s the same basic approach as the previous band, with the two new components plugged in.

Lake played a Fender Jazz bass, giving a much rounder, fuller tone than Lee Jackson’s plunky hollow body ox teardrop bass, which gives the whole band a smoother, more contemporary tone. He was also a more fluid player. There was less jazz in his sensebility (the model of his bass notwithstanding) and more rock. As discussed above, Palmer was much more kinetic behind the kit. Emerson seems liberated here, though he’s the same player. ELP was more of a well-oiled machine than The Nice, it’s plain…

I’ll have more to say about this album in my next post. Stay tuned.

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