Often cited as playing a key role in the burgeoning blues-rock scene of the late-60s and the subsequent arrival of prog-rock through the early years of the ensuing decade, by 1971 Jethro Tull (named after a 19th century English agriculturist), had developed a sizeable following among audiences in both camps.
Led by the eccentric figure of front man Ian Anderson, (born Dunfermline, Scotland 10/8/1947, but from the age of 12 raised in Blackpool, England), from second album onward (‘Stand Up‘ 1969), the flutist and occasional acoustic guitar player had virtually become Jethro Tull, being principal songwriter while also assuming the role of producer – his firm hand on the Tull tiller being comparable to that of Ray Davies in The Kinks.
Having formed Tull with bassist Glenn Cornick (like Anderson a former member of the Blackpool-based John Evan Band, whose attempts to crack the London gig circuit on heading south toward the end of 1967 had failed), in the spring of 1968 the pair joined forces with guitarist Mick Abrahams and drummer Clive Bunker.
Upon deciding a hybrid of jazz, rock and blues was the best way forward, the band were soon rubbing shoulders with likes of Fleetwood Mac and Ten Years After as this new wave of underground music began to attract attention – Tull distinguished in no small way by the on-stage theatrics of Anderson, who developed a trademark stance of playing the flute whilst standing on one leg.
They generated sufficient interest to land a recording contract with Island Records, debut set ‘This Was’ (October 1968) earning positive reviews and surprising many – one suspects the group themselves – in selling enough copies to reach Number 10 on the U.K. charts.
Before the year was out however, Abrahams, on apparently losing an internal dispute over their future direction, left the fold to form rock-blues outfit Blodwyn Pig.
Initially future Black Sabbath guitarist Tony Iommi stepped into the breach (appearing in the line-up that performed at ‘The Rolling Stones Rock and Roll Circus‘ on December 11-12 1968) but on a longer term basis it was Martin Barre who joined the troupe – a quartet of Anderson, Bunker, Cornick and Barre cutting the well-received but even more commercially successful ‘Stand Up‘ (U.K. 1/U.S.20) that appeared in April 1969.
With ‘Living in the Past‘ lifted from the L.P. to become a U.K. hit single, Jethro Tull had now attained headline status on both sides of the Atlantic, Anderson developing all manner of poses and postures for his flute-playing showmanship – his vagrant-as-rock-star demeanor, featuring stage attire of crumpled overcoat and threadbare shoes along with unkempt hair, the very antithesis of the glam-rock movement that would shortly take hold in U.K.
While third album ‘Benefit‘ (April 1970) did not fare quite so well as its predecessor, it still achieved impressive transatlantic sales figures and on moving further from the original blues-rock designs of Abraham, showed Anderson again to be the writer of predominantly melodic songs that could be cutting in the caustic wit of the lyrics.
The band were augmented on this release by keyboard player Evan, whom Anderson had known since way back when, but as he arrived so bassist Cornick departed – both Evan and recently sworn in bass player Jeffrey Hammond making their fully-fledged Jethro Tull debuts on fourth album ‘AQUALUNG‘ (March 1971).
Once again it was an Anderson-driven creation. Each of the 11 compositions, aside from the lyrics to the title song written by then wife Jennie were his work, the 23-year-old assisted in control panel duties by manager and long-serving co-producer Terry Ellis. The second side, a five-strong song cycle devoted to his views on organized religion, represents their first excursion into thematic territory. While Anderson maintains elements of the wit and melodicism previously evident in his writing, the increase in self-conscious lyrics comes with a more strident sound, accentuated by the often forceful guitar work of Barre.
Amongst the trenchant observations Anderson feels compelled to make, being particularly acerbic when pondering what he felt was ‘The distinction between God and religion‘, he still finds inclination for some brief contemplative pieces regarding the human condition – three of the tracks having a running time of less than two minutes.
For much of the opening title piece the hard rock dimension of Jethro Tull is on display. The incisive riffs of Barre and crisp drumming by Bunker are frequently to the fore, although interspersed with passages from Anderson on acoustic guitar. In her earthy, disconcerting lyrical couplets Jennie Anderson conjures a homeless tramp – as depicted in the album cover illustration – onto whom predatory instincts are cast, ‘Sitting on a park bench/Eyeing little girls with bad intent/Snot’s running down his nose/Greasy fingers, smearing shabby clothes/Hey, Aqualung‘, this hapless creature ultimately receiving far more in the way of sympathy than scorn.
Similar in sentiment to many of the fine songs Alan Hull was currently writing in regard to the isolation of unfortunate individuals within society, in their hard-edged ensemble playing Tull on occasion come across as a souped-up version of English folk-rockers Lindisfarne – and while Mrs. Anderson does not quite possess the sparkling candour of their front man Hull, she still pens lines that are descriptive and direct:
‘Do you still remember/December’s foggy freeze/When the ice that clings on to your beard/Was screaming agony?
With ‘Cross-Eyed Mary‘ Anderson creates an uncomfortable character persona of his own. Built upon a base of flute and piano before Barre contributes some fulsome guitar, the forlorn figure in this instance is a schoolgirl prostitute. Due to containing reference to the individual named in the previous track, (‘Laughing in the playground, gets no kicks from little boys/Would rather make it with a letching grey/Or maybe her attention is drawn by Aqualung/Who watches through the railings as they play‘) there is long held belief a conceptual theme is evolving, although Anderson has since maintained it was more coincidence than attempt at a full-blown concept album.
Framed by his own acoustic guitar work, ‘Cheap Day Return‘ is a melancholy folk-prog affair depicting a visit to a stricken relative, the presumption being Anderson was writing about his father.
In painting this vivid picture he contemplates whether the patient is being well-cared for and also the strange ironies that come with being famous – the piece made especially pertinent by lasting just 78 seconds and containing only a handful of lines:
‘On Preston platform/Do your soft shoe shuffle dance/Brush away the cigarette ash/That’s falling down your pants/And then you sadly wonder/Does the nurse treat your old man/The way she should/She made you tea/Asked for your autograph/What a laugh.’
Cloaked in the medieval ambience so cherished by the prog-rock fraternity, ‘Mother Goose‘ is an impressionistic, if somewhat lyrically abstract piece, describing curious characters the narrator encounters while attending Hampstead Fair – the fair as an historical concept being a product of the Middle Ages.
After coming upon enquiring foreign students, labourers, sobbing schoolgirls and a bearded lady, the melody is fattened up by the power chords of Barre as Anderson gives reality another strange twist, ‘Saw Johnny Scarecrow make his rounds/In his jet-black mac/Which he won’t give back/Stole it from a snowman.’
While claims have been made the song is allegory for the journey from childhood innocence to the maturity of adulthood, it is perhaps best heard as the efforts of a writer simply allowing his imagination to run wild.
With overtones of a Cat Stevens acoustic guitar ballad, the delicate, string-laden ‘Wond’ring Aloud‘ is effectively an Anderson solo performance.
Tender and earnest in tone, the writer considers the future (‘Wond’ring aloud/Will the years treat us well?‘) before bringing the subject of his affections into a focus with a scene of cosy domesticity, ‘As she floats in the kitchen/I’m tasting the smell/Of toast as the butter runs/Then she comes/Spilling crumbs/On the bed/And I shake my head‘
Indeed for an album, particularly in the case of side two, which strives to make telling comment on the nature of conventional faith, the Lennonesque closing lines of this short, resonant cut, ‘And it’s only the giving/That makes you what you are‘ stand as the most resounding on the record.
Beginning with the sound of background studio laughter, side one closer ‘Up to Me‘ rolls along through a fusion of flute and meshing guitars, the acoustic guitar being particularly prominent.
The busy light-jazz overtones provide platform for Anderson to interweave a series of fast-moving vignettes. With the opening lines (‘Take you to the cinema/And leave you in a Wimpy Bar‘) the narrative has an immediate, urban feel, the writer then adopting an everyday bloke persona to offer a slightly condescending perspective of daily life:
‘Well I’m a common working man/With a half of bitter, bread and jam/And if it pleases me I’ll put one on you man/When the copper fades away.’
Side two opens with the longest track on the album, Anderson taking over seven minutes through ‘My God‘ to expend his initial thoughts on what he feels is the hypocrisy attached to organized religion.
From a restrained opening featuring Anderson on acoustic guitar, all the familiar Tull embellishments (electric guitar/flute solos) eventually appear, by which time the contention has been made that righteousness is found within the soul rather than from influence of a higher power:
‘He is the god of nothing/If that’s all that you can see/You are the god of everything/He’s inside you and me.’
While Anderson uses virtually every line to be curt or cynical about how people legislate their religious beliefs (‘The bloody Church of England/In chains of history/Requests your earthly presence/At the vicarage for tea‘), eventually his pointed comments sound more like rampant pontification – John Lennon 18 months earlier capturing in one phrase (‘God is a concept by which we measure our pain‘), what Anderson labours over through several verses.
While no less prickly in tone, ‘Hymn 43‘ boasts greater effectiveness as a critique for being more succinct. The group rock out in accomplished fashion as Anderson expresses disdain for those he believes (‘And the unsung western hero/He killed an Indian or three/And then he made his name in Hollywood to set the white man free‘) have used Christianity for selfish gain. But amidst the disparagement the writer still finds room for irony, the last line of each verse, ‘Oh Jesus save me‘ being either a prayer or ironic plea.
Backed only by a plaintive string section, ‘Slipstream‘ finds Anderson contemplating the passage of time through some cryptic word play (‘And you spin in the slipstream/Timeless, unreasoning‘). But after this sedate interlude Tull as an entity return with the smoldering, jazz-infused ‘Locomotive Breath‘ – Anderson equating a runaway train with the worldwide population boom.
While the lyrics are often obscure it does not prevent the Almighty from being referenced, (‘I thank God, he stole the handle/And the train, it won’t stop going’), neither is there any lack of conviction in the way the track is delivered.
Closing number ‘Wind-Up‘ is where Anderson brings all his personal misgivings about the ritualistic nature of religion to bear.
Another song that builds from a brooding start, the writer draws upon memories to establish his viewpoint:
‘When I was young and they packed me off to school/And taught me how not to play the game/I didn’t mind if they groomed me for success/Or if they said that I was just a fool/So I left there in the morning/With their God tucked underneath my arm/Their half-assed smiles and the book of rules.’
With his protestations regarding indoctrination and rule-based versions of belief supported by sympathetic piano chords and then the powerhouse playing of Barre, Anderson makes the case that religion as a weekly ritual is more function than expression of deep faith. By the end he finds himself clear-minded in what God is not rather than what he is:
‘I don’t believe you/You had the whole damn thing all wrong/He’s not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.’
Despite half of the album covering unusual subject matter for a rock record, ‘Aqualung‘ was greeted rapturously by an ever-growing legion of Jethro Tull devotees, effortlessly attaining high chart positions (U.K.4/U.S.7). Overtime it became their most successful effort with worldwide sales of over seven million. The Basing Street Studios in Notting Hill, London, where ‘Aqualung‘ was recorded became a haven of undisputed future success through the closing months of 1970, Tull laying down their tracks while elsewhere in the building ‘Led Zeppelin IV‘ was being cut.
While a section of the music press were impressed with the philosophical themes Anderson had chosen to explore and praised the musical accomplishment, others declared themselves less impressed. Noted New York rock scribe Robert Christgau described it ‘Boring and pretentious‘ in bestowing a C+ mark from his A-D rating system, while in the U.K. the New Musical Express, a publication that had previously been complimentary toward the band, used similar terminology (‘Bombastic and pretentious‘) in their largely dismissive review.
By the time of their next release ‘Thick as a Brick‘ (March 1972) – drummer Bunker by now replaced by Barrie Barlow (another acquaintance of Anderson from days of the John Evan Band) – there was considerable back and forth rancour between the group, primarily Anderson, and an element within the London rock media.
After the N.M.E dismissed the L.P. (‘Thick as a Brick‘ an out-and-out concept effort) as ‘facetious‘, the antagonism rose to such a level (Anderson becoming a tax exile added to the animosity, not that such status brought the Rolling Stones any adverse publicity at the time), that in 1974 he stopped talking to journalists altogether – this a bewildering state of affairs for a band selling millions of albums (‘Thick as a Brick‘ a U.S. chart-topper) and who were a major concert draw of the era.
Yet by a curious twist of fate, that one assumes would have afforded Anderson a wry smile, a new generation of rock commentators had no hesitation in heralding his achievements. Rolling Stone magazine who omitted ‘Aqualung‘ from their 1971 round-up of the best albums made that year, half a century later placed it 337 on a list of the greatest 500 ever made.
That his most contentious and challenging work should receive such belated acclaim must have seemed to Anderson like divine justice.
Manna from heaven you might say……
JETHRO TULL – AQUALUNG (Released March 19 1971):
Aqualung/Cross-Eyed Mary/Cheap Day Return/Mother Goose/Wond’ring Aloud/Up to Me/My God/Hymn 43/Slipstream/Locomotive Breath/Wind-up;
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