Jethro Tull
Aqualung

THE REVIEW

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In the middle of the journey of our life

I found myself in a dark night

when the desire to sleep had vanished.

Soon after counting sheep in vain

yielded no results for my sleep,

it was then that from my bed I lifted the figure

and after taking a leak

without further ado, I reached my living room

where with screens, computers, or print

something to engage my brain

I would find in some way resolved.

But then the choice fell upon that

which critics regard highly

when speaking of English folk rock.

An album whose half is dedicated

to harsh criticism of those churches

intent on hoodwinking the pious souls

since antiquity, squeezing their obese

bellies into well-fed sacristies, after mass

the good people between many Hail Marys

had given their offering, with the premise

that maybe in the tragic moment

of the passing, house and garage

would end up with the priest in a will,

much to the delight of the cunning caste.

Preceding this is the bewilderment

of the pederast vagabond Aqualung

a man who disdainful and cursed

never stops ranting.

But what a delightful guitar solo

the guitarist places 'in the middle of the piece!

And it's said even played in the presence

of the brave Jimmy Page, great titan

of the semi-progressive guitar

passing by, ready to lend a hand

to the brave author of such initiative,

the excellent squire Martin Barre

of Anderson, the group leader.

His flute so supreme and coquettish

adorning both My God and Cross Eyed Mary

two pieces that fall perfectly

so beautiful and charming, and not since yesterday.

The listening of the album proceeded

with music constantly evolving,

remarkable for example, damn it

the piano introduction of that track

doubled by the flute creating leverage

for a supreme riff that after the intermezzo

already distorted and syncopated in itself

mocks the blues at a low cost.

What to say about the almost duo tracks

guitar voice and few brief assistances

light diversions to its core.

We are not made to live like brutes

but to follow virtue and knowledge

not like Aqualung, or those sold out

in clerical habit and reverence

devoted to filch the riches

as long as they profess penance.

Locomotive Breath its refinements,

the Mother Goose filled with arpeggios,

with Wondering Aloud they are like stitches

of a very rich fabric of sounds

of an era so cultured and inspired.

On this I want to hear no reasons,

because now such music is gone

or at least such pleasant inspiration.

And even Jethro Tull, considering

their entire career and production

it's not that many valuable albums

they have succeeded in making in succession.

But in the meantime, once the drowsiness returned

I decided to let go of headphones and record,

after listening without making noise

to such magnificence. Now here I end

to recount such beautiful music

since not even having put the record away

I returned to the true leather bed

where the wife was quite awake

and so we went out to see the stars again.

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